John Kordic, as you know, was a rough and tough enforcer for the Habs in the latter part of the 1980s, and would eventually die at just 27 years old from a drug overdose and a scuffle with nine police at a motel in the Quebec City suburb of L’Ancienne-Lorette.

A violent ending to a man who earned his living by being violent.

We’ve seen issues before with guys whose roles it was to mainly fight, such as Derek Boogaard, and Kordic, like Boogaard, had issues.

My banker was a friend of Kordic’s in Edmonton, from childhood through to adulthood, and he said that although Kordic had a dad who pushed him hard and always expected more, the real problems didn’t begin until Kordic made the NHL. Kordic admitted that it started when the Habs would go on road trips to Los Angeles, where parties and drugs can crop up at the snap of a finger, especially for young, rich, and famous athletes.

So unfortunately, it began with the Habs. My question is, how do Kings players avoid this type of thing?

Ultimately, Kordic became addicted to cocaine, and in the link I provide at the bottom of this page, Kordic revealed that cocaine was in use with some of the Habs back then, and if it’s true, it’s tremendously disturbing.

Kordic wasn’t blessed with an abundance of hockey talent, although he enjoyed a decent junior career, beginning as a defenceman in junior in Portland before switching to forward as the years went by, but the need for fighters, or goons, in the NHL, became his ticket to fame and fortune.

It also became crystal clear that if he wanted to stay gainfully employed in the bigs, he needed to be as strong and as fast as he possibly could, and so the pressure was on. Which meant drugs like cocaine to ease the mind, and steroids to thicken the muscles.

Kordic would come home to Edmonton in the off-season with stretch marks on his neck from steroid-induced rapid muscle growth.

I was told that Kordic drove a Corvette when he came back home to Edmonton, and when he would leave, he simply gave the keys to his buddies and they bombed around the city in the flashy car. Kordic also had no sense of money responsibilities, and would ask to borrow cash from his friends even though he earned so much more than them. “Really John?” they would ask, but that was the way it was.

Kordic won a Stanley Cup with the Habs in 1986, and also toiled for the Leafs, Capitals, and Nordiques during his rocky and violent career. He once told my banker that it was great when he was with Toronto because it meant he, “didn’t have to backcheck, or forecheck, he just had to cash cheques.

In the end, it all got away from him, and a man described as just a truly nice guy and a great friend to many, let it get the best of him.

An excellent and somewhat disturbing 1992 Sports Illustrated story about John Kordic and be seen here Death of a Goon.

Below, Kordic and Torrie Robertson go at it.

To everyone here and on Facebook, Twitter, and Hockey Inside Out, I’d like to say thank you so much for your well-wishes on our upcoming move to Montreal. It’s a big chapter about to begin for Luci and I.

I even saw the little wooden bastard Gaston shed a tear, but I think it was only because he’s emotional at the thought of those beautiful Montreal women.

It’s a chance to work for such an iconic company, Classic Auctions; it’s a chance to live in Montreal, a city I have great affection for; it’s a chance to be near the team which is so close to my heart; it’s a chance to be near Ontario, where so many of my friends and family are; and it’s a chance to simply try something new, late in life, instead of sitting around and not doing much and getting fat and even more homely than I already am.

I was about 14 the first time I was ever in Montreal, when a friend and I took a bus from Orillia to see a game at the old Forum, which was several years before the 1968 renovations. I can remember waking up on Sunday morning in the downtown hotel and looking out the window and thinking that the Montreal Canadiens players were at home somewhere not far away, and I wondered what they might be doing.

It was magical for me, and the memories have remained lodged in my little memory bank. What’s left of it.

Cripes, I think I even heard church bells ringing. Yes indeed, it was a holy moment.

As an adult living in Ottawa, I’d go to the Forum several times a year, and in summer I’d often make the two-hour trek down to see the Expos, a team I absolutely loved, at the horrific Olympic Stadium, which I absolutely despised.

Now I’m going back to Montreal, only this time to live. It might not be for a long time, but then again it might. It all depends on how the job feels, and whether I’ll be suitable for the good folks at Classic.

I’ve always been one to take chances and move around, it’s in my blood, and I can’t wait to get this thing going. Even the drive across is going to be great.

Your comments are so much appreciated. My blog has been a vehicle to something very special, which is the connection I’ve made with you, and although I think I’ll be very busy in this new job, my little site will carry on. I’ll make time for it. It’s become too important to me to discard.

Thanks again for your wonderful messages. I’m very touched.

Very soon it’ll be throw everything into storage, close up shop, hop into the car with Luci, Gaston, and maybe Teesha the cat, and drive 2300 miles to Montreal, where I’ll be working at Classic Auctions, which many of you know is the biggest and best historical hockey auction house on the planet.

This gig could last just a month, or many years. It’s been in the works for months, but it was difficult for both sides because of the distance. But in the end, they decided to give me a chance, and I’m honoured and excited.

Classic Auctions has been around for 19 years, and is legendary for the rare, high-end items it deals with in their auctions. They sold Paul Henderson’s ’72 Summit Series game eight jersey for 1.2 million, and their lots have always blown my mind – stuff from the Rocket, Bobby Orr, Lord Stanley, Howie Morenz, the 1972 Summit Series, Georges Vezina, Jean Beliveau, and on and on and on.

It’s always amazed me, the things that end up at this Montreal-based company.

I still didn’t know if I had this job when I sent my letter to my company saying I was retiring, and Luci and I had already planned to drive across Canada, even if the job didn’t come about.

But it did come about. A new adventure. Holy smokes.

If you want to check out some of their auctions, past and present, and see some of the most amazing hockey memorabilia, just click here – Classic Auctions and have a look around.

Alexei Emelin underwent surgery on his left knee and apparently is lost for the next six months, which brings it to about the end of November before he’s up and at ‘em again.

However long it takes, as long as he’s 100% when he does come back.

I wonder if this tough hombre would throw himself in front of a steamrolling Milan Lucic if he could do it all over again.

I’m thinking that he might, as bad an idea as it might be. Emelin plays a physical game to say the least, and he might not be wearing the CH or any other big league jersey if he didn’t play this type of game.

I love Emelin’s game. It’s hard-core, lay your body in and pack a wallop. It’s the way select, rugged rearguards have played since players decided 100 years ago that a great way to slow someone down is to imitate a brick wall.

I’m surprised Don Cherry doesn’t talk more about this guy. Has he at all? Emelin should be one guy Cherry should appreciate, with the ruggedness that he brings to the table. Instead, the old bugger goes on about ballet star Nazem Kadri.

To put yourself in front of a large, hard-skating Milan Lucic rumbling down the side showed some serious guts that I, for one, don’t have. And you have to know that players around the league, after they’d seen the collision on the news, gained a whole new level of respect for this 28-year old Russian tank.

It was a big-league play that went bad, and only because Lucic had built up a full set of steam. Don’t forget, Lucic may be 6’4″, 220 pounds, but Emelin isn’t exactly Woody Allen. He’s right up there at 6’2″, 223, so I’m sure Lucic felt the impact as well.

Random Note:

Happy belated birthdays to two Montreal Canadiens players who would’ve celebrated birthdays in May if they weren’t dead. Like George Brown, who would’ve been 100 on May 17. And Fred Coriveau, who would’ve been only 85 on May 15th.

These boys once wore the sweater of the Montreal Canadiens, which is a damn fine accomplishment.

George played 79 regular season games in the 1930s, and Fred suited up for three games during the 1953-54 season.

At the World Championships in Sweden, P.K. Subban ended up joining Team Canada for a game, Raphael Diaz’ Swiss team captured silver, and Alex Galchenyuk copped a bronze with the Americans.

On the home front, Michel Therrien was snubbed as a coach of the year candidate, which I disagree with, and Toronto’s Mikhail Grabovski has admitted he bit Max Pacioretty on the arm during the Feb. 9 Habs-Leafs tilt.

Good thing it was the arm and not Max’s hand, Grabovski. Pretty sure I saw Max reach down into his pants, adjust his jock strap, and scratch himself, just seconds before the bite.

And yesterday I gave B.C. Ferries a letter informing them I’m retiring on June 8.

Ditto to yesterday’s post Long Weekend Hockey Coins, where the key words were “exhausted, 1961-62, Shirriff, and 140%.” And maybe “couch.”

Today, replace 1961-62 with 1962-62, and definitely include the words exhausted and 140%.

Hockey coins back then were a big success. I personally bought so many bags of Shirriff potato chips to get them, I probably paid for one of their new fancy potato slicing machines.

Below, my nice 60-coin 1962-63 metal set from Shirriff.

Burp.

The previous two years to this, coins were plastic.

The whole idea of hockey coins, along with with car coins, baseball coins, airplane coins etc, that came out during these years, was just fantastic. We had so much fun with these, at school and flipping against walls, and trying to get them all. Beautiful.

You’re partying, opening up the cottage, slacking off, laying on the couch, picking your toenails, practicing yoga, drinking beer, while I’m giving my usual 140% at work, making sure travelers get on the ferry boat in fine fashion.

Naturally I’m exhausted, and because of this, I’ll just take some pictures of my 1961-62 hockey coins which I had collected when I was a kid and am lucky enough to still have now. I don’t have the energy for anything else. 140% is a lot.

It took a lot of Shirriff potato chips and Salada jello and pudding, but I managed to get the entire set, then the shields to complete it.

You relax and enjoy the holiday weekend. I’ll just go to work.

Rick Ley may have grown up to become a hardrock defenceman for the Toronto Maple Leafs, New England Whalers, and Hartford Whalers, but he started out as a goalie, as you can see in the bottom paragraph on the left side, when he earned his sixth shutout as the first place Raiders turned back the struggling Argos in Squirt action..

Rick Ley was successful as a minor hockey goalie because he would lay across the ice when we got close and we couldn’t raise the puck over him. That’s why he had six shutouts in nine games.

If you go to the top of the right column, you’ll see that a smallish yet shifty right winger scored a big one as the Bulldozers edged the Smoke Rings 2-1.

And who is Gerald Stones, who tallied 4 goals for the Beehives? No idea. But he got four goals, and that’s nothing to sneeze at. Maybe he’ll see this and say hello!

Below, Rick battling with Bobby Orr, and below that, Rick and Bruce Gamble try to stop Bobby Hull, along with Rick and Gordie Howe on a Whalers poster.

A good old Orillia boy.

I’ve found, through trial and error, that the best way to feel melancholy is a quart of tequila, some Four Aces sherry, and a gram of crystal meth mixed with a couple of black Kashmir hash brownies dipped in powdered quaaludes.

And it’s times like this that I sit and look out the window and wonder.

I wonder how the players’ wives are doing.

Are they comfortable?

Or are they feeling down because their husbands are always fishing or at the golf course?

I want them to know that I’m thinking of them, and if I can round up a big house somewhere, they’re all welcome to come over and we’ll light candles and listen to Miles Davis, and if they feel any discomfort anywhere, they can tell me and I’ll massage it.

Women love good listeners, and I can pretend to be one of the best. I’ll listen so intently, my eyes will glaze over. And if they want to model clothes they’ve brought just in case they decide to have a pajama party, I’ll watch and compliment and take close-up pictures, if that’s what they like.

If it’ll help them sleep better, I’ll go for a midnight swim with them. And yes, if they want to wrestle, I’ll do that too.

I want the wives to be comfortable.

It’s all about them.

I saw this on Coach’s Corner one night and loved it, so when my buddy Ron Clarke sent it today, I was happy to see it again and have it permanently here.

This is way better than seeing Don kiss Nazem Kadri.