John Kordic's Major Penalty
Story by: Patrick O'Sullivan
Jon Kordic's adult life was defined by uncontrollable
rage. His six years in the NHL is a testament
to his success as an enforcer, and his four teams
an indication of his inability to keep his fury
on the ice. His career was composed almost entirely
of fights, suspensions, arrests, and squandered
second, third and fourth chances.
The public saw two sides of John Kordic during
his early NHL years. The angry, determined, undersized
enforcer who infamously challenged and bested
the biggest and strongest the NHL could offer,
and the consummate teammate who gently joked with
the children in the dressing room, became a favorite
of the downtown revelers, and who mockingly kissed
his knuckles after yet another brutal but victorious
fight.
Surprisingly, with the Portland Junior Hawks
of the minor leagues, Kordic was considered a
skilled player, adept at passing, stick handling
and scoring. He led the team's defensemen in points
but suddenly developed a penchant for fighting
that was encouraged by the coaching staff and
fostered by pressure to use steroids. The owner
of the team, Brian Shaw, had been accused of sexually
abusing the players and Kordic suggested, years
after the fact, that he'd been one of the victims.
A friend of Kordic's claimed that Shaw told John
that he was impressed with what he'd seen on the
ice but ëeven more impressed with what he'd
seen in the shower.'
Kordic was drafted and called up on the basis
of his newfound violent tenacity and it was what
was expected of him when, in 1986, he played his
first game with the Montreal Canadians. Kordic
viciously and brutally fought and enforced and,
due to his brutal success at both, earned a two-year
contract with the big club in the big city.
Ivan Kordic, John's father, had supported his
son's desire to become a hockey player but was
vocally critical of his impressionable son's violent
style of play. It became commonplace for the tough
guy to be seen in his dressing room stall crying
after having spoken to his father about his game.
While he coped with bigger fighters with the now
regular injections of steroids, he found the lavish
lifestyle, the Crescent street strip-joints, and
the heaps of cocaine muted the resonating disapproval
of his father. When he started to miss practices
and experiencing severe drug-induced paranoia,
the Canadians deemed Kordic's increasing unreliability
detrimental to the team and, despite his popularity,
in 1988 traded him to the Maple Leafs in exchange
for Russ Courtnall.
Courtnall himself had been a popular finesse
player and the Leaf faithful weren't ready to
accept a bruiser in his stead. Kordic tried as
he could to become a favorite, increasing his
fighting and peppering his play with fan-friendly
mindless violence. Fellow NHLer Dave Shand summed
up Kordic's time in Toronto as well as the opinion
of the league in saying ëhe may have been
the toughest guy in hockey, but totally wacko.
He'd spear you in the face for nothing.'
When his father died in 1991, Kordic's guilt
and dependence compounded into increased erratic
behavior both on the ice and off, and, after being
filmed cheering for the opponent at a Leaf game,
he was again written off and traded to Washington.
Despite an effort to stay away from drugs, Kordic
was twice suspended for alcohol related offences
and was released from the Capitals having played
in only seven games in which he earned 101 penalty
minutes
The following season, the Quebec Nordiques decided
that they would take a chance on what was still
a young and promising player, but protected themselves
with a contract that paid per game rather than
per year, and a clause that stipulate that Kordic
could be subjected to random drug tests on twenty
minutes notice. Despite initial months of promise
both in his game and in his life, in January of
1992, Kordic failed a drug test and was kicked
off what would be his last NHL team.
Seven months later, while playing with the Edmonton
Oilers Farm team in Quebec, Kordic checked himself
into the suburban Maxim Motel. The police were
called when furniture was smashed against the
wall and screams were heard from within the room.
It took eight officers to hold the high and violent
Kordic down and two pairs of handcuffs to keep
his arms still. He was put into an ambulance and,
at 27 years old, died of cardiac arrest on the
way to the hospital.
John Kordic, who squeezed an enforcer's career
worth of fights into six incomplete years, who
was routinely arrested for assault, who, despite
a comparatively diminutive stature was the most
feared man in a brutally violent sport, didn't
want to be remembered as a thug. Ironically, he'll
always be known as the victim.
The half-Indian prairie boy was taken advantage
of wherever he went, constantly seeking approval
but finding only chemical comfort. The NHL took
a beating because of John Kordic, but it wasn't
by his hands. Shamefully, every team that employed
him was aware of his drug dependence, and every
team was willing to turn a blind eye so long as
the dependence was of use to them. And when Kordic
became more of a liability than a benefit, they
simply traded the problem away, forsaking the
individual for whatever he was sinking to.
And as much as hockey looks on Kordic's life
as a source of embarrassment and humiliation,
the spectators and the fans have equal reason
to feel guilt over his demise. The chants of ëKordic,
Kordic, Kordic' weren't support or praise, they
were a call to arms, a demand for a fight, a promise
for acceptance that was never delivered. John
Kordic died during the prime years of his career
and well before the best years of his life. And
as Kordic sacrificed his head and his body and
as the frenzied crowd screamed him on, it was
the little man with the most furious of eyes,
the most determined of attacks, and the most depleted
and desperate of souls who gave the beating of
the moment, but took the beating forever after.
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