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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