Penguins Pay a Steep Price for Victory

September 29, 1973. Brantford (Ontario) Civic Centre. The Pittsburgh Penguins squared off against their arch-nemesis—the truculent St. Louis Blues—in an NHL exhibition game.

Early in the second period all hell broke loose. The Pens’ pint-sized policeman Bryan Watson—an early version of Bobby Farnham—was hunched forward into the wheelhouse of big Blues defender Steve Durbano. With unmitigated savagery, “Demolition Durby” teed off on Watson with both hands.

Soundly beaten, Watson was escorted to the penalty box moments later. It was hardly a safe haven. A cadre of Blues, including Barclay Plager and Gary Sabourin, gathered a few feet away to menace the chippy Pens defender. Durbano, thinning hair pinned in place by a headband, dark eyes flashing, threatened to vault a Plexiglas partition, leading either to the stands…or the opposing penalty box.

Surrounded by swashbuckling Blues and in obvious distress, poor “Bugsy” resembled General Custer at Little Big Horn.

Across the way, Bryan Hextall could see Watson was in trouble. He motioned to the Penguins’ bench for help. No one budged. Finally, Hextall rushed to his teammate’s aid. He was intercepted mid-flight and pummeled by a Blue.

I watched video highlights of the game on the news the following evening in muted horror. It was like witnessing a crime unfold before your very eyes and being powerless to stop it.

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Why did I open with a retelling of this dark event from the Pens’ distant past?

It reminded me very much of the NHL’s latest installment of Beauty and the Beast. The one that played out last night in the gauntlet that doubles as the Nationwide Arena, home of those modern-day Filthy McNasties, the Columbus Blue Jackets.

Yes, our Penguins (Beauty) wrenched two points from the grasp of the beastly Blue Jackets with a pulsating 3-2 victory played out before a raucous enemy crowd. Outgunned physically, thanks to coach Mike Sullivan’s nervy decision to sit heavyweight Tom Sestito, they showed a ton of guts in hostile territory.

At Sullivan’s behest, our boys stuck to hockey. For the most part, they artfully avoided the extracurriculars and scrums so obviously favored by their hosts. When push came to shove, as when Rene Bourque flattened Bryan Rust with a jarring check along the boards in the opening period, Ian Cole stepped up to defend his teammate.

Still, the hits kept coming. Cody Goloubef decked Rust as he sped into the Blue Jackets’ zone on a partial breakaway. David Savard drove Pens defenseman Brian Dumoulin head-first into the boards. Tom Kuhnhackl got mashed by a Jacket, too.

Make no mistake. In today’s NHL they don’t come any heavier—or meaner—than Columbus. Jared Boll, David Clarkson, Brandon Dubinsky, Scott Hartnell, Boone Jenner, and Dalton Prout would’ve done the old Blues proud.

Prout, in particular, was a one-man wrecking crew. Although fairly innocuous given the violent tenor of the contest, his second-period bump on Evgeni Malkin sent No. 71 to the dressing room with a gimpy left arm.

A mere prelude to his misdeeds in the final period.

Minutes after laying waste to Scott Wilson behind the Columbus net—knocking the woozy black-and-gold winger out of action—Prout spied a spent and exhausted Rust crumpled on the ice near goalie Sergei Bobrovsky. While Rust lay helpless, the Blue Jackets’ defender grabbed him roughly by the jersey and hauled him away from the goal cage like so much trash. The Penguins gave Prout an extra-wide berth as he skated to the bench.

Like Moses parting the Red Sea.

Perhaps the Pens were wise in not challenging the hulking 220-pounder. No one could’ve handled him, anyway.

Which brings me to the point of this admittedly long-winded post. Why pay countless millions for a core of elite talent and do nothing to protect it? It’s like purchasing an ultra-expensive car—say a Jaguar—and parking it outside all winter long, leaving it exposed to the elements.

It doesn’t make sense.

Mind you, I don’t necessarily advocate carrying an enforcer like Sestito. As big and ornery as the former penalty king is, there’s only so much one guy can do. I understand Sullivan not wanting to dress a player of limited ability who might play four or five minutes, tops. He wants to roll four lines. I get it.

Still, Penguins management acts as though skill and toughness are mutually exclusive qualities. As if a player can possess one or the other, but not both.

Bull. The aforementioned Hartnell and Jenner are 20-goal scorers. Nick Foligno had 31 last season. Skaters who blend talent with a physical bent do exist.

We sure could use a few. Personally, I’d love to see what the Pens would accomplish with even two or three guys who thrive when the goin’ gets tough. It would be a nice compliment to all that speed and skill. Sadly, that’ll never happen. Not as long as GM Jim Rutherford continues to make like an ostrich with his head stuck firmly in the sand.

We can whine all we want about the refs not calling penalties. But, like it or not, this is the NHL. Mario’s “garage league.” Not the International Ice Hockey Federation.

Bottom line? One day someone’s going to get hurt. The Pens will scream bloody murder and implore the league to take action. By then it will be too late.

Did I mention Malkin was injured last night? He’ll be out six-to-eight weeks. Long enough to torpedo our hopes for an extended playoff run.

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What became of our Penguins back in 1973? They won the game, 5-3, but lost the war. Four months later, with his talented but timid team languishing near the West Division cellar, GM Jack Button decided to fight fire with fire. He acquired Durbano and Bob “Battleship” Kelly from St. Louis.