“Classless move on my part,” said Arron Asham.
What Asham was referring to was his actions during a game last week between his Pittsburgh Penquins and the Washington Capitals.
After Capitals forward Jay Beagle got his hands up in the face of Kris Letang, Asham challenged Beagle to settle the score. The fight starts harmless enough, with Beagle throwing a couple of rights that miss Asham. The more experienced Asham isn’t looking to trade, he takes a moment to secure a good hold of Beagle’s jersey before throwing two overhand rights.
The first measures Beagle.
The second puts him to sleep.
Everything up to this point is consistent with ‘The Hockey Code.’ But what happens next is, well, “Classless.”
Asham makes an abbreviated wash signal like an umpire calling someone safe in baseball and then puts his hands together under his cheek to simulate a pillow.
In his defense, Asham seems to recognize his gestures were offside minutes after the knock out punch, tapping on the glass as a show of respect and support when Beagle is helped off the ice by the training staff.
The whole event, which would cost Beagle a tooth and some blood, got me thinking.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen Asham turn the lights out on someone. During the 2005 locked out NHL season I was playing hockey in a senior league in Manitoba. The fact NHL players had no place to play meant the league was strong that year.
In most cases, NHL players found other leagues to play in, the result was it put a lot of guys, who were playing professional hockey, out of work. Many returned home to play in senior leagues. But a couple of NHL players—Asham and Marty Murray—returned home to play in the same senior league I was playing in.
Asham to the Oakville Seals and Murray to the Pierson Bruins.
For the most part Asham was disinterested.
And make no mistake, as a team we did nothing to wake him up. Don’t hit him, don’t chirp him, don’t look at him—partially out of respect, but mainly because we didn’t want to give him any motivation.
I did however, have the opportunity to see a young player take a different approach to Asham. This particular player followed Asham around for a couple of shifts giving him subtle jabs with his stick and mouth. Asham ignored him for a time, until it became too much and the next thing you know, “the flippers were off,” to quote Darren Dutyschen.
Much like the Beagle fight, this particular scrap only lasted two punches.
The first punch hit the young kid’s visor, sending it 10 feet straight up in the air.
The second connected with his chin, folding the player up like a lawn chair. A good old fashion yard sale—equipment all over the ice but the guy selling it decided to lay down and take a nap.
Asham certainly didn’t make any obscene gestures that night. He merely skated off the ice.
And I can partially understand the gestures he made toward Beagle and the Capitals. The adrenaline was pumping and Asham was looking to give his team and arena a lift. It was probably hard to contain himself after such a dominant fight—that is until he had time to reflect in the box.
Asham didn’t do the right thing by showboating.
But he did man up enough to admit that he was wrong and for that I give him credit. The incident will no doubt serve as a reminder for any other fighter to keep their composure and give their opponents the respect they deserve. That is until the Asham gestures are long forgotten and some other player makes an idiot gesture.
In a game that is played at such a high tempo with a ton of passion, mistakes will be made. It’s how you deal with those mistakes that reveal what type of person you really are. Asham made a mistake but he didn’t make a second one—he took responsibility, which is all you can ask.
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