Nothing much changed in Derek Boogaard's life from the time he was 18 years old playing for the Prince George Cougars to when he was 28 years old and dead of an accidental overdose of booze and painkillers.
He made it to the NHL and became rich but that's about it. At 18 and at 28, he was still just a big kid who loved a good time with good friends. That theme runs through New York Times reporter John Branch's biography Boy On Ice: The Life and Death of Derek Boogaard.
Well-researched, touching and tragic, Branch's book makes clear that Boogaard was as emotionally fragile as he was brutally tough in a fight. Prince George was his first home away from Saskatchewan in the Western Hockey League and, except for his time at the home of billets Mike and Caren Tobin, he was miserable here. Sure, Cougars fans adored him and he loved to hear their cheers because of his one timely playoff goal and the numerous times he battered visiting players but he was lonely, homesick and he despised his team's coaches.
The trend of either loving or hating coaches and hockey personnel continued to his dying day. After he left Prince George for the Medicine Hat Tigers, he played well under the nurturing guidance of Willie Desjardins, now the head coach of the Vancouver Canucks, and the encouragement of Todd McLellan, then coach of the Houston Aeros and now the head coach of the San Jose Sharks. Those two men got Boogaard to the NHL, where he continued to blossom under Doug Risebrough, the Minnesota Wild GM who drafted him, and Jacques Lemaire, the coach who took him under his wing.
He constantly sought the approval and respect of others and, if he wasn't getting it from coaches and teammates, he sought it elsewhere. It wasn't always clear to him who were his true friends and who were close to him so long as he was covering the food and booze tab, particularly once he made it to the NHL. He was far less fearful of Georges Laraque than he was of being alone for any extended amount of time.
Branch's book makes powerful cases for changes to the NHL's substance-abuse and prescription drug protocols, as well as makes a mockery of the league's continued denial about the long-term effects of head injuries in general and fighting in particular.
Yet Boy on Ice is at its best when it focuses on the boy who happened to inhabit the body of a man. At six-foot-seven and more than 260 pounds, Boogaard fooled everyone, and ultimately even himself, that he was the protector and needed no protecting himself.
For Prince George readers and hockey fans, Boy on Ice is a blunt reminder that the rosters of the Cougars and Spruce Kings are populated by boys disguised as men. While they want the freedoms, pleasures and respect that adults enjoy, they are also vulnerable, uneducated, unsophisticated and easily influenced teenagers. The attention they receive is based not on their contribution to the betterment of the community but on their ability to play a game they have played since early childhood. At the same time, their game is more serious, the expectations to perform are higher and important opportunities, such as scholarships and pro contracts, beckon, along with the risk of serious injury.
Rule changes and cultural shifts within the sport, from the pro ranks to minor hockey, from parents to players, are needed to avoid more tragedies like Boogaard. Prince George can play a major role in that change. By focusing on fostering the development of mature, responsible young men who also happen to be talented athletes, rather than focusing on the player and hoping personal growth takes care of itself, Prince George's junior teams could be leaders within their leagues and in the broader hockey community.
Prince George fans can also play a role by recognizing those are boys on the ice, no matter their size or ability, and that boys engaging in fist fights on the ice should be met with the same degree of social condemnation as if they were fighting outside of the school, the mall or at a party. Hockey teams and leagues would quickly change their policies if fans booed fighting, instead of rising to their feet in excitement at the violence to come.
Insisting there is nothing wrong with hockey and its culture after reading Boogaard's story is to declare both his life and death to be nothing more than an unfortunate loss in the service of sports and entertainment.
