At the young age of 45, hockey player Bob Probert, one if not the toughest son of a bitch of his generation, passed away. We won’t know what happened until the autopsy is complete but early reports point to a heart attack.
God trembles as he awaits Probert’s arrival in the the Kingdom of Heaven.
Probert will without doubt be remembered for his pugilistic artistry but he was a pretty darn good hockey player as well. He had to be if he was going to play in 935 games amassing 162 goals and 3300 penalty minutes over 16 years. He added a respectable 16 goals and 48 points in 81 games in the playoffs.
So the guy could play.
Unfortunately, as many hockey fans know, Probert fought demons off the ice battling with alcoholism and drugs.
Probert’s career coincided during my formative years as a sports fan. The 1980s in particular was a great era for all sports and hockey in particular. Probert was not only regarded as the premier fighter of his time but a respected as a person as well. He was an iconic figure with hockey’s hard core fan base. I never heard a story where Probert turned his back on a kid looking for an autograph.
Probert was among the last of what was to become a dying breed in hockey: The hockey fighter. When he fought you knew you were watching one of the all-time greats and we all understood, deep down, what he delivered was part of hockey lore. We can deny it all we want, but fans love the hockey fighter; for their reputations as being well liked to their honor code among each other. They were a cult within the hockey community.
Probert, truth be told, was a bloody legend around hockey circles.
Sports is loaded with tragedies and Probert is just the latest to enter its macabre hall.
