I was having a beer with Bill one day in the early '70s. In the back of my '69 GMC pickup. Had a cap on the back. Sort of a hunter type thing, although it wasn't insulated. But it gave you a bit of privacy when you were sitting on a side street in Guelph at two in the afternoon, drinking beer.
Had the old Chevy straight six. 250 cubes if I remember correctly. Not whiplash material. But enough to keep a mobile beer shack mobile.
So I was quizzing Bill about his decision to go into the referee business. He'd been having a reasonable junior career. Every junior hockey player in Canada thinks they're going to the NHL. Bill explains how he's probably not going to be a first round draft in the big show. Might have a few years as a third liner if he's lucky. On the other hand, a referee makes a decent dollar, and his career can last twenty years or more.
I thought he was nuts in the head. Turn your back on a chance to play in the bigs?
Like I said, that was the early '70s. It was another ten years before Bill refereed his first game in the NHL. He did his last one this year. Bill had it pegged right. The referee career has longer legs than the player career. Along the way he did more than a dozen Stanley Cup playoffs. Ref'd a couple of Olympics. Broke up a thousand brawls between the toughest NHL brawlers. Shared the ice with the brightest lights in hockey for the last quarter century.
Good call, Bill. But remember, you were wavering. It was me who said go for the referee gig.
You're welcome.
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