Traverse City's head-in-the-sand ostrich strategy—having unmasked referees enforce mask compliance of players—split its seams last week, the inevitable outcome in dealing with the relentless virus. It was the classic combination of factors that has felled empires large and small: external pressure and internal decay.
Externally, both New Hampshire and Massachusetts tabled all hockey for a month, sending shock waves throughout our National Governing Body (NGB), putting Michigan's affiliate (MAHA) on high alert.
Internally, the fissures began innocently. A pee-wee sporting a long blonde ponytail made a polite request midway through a Sunday afternoon contest: "Would you please put on your mask?" Neither me nor my officiating partner complied. We continued the untenable position of our district—half-heartedly policing players to mask up while not wearing our own. MAHA assignor Mutt has been caught between the proverbial rock and hard place: to enforce the mask mandates with a tribe of officials who are opposed to masking up for a variety of reasons (physical and philosophical). Mutt claims that a lawyer in his hockey circle has looked at the paperwork coming from the state and has found a reasonable loophole exempting refs from masking up, so the charade played on for several weeks: "Do what I say, not what I do."
The walls started closing in our district Tuesday. I participated in a 50-person virtual seminar to secure my annual certification. It originated from Grand Rapids, the second most populated hockey district in the state. The officials in Grand Rapids are in close touch with the state's referee in chief, and there was not z whiff of ambiguity in the role of the officials when it comes to Covid compliance: We must be fully masked. And we must be the unswerving in the implementation of harsh penalties. One pre-game meeting to serve as a warning, and then Game Misconducts handed out at every faceoff to all maskless faces.
The news from downstate had not reached out tribe in T.C. My peers were still adamant that they would not be masking, nor would they use the electronic whistles. I came into the officials locker room and saw the red E-Whistles dangling from a hook, largely unused. My partner Terry was loudly spewing how it wasn't healthy to be breathing one's own carbon dioxide, and that hospitals were making false Covid claims to reap illegal benefits. He has not completed a single item on the certification punch list, waiting to see how the mask mandate would all work out.
Having heard the rumblings from downstate, I was determined to soldier through a game with my new mask and the E-Whistle. I enjoyed the fact that both the mask and the whistle were bright red with black trim, a color-coordinated statement of compliance. I barely survived the night on ice.
After just two minutes of warmups I was legally blind due to the fogging and condensation inside my visor. All my exhales were traveling north, up past my cheek bones and into the inside of my visor. I dashed off the ice, seconds before puck drop, to grab a cloth wipe to help salvage a semblance of vision. It barely helped.
In the lengthy of the U-19 women's game, I found myself swiping my visor during play, tilting my helmet back at absurd angles, and guessing at several of my calls. The E-Whistle had no gusto, and if not for the Terry's typical solid performance, it could have been a debacle. He seemed amused in the post-game locker room, firmer than ever in his position of defiance.
The following day, the winds of authority from downstate had arrived in T.C. Mutt fired off a blast email mirroring the seminar I had been subject to earlier in the week. Everyone masks, no tolerance, no exceptions. Doctor's notes to be ignored, game misconducts to be meted out, no second chances. Boom, boom, boom. That arrived in our inboxes Saturday evening, my next game was noon Sunday. I located my old gaiter, lost after the last laundry. Right after my Sunday coffee I put on the gaiter, strapped on my helmet, and hopped on the stationary bike. It took barely a minute to ramp up my cardio levels, including some heavy breathing. The gaiter did not force as much air into my shield; I figured I would survive.
My teenage partner, having not been through the sequence of events leading up to the Sunday game, had no idea that he was part of a watershed moment. I informed him that the pre-game meetings were of utmost importance, they would be the official warnings prior to potential Game Misconducts for mask violations. And five minutes into the AA squirt contest, 10-year old winger Magnus showed up at the faceoff circle sans mask. He became a martyr to the cause of saving hockey in Michigan.
The coach, an official in his own right when he's not wearing his coaching hat, grilled me pretty thoroughly during the intermission, pleading the case for his play getting a second chance, that kids unmask to get water on the bench. I told him under no circumstances would he be allowed to return to play. The coach was understandably pissed, but there were no repeat offenders. A Game Misconduct is a helluva deterrent. Sadly, Magnus will miss his next game as well, standard procedure for the G.M. But in the grand scheme of things, his penalty, regardless of whether or not justice was served, accomplished a lot. The gauntlet has been thrown. We will see how players, and official, respond to the imminent challenges of sports in a pandemic.
