Remembering Johnny Gaudreau

And a career that was, and should still be.

It’s been hard to write about hockey the last several days. Nevermind think about it.

It’s always been said that if one is to write, one must read. And so I’ve been reading. Since Johnny and Matthew Gaudreau were killed, there’s been no shortage of support and kindness from the hockey community. I read Sean Shapiro’s thoughtful reaction. He’s been such an integral part of Dallas Stars media that it’s easy to forget how embedded he is in hockey on the whole. I read Meredith Gaudreau’s Instagram message; an impossibly positive tone owing as much to her own gracious constitution as Johnny Gaudreau himself.

Aaron Portzline, always doing phenomenal work on the Blue Jackets beat at The Athletic, delivered a touching but informative tribute. Until his article, I had forgotten the dark cloud that has hung over the Columbus organization, and what it’s meant not just for the Gaudreau families, but the families of Matiss Kivlenieks, Trevor Ettinger, and Brittanie Cecil. Eric Schumacher, who runs his own Substack covering Columbus, had some beautiful words of his own, using the tragedy to pay his respects to a much closer tragedy. With an emphasis on who Johnny and Matthew were to hockey, John Matisz at The Score wonderfully put into perspective their legacy not just to the NHL, but to Boston College as well.

Jack Fraser (JFresh) asked for personal stories on Twitter about the former left winger. Until then I didn’t know about Gaudreau trying to put on extra weight his draft year by inhaling buckets of Nutella. I didn’t know about his completely wholesome friendship with Sean Monahan that involved them buying the same breed of dog. But for me the highlight was the story about the Columbus fan who made a somewhat shoddy blanket (by their own admission) for Gaudreau’s newborn baby daughter, thinking little of it except as a kind gesture, only to later see a picture of Gaudreau on social media, actually using it on a downtown stroll with the family.

I wanted to write something earlier, but the circumstances surrounding how he was killed kept me at arms length.

For me it wasn’t just sadness, but anger and frustration. The unprofessional manner in how the rumors unraveled. The piss poor wording of various headlines that made it seem like an accident. The reaction of the man responsible as his sentencing was heard. (I don’t have any desire to mention to his name or link to the video, but it’s out there.) As an on and off-again cyclist, I often think about how many cyclists are killed each year because cars and adboards have more rights than a city’s own pedestrians. There are a lot of things I wanted to say on Friday, but self-censorship is a lost art, and I figured it might wise to practice it before I alienated readers, or worse, made it about me and my own grievances.

For my part, I can only talk about Gaudreau from a purely hockey perspective. But I don’t consider it insensitive or emotionally empty to give some focus to Gaudreau as a hockey player. Gaudreau wasn’t just any hockey player. He was a star against the odds. Too small and too skinny to succeed, he was more or less a draft flyer taken in the fourth round in 2011 (104th overall, just one spot below the Dallas Stars’ fourth round selection); one of the early warnings — before Cole Caufield, Logan Stankoven, and Alex DeBrincat — against underestimating the small kings of the sport. Defying convention as a great hockey player (and he really was) by playing with more wits than his opponents, his style on ice was oddly relatable. Like Muggsy Bogues in the NBA, or Wayne Chrebet in the NFL, who that aspires to anything significant doesn’t obsess over beating the odds? Gaudreau beat the odds, not just as an elite hockey player, but as a good human.

That was the thing I kept thinking about as more tributes rolled in.

Yes, the loss of Johnny and Matthew Gaudreau is and will always be a massive tragedy. But what hockey conversation has ever been so alive? When has the outside of the Saddledome in Calgary, where Gaudreau once played, or Nationwide Arena ever looked so vibrant and full of life? How many deaths get to be this social?

It’s a little morbid to think about — what it means to ‘die well’ — but I imagine you don’t achieve it unless you live well, and Gaudreau lived well. The conversation the entire hockey community is having and continues to have is a testament to this; one of many things Johnny Gaudreau created that will live forever.