Rink Brat?

Sporting News, The, May 6, 1996 by Larry Wigge

The kid in the back of the hotel room is antsy. He's trying to get a better look at the guy at the podium. But the kid's an uninvited guest at this function during NHL All-Star week in Boston, so he is trying to stay in the background, not wanting to call attention to himself.

"Shhhhhh!" a cameraman says, looking back at the youngster.

Jonathan O'Sullivan's face turns white in embarrassment. But the noise is something he can't control. The hraces he wears around his legs squeaked and clanged when they bumped up against a chair. Jonathan tries to hide behind his father, George. The youngster, who is wearing the traditional red and black Blackhawks jacket, told his father he had to come and see Chris Chelios--it was urgent.

As the proceedings continue, Chelios is honored as Man of the Year by Ronald McDonald Children's Charities for his work with disabled youngsters. Jonathan had read about Chris' work with Cheli's Children in Chicago and persuaded his father to bring him to this ceremony in hopes of getting a chance to meet his hero.

Jonathan's blue Irish eyes were smiling throughout the ceremony, perhaps dreaming that he could one day be on the ice alongside Chelios.

"He's so cool the way he won't back down against anybody," Jonathan says in a quiet 8-year-old voice.

"Let's go, Jonathan," his father says after the presentation.

"Just one more minute, please," Jonathan begs.

After Chelios answers several questions about his work with disabled children in Chicago and the first half of this season, the room has cleared except for a few cameramen packing up their equipment-and Jonathan and his father, still standing in the back of the room.

Chelios notices the Blackhawks jacket and motions for Jonathan. "I hope that jacket doesn't cause you any trouble with your little friends around here in Boston," he says, his dark, chiseled, Greek face breaking into a smile.

"No sir," Jonathan says.

Chelios sees the press release in Jonathan's hands and asks if he wants his autograph.

"Do you mean it?" Jonathan says.

"Sure," Chelios says. "I need at least one fan on my side next time I come in here to face the big, bad Bruins."

Most people don't look at Chelios the same as Jonathan O'Sullivan. Chelios is Public Enemy No. 1 in most NHL arenas, in fact, because of his aggressive play on defense for the Blackhawks. But there are two sides to Chris Chelios--the Darth Vader that most players around the league see and the sensitive, caring side he shows away from the madding crowds in NHL arenas.

Chelios has a lot of James Dean in him. He likes to be a rebel, even if he's not always sure what the cause is. One vivid example happened on the eve of the player lockout in September 1994 when a reporter came up to Chelios and asked him how the strife was affecting him.

Thinking about being deprived of playing the game he loves so much, he lost it. "If I was (commissioner) Gary Bettman, I'd be worried about my family and my well-being," he said, his eyes blazing. "Some crazed fans, or even a player--who knows?--might take matters into their own hands and figure they get Bettman out of the way and things might get settled."

The videotape was shown on network telecasts. After the words came out of his mouth, Chelios knew he was in hot water. He tried in vain all night to reach Bettman to apologize, but just like a high stick to an opponent's face, the damage had been done and it was time for him to pay the price.

You can see that Chelios is uncomfortable talking about the incident now, but it is something he knows will follow him throughout his career.

"It was never meant to be a threat," Chelios says. "Just a comment--a very bad comment.

"At the time, I felt my livelihood was being threatened. After 11 years in the league, you would have thought I would know better, but ..."

This is a part of the ugly side: the guy with the smirk and a pitchfork disguised as a hockey stick in his hands. This is part of the temper that causes Chelios to lose control sometimes--that caused a near-riot in Philadelphia in the 1989 playoffs after Chelios slammed Brian Propp face-first into the boards, that caused him to start a fight in the third period of Game 4 of the Stanley Cup finals in 1992 after the series had been lost.

"I can't explain myself sometimes," he says, looking ashamed. "It's like I'm acting out of mind and out of body--and that bothers me because I want to be a role model for kids. I certainly don't want my three kids to come up to me or my wife, Tracee, and ask why daddy's such a mean guy."

There has been a dramatic change in Chelios the past couple of seasons. He does not go out looking for trouble, but he will still do anything it takes to win a game--whether it be jumping into a play to score a key goal or rub someone's face against the glass to make him think twice about being aggressive around the Blackhawks' net.

"Chris Chelios is sort of like the antiChrist of the NHL," Bruins right wing Rick Tocchet says. "He makes the skill players a little nervous because, in front of the net and in the corners, he doesn't mind giving a guy a little jab--or a big one, either.