Each year the Hockey Hall of Fame is scrutinized for its inductees and each year the individual speeches put all arguments to rest.
This is the time of the year when the Hockey Hall of Fame garners a great deal of attention.
However, the attention is not always positive.
The Hall's selection committee is far too small and so cloaked in secrecy that it leaves itself open to charges of cronyism and collusion. Its stance regarding women -- in terms of both inclusion and even having one or two on the selection committee -- remains indefensible and the recently stated proposal to address that issue was so vaguely worded it would be laughable if not for the fact it was so utterly incomprehensible. The Hall has so many questionable inductees that it sometimes is at risk for being viewed as a Hall for good ol' Canadian boys, owners and pals of owners than a place of honour for the few who have made a legendary impact on the game.
A string of decisions to de-emphasize the role of media in the game has left some first-generation inductees at odds with the Hall and their place in it. The conflict has remained largely behind closed doors but the dispute has caused some to believe the Hall has gone back on its word to create a division that may never heal.
But the Hall has also done a great many good things for a good number of great people. If you ever get the chance to attend an induction ceremony you will witness and truly understand how -- in the course of a single evening -- the Hall can change lives.
I've seen it happen year-after-year and on Monday night within the cathedral-like atrium of BCE Place I saw it happen again.
I saw how Glen Anderson, who might have harbored a hint of bitterness at being on the outside looking in for so many years, let it all slip away in an emotion-packed speech regarding his life in the game and the special bonds of brotherhood that are forged with teammates (and even a snarly general manager or two).
I heard it in the thoughtful and reasoned words of Igor Larionov, who in the same studied way in which he played the game provided insight into the once faraway world of old-school Soviet hockey. Larionov was as composed as Anderson was emotional in articulating the dreams of a young boy who thought the hockey world started and stopped with a chance to put on a sweater and play for the national team.
But at age 29, considered late in hockey terms, Larionov was introduced to another hockey universe. But once he learned to play in it he excelled at every aspect of it.
Those of us who grew up watching the North American game perceived the Soviet system as some form of living hell designed to create robotic perfection, but Larionov gave us insight into a very different world, a world where the difficulties were very real. The pride and honor that came with being a part of a system that rewarded hard work with undeniable world-class success was undeniably real.
This year's ceremony also highlighted Ray Scapinello, a linesman who never played the game (at the NHL level) but never once missed an assignment in 33 years as an elite performer in a part of the game that fans usually acknowledge with nothing more than a robust chorus of boos.
Scapinello never scored a goal, never even decided if one crossed the goal line, but he had a career that would have made headlines if the brotherhood of officials had their own newspaper. And he gave a speech to match. Noting that he was "somewhat vertically challenged" the often smallest man on the ice came up large in the Hall with a speech that would surely inspire any person who ever was told he was too small or too anything to succeed at what he most wanted to do.
Perhaps smitten by the moment that comes with being in the spotlight, Scapinello's words were every bit as heart-warming and moving (and perhaps even a bit more coherent) as Mark Messier's tearful acceptance speech of a year ago.
A self-described working-man's kind of guy, Scapinello spent the bulk of his post-induction evening not in the off-limits area of the Grand Hall, but down in the display areas soaking in the adulation of hundreds of people, many of whom waited in line to shake his hand and share a memory of a game he had worked, a call he had made or a fight he broke up. He was just genuinely happy to be there and acted somewhat in awe of the fact that he had something of a following in the game, in part, because he came to work every night and seemed to enjoy it so.
I was at the last game he ever worked in the NHL and I can't help but believe it was every bit as good as the first one. Rarely have I ever met an official who had such a joy for his work and such an infectious enthusiasm for the game. On Monday night the Hall took notice of that life-long enthusiasm.
The fourth speech of the evening fell to Jeff Chynoweth, son of the late Ed Chynoweth, who stepped in for his father who passed away before being informed that he would be honored by the Hall in the Builders Category.
There has been some criticism that the Hall moved too soon to induct one of its own. But if you were in the building that night and listened to the son list the accomplishments of the father and heard the words that not only shaped the young man who delivered them, but thousands upon thousands of young men who participated in the Western Hockey League and junior hockey in Canada, that criticism would ring hollow in the Hall.
The younger Chynoweth spoke of a man who gave everything he had to make the lives of others just a bit better both in the game they played and the life they lived. His accomplishments are too numerous to list in this limited space, but to hear his son bring them to life, to articulate his father's love for hockey and for people and for the need to try and always do the right thing for the betterment of the game, well, you couldn't help but understand why the Hall acted as quickly as it did.
Ed Chynoweth gave all he had to hockey, maybe even more than many of the more famous names that now surround his own.
The Hall is by no means perfect in its words, its actions or even its treatment of the very people it was set up to recognize, but you can never tell that to Glenn Anderson, Igor Larionov, Ray Scapinello or the friends and family of the late Ed Chynoweth.
Each told a very different story, and told it very well.
The Hall deserves to be commended for that.