tough guys. He had talents, too.”
Fighting had its own set of worries. Admitting that he struggled with anxiety was harder for a tough guy like Zemlak – it’s a bit like admitting he couldn’t reach his bootstraps. It’s assumed that productive fighters can just shake it off.
“As an enforcer you always worry about whose coming into town,” says Zemlak. “You know, you sit and look at the sheets a night before a game. When you went to bed, you had anxiety, and there was some stress throughout the pregame, because you always thought about who you were going to fight. It could be frightening to answer the bell. But, really, it was just a job for me, and when I retired, I let it go.”
Summoning the aggression and mentality to chuck knuckles with the NHL’s toughest hombres was a constant challenge for Zemlak, a matter of surviving the dark nights of the soul. And the roll call of enforcers who have succumbed prematurely to lethal circumstances is a reminder of the role’s insidiousness.
“Drugs, alcohol, painkillers,” says Zemlak. “There are a lot of great individuals with families who’ve been lost. To hear about the depression and other problems is saddening. But fighting is something that weighs on you, like a piano on your back – an overbearing weight. At times, especially for a guy my size, you hope you survive and not get hurt. Emotionally, it’s a nervous thing, you lose weight. When I fought in Fredericton, in the juniors, I remember being swollen and bleeding, but I took pride in my job.”
Zemlak works as a real estate agent in the Twin Cities area, he says he eats healthily, doesn’t drink or smoke, and is a bit of a fitness nut. He is concerned, however, that all of the fighting has taken some toll.
“Well, sometimes I pass my exit going home on the highway,” says Zemlak. “In the minors, I had thirty to forty fights a year, for 10 years, and I took a lot of blows to the head. That’s a lot of punches bouncing off the brain and skull. In some ways, it doesn’t surprise me; consider the shots to the head. But then again, I’m 50 years-old, so my memory doesn’t work as well. I’m not saying I have memory loss.”
Pugilism in the NHL is rooted in mutual respect, and Zemlak has the utmost respect for players such as Bob Probert (1965-2010).
“Bob left a tradition as an unbelievable individual,” says Zemlak. “So many players had great success because he set the tone and gave them room on the ice. He was the number one fighter in his era. How he died was sad because he had a wonderful wife and kids, and Probert was on the upswing. He was making a difference, feeling positive. I was shocked and I really felt for his family. Too soon.”
Rules legislating fisticuffs dramatically changed in the NHL since Zemlak’s time, and he concedes that he wouldn’t even be able to crack a lineup today.
“I’d be a stick boy,” laughs Zemlak. “It’s pretty frightening the size of those players right now. In the last few years, the people are bigger, stronger, and faster. When I started, the average hockey player was 5’7, 175 pounds, and now they aren’t drafting people under six feet, two hundred pounds.
Zemlak ended his NHL career with the Calgary Flames in 1991, and he exited hockey after a stint in 1993-94 with the Milwaukee Admirals of the International Hockey League.
“I blew out the ligaments in my knee at age 29,” says Zemlak. “And in hockey, you are only as good as your last shift. After two years in the minors, at age 31, that was enough for me.”
Zemlak says he doesn’t miss the combat, the application of frozen ice bags to his raw knuckles, or the general angst of wondering about who his next opponent would be.
Picture: Richard Zemiak now
“What’s there to miss? I shower alone, and I don’t have to get punched in the face. After I retired, the piano was off of my back. That was a lot of punishment.”◉
Brian D’Ambrosio lives in Missoula, Montana. His book about the fights of Bob Probert and the evolution of the NHL tough guy is due out in 2014. He can be reached at [email protected]