Detroit — Sergei Fedorov is a Hall of Famer, a member of the NHL’s 100 greatest players, and, for a five-year stretch, he was the best player in the world.
That his number 91 would one day be raised to the rafters seemed sure, even for a Red Wing organization that treats such retirements as its most exclusive memorializing. In Detroit, a player has to achieve that higher-level greatness and a deeper connection with fans.
Fedorov is a special player deserving all the accolades coming his way. He’s won all the hardware a player can possibly achieve: Three Stanley Cups, a Hart MVP, a Selke award, multiple All-Star game appearances and fastest skater.
That Fedorov has had to wait all these years has become constant sports-talk cannon fodder, but unlike many mysteries in the sports world—such as Lou Whitaker’s omission from Cooperstown—fans knew why: Fedorov left the Red Wings in free agency angering the old man, Mike Ilitch.
So what changed? Why now? That isn’t very mysterious either.
Fedorov’s number should have been retired immediately, but the Ilitch family was very publicly pissed-off at him for years. When the old man passed away in 2017, he left control of the empire to his son. Since then, the Red Wings and Tigers have had some difficult years, and Chris Ilitch has gained the reputation of being a cheap owner unwilling to spend on talent.
Whether that’s true or not is up for debate, but it feels true from a fan’s perspective. And the looming contract battle with Cy Young-winning pitcher Tarik Skubal isn’t helping matters, given that the Tigers don’t appear willing to pay him market value.
Ilitch needs a surefire PR win, and what better way to score that goal than by giving the fans what they’ve pining for? Recognition as an all-time Red Wing great is something only eight players in history have achieved.
It’s a list so small, Red Wing fans can recite them on command: Sawchuk, Kelly, Lidstrom, Lindsay, Abel, Delvecchio, Yzerman, and Howe.
Just saying those names causes one’s voice to break due to the hallowed greatness they achieved. But the stats and hardware don’t tell the complete story on Fedorov’s greatness and why he stands apart from the rest.
The son of a hockey fanatic and pseudo-historian, I was enraptured by my father’s tales of the Soviet-trained hockey players.
“They are different, faster, more skilled,” he extolled. “They play as five-man units and have a style all their own. They skate different.”
I’d never seen a Soviet player except on television during the Olympics, but seeing high level hockey on TV doesn’t allow one to see the real optics of the game. It wasn’t until Fedorov defected and came to Detroit that I got the chance to see what the hype was all about.
Only a few games into Fedorov’s rookie season, my old man scored tickets. “Get ready, you’re going to be blown away when you see this guy play,” said my dad with his eyes on fire. “You don’t realize.”
A fascination for North American hockey fans, the pre-game skate was jammed up with fans as if it was more important than the game itself. The Red Wings emerged from the tunnel and my eyes bugged out as Steve Yzerman hit the ice in full regalia.
My guy, Stevie Y. The captain. The coolest athlete in Detroit.
But my old man was right. I didn’t realize what was coming. The White Russian was emerging from the tunnel. Taller than the most of the other players at 6’2” and damn near 200 pounds, he hit the ice and immediately my jaw dropped.
“Ho lee shit, dad,” was all I could muster.
What hit me like a diamond between the eyes was the effortless power of his stride, as if he was barely skating but moving twice as fast as the rest of the team. The low center of gravity and the edges, my god, the edges—the guy was turning on a dime at full speed like a player in a video game.
The guy was literally a beauty.
You could literally see the opposing players on the Buffalo Sabres watching Fedorov warm up mouthing to each other: “Look at this fuckin’ guy.”
Then something wild occurred. The Red Wings were warming up starting goalie Tim Cheveldae in net. One by one, the players sent long-range slappers at Cheveldae which he easily turned aside.
Fedorov effortlessly fired a low heat-seeking-cannon shot at Cheveldae, striking and ripping off the paddle of his goalie stick, forcing him to the bench to retrieve a replacement. I’d never seen anything like that before, a goalie stick vaporized on impact by a puck.
That moment was so breathtaking, it’s remained locked in the “Do Not Erase” section of my memory for 30 years.
My old man turned to me with an expression I’m unable to fully articulate with eyes glowing from amazement and said, “That’s really something isn’t it?” .
It was the immediate recognition of greatness. Most people don’t get to experience it in front of their very own eyes. It was so incredible to behold, that it elicits a hand-shaking emotional response.
Detroiters had a front row seat to this greatness for 13 awe-inspiring years. He was a player that could literally do anything he wanted to do whenever he wanted to do it. He could play defense worthy of a Norris Trophy during a Cup run on the whim of a coach wanting to confuse opposing teams.
Greatness that only comes once in a generation demands to be raised to the rafters. The number 91 will never be worn by another Red Wing ever again. It’s about damn time.
Jay Murray is a writer for Michigan Enjoyer and has been a Metro Detroit-based professional investigator for 22 years. Follow him on X @Stainless31.
