The IHL’s posthumous 75th anniversary: The Turner Cup tussle

At the peak of the IHL’s ambitious pursuit of a big-league persona, and its overall run, the Turner Cup catalyzed unforgettable moments in NHL markets.

The Turner Cup sits in a city its league dreamed of reaching, but never did.

Toronto.

Stanley’s slimmer, taller, more layered lookalike could have had its 75th presentation in 2020. (Or, more likely at this point, in 2021, although its league would have completed the majority of its 75th season in 2019-20.) It might have gone to an International Hockey League champion in Cleveland, Milwaukee, Las Vegas, or San Diego.

As it is, it was bestowed 59 nonconsecutive times, last to the Fort Wayne Komets for what was, depending on how you look at it, a record seventh occasion.

Like Gordie Howe and Mario Lemieux, it entered the Hockey Hall of Fame without the customary three-year waiting period, then made a comeback. But its second retirement is presumed permanent.

It has earned its place in the sport’s ultimate museum. In its heyday, the Turner Cup could spark a tone-setting brawl before the game that would determine its recipient.

That happened on June 15, 1998, on the outskirts of Chicago. One night after Michael Jordan secured the Bulls’ last banner, another Windy City franchise sought its first title. The night before the Red Wings swept Washington and retained their crown, another Detroit team looked to repeat as champions.

Either way, Bob Ufer would present the IHL’s ultimate prize in his last act as commissioner. But not before chilling in the officials’ dressing room, then enjoying a riveting rivalry game.

As it happened, the storm conquered the calm sooner than forecast, forcing the referee and linesmen to make like minutemen.

“Somebody ran in and said that the teams were fighting all over the ice,” Ufer recalled.

It was another testament to a feud that former Chicago Wolves goaltender and current general manager Wendell Young says trickled “from management down to the players.”

The incident erupted when the hosts were peeling away from warm-ups. The Rosemont Horizon’s (now Allstate Arena) locker rooms are unconventionally located behind the Zamboni entrance along the western short side. One team must breach hockey etiquette by crossing the opposing side of the red line before face off.

Chicago’s zone was farther from the runway, and the Detroit Vipers all stayed on through the period’s waning minutes. Various accounts had players on each side firing pucks at the other, another unwritten code violation.

When the remaining home players tried to exit, the eggplant-and-aqua guests took their Turner Cup guardianship to hostile lengths. The old “you’re gonna have to go through us to take our title” adage acquired a new meaning.

“They were looking for trouble,” Young opined, “and they got it.”

The melee pulled the other Wolves and the zebras onto the ice. It warranted police intervention and a delay of game beyond the routine resurfacing, as the powers that be mulled suspensions.

The fracas reflected and furthered the fervor of the fan bases. Ufer’s successor, Douglas Moss — a veteran of three NHL front offices and current general manager for sports and entertainment at Planar — declared Wolves-Vipers “the most intense rivalry I’ve ever known.”

No supporter or representative wanted to relinquish bragging rights to the other party. By comparison, any other conquering adversary would have been endurable.

After the unplanned half-hour cool down, the Wolves and their fans were fired back up. Their customary pregame pyrotechnic show — courtesy of the special-effects company Strictly FX — and Star-Spangled duet by Chicagoland sports staple Wayne Messmer and his wife, Kathy, preceded a 3-0 victory.

For the first time since the Blackhawks won the 1961 Stanley Cup against the Red Wings, Chicago ruled a hockey league. An NHL-sized capacity crowd witnessed it for a fraction of the major-league price. (A 1996 Chicago Tribune article listed the priciest Wolves ticket at $30, the Blackhawks $75.)

The return on investment was the ultimate hockey-fan variety pack. It yielded extracurricular confrontation, extravagant introductions, nail-biting competitiveness (the game stayed scoreless until midway through the third period), celebratory mobs, handshakes, and trophy twirls.

Meanwhile, the Motor City was denied another garnish of glory in a league it was instrumental in starting, then refashioning and headquartering a half-century later. Little did most, if anyone, understand this changing of the guard and unprecedented minor-league matchup between major-league datelines marked the beginning of the end.

IHL’s wider wingspan

“In 1945, peace broke out,” said Eric Idle in Monty Python’s short World War II mockumentary. Later that year, on each side of the Ambassador Bridge, a hockey league broke out.

Founded three months after the Japanese Instrument of Surrender, the IHL grew into its own amidst the Cold War. It started with two Detroit and Windsor teams apiece, then added another Motown franchise in 1946.

Several trophies acknowledged those roots. The Turner Cup memorialized Windsor native and Red Wings prospect Joe Turner, who had joined the war effort and was killed in action months before Germany surrendered. Other awards honored James Gatschene — another Windsor/Detroit puck prodigy lost in World War II — and Wings executives Fred Huber and James Norris.

In the mid-1940s, the American Hockey League was the only stable circuit of its kind. Established in 1936, it had cemented itself as the NHL’s definitive development league, covering much of the Northeast plus Cleveland.

The IHL and similarly fledgling Eastern, Western, and United States Leagues completed America’s minor-league scene. Generally, the EHL stayed along the seaboard while the Western (nee Pacific Coast) League kept west of the Rockies.

By the time the Central League arose in 1963, the IHL had asserted itself in the Midwest. It was somewhere between primary and secondary development for NHL aspirants, and concentrated in middleweight markets reachable by bus. With short-lived exceptions, it maintained one degree of separation from the Great Lakes until 1984.

With the USHL, EHL, and WHL long gone and the CHL receding, the IHL became another genuine Triple-A base. Picking up the newly league-less Salt Lake Golden Eagles, who cohabitated with the NBA’s Utah Jazz, was its gateway to continental, big-city ambitions. It already had the Milwaukee Admirals, but smelled more of the same.

According to Ufer, a sweet deal awaited NBA owners. Like fans would soon show they wanted in an experience, basketball proprietors craved a cost-effective co-tenant.

“They didn’t want NHL teams coming in and splitting their sponsorship dollars,” Ufer explained. Besides, having just swollen to 21 teams with the World Hockey Association’s remnants, the NHL was “not really into expansion mode.”

Ufer, the IHL’s legal counsel for 14 years before becoming commissioner in 1994, underscored air travel as his league’s crucial breakthrough. While lobbying with then-commissioner Bud Poile — former CHL president and WHA executive vice president — Salt Lake offered to cover each Midwestern visitor’s tab.

“This was even less expensive than taking a bus,” Ufer said. “We accepted their proposition, and that first got us into planes.”

In 1990, another western flock amplified the incentive for flight. With the San Diego Gulls, the IHL joined the Continental Basketball Association as the only minor leagues touching four time zones.

A more accessible, more affordable, barely lower quality alternative to Wayne Gretzky’s Los Angeles Kings, the Gulls spiked SoCal’s hockey fever. Few people appreciated that better than local native and former college football player Mike McCall, the IHL’s marketing director.

“They really took it to a great level,” he said, citing frequent five-digit crowds at San Diego Sports Arena.

Meanwhile, 10 years after switching leagues, the Golden Eagles moved to Metro Detroit, rebranding as the Vipers. But not before dropping off their mascot, Icy, in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Periodic brawls aside, that was one step in the IHL’s push to woo fans, less through fighting between the boards and more through flair beyond them. Entertaining trimmings included mascots, cheerleaders, scoreboard animation, firework- and/or laser-laden pregame festivities, and inflatable nickname- or city-themed tunnels.

Starting in 1986, regular-season ties prompted one-on-one skills showcases through a shootout. Four years earlier, the Kalamazoo Wings — who with the change in landscape soon played in the league’s smallest city and arena — introduced the St. Patrick’s Day Green Ice Game, which is exactly what it sounds like.

Not even Fort Wayne, whose Komets boasted league-leading longevity dating back to 1952, could resist a modern marketing boost. It had hosted Icy and his peers at the 1993 All-Star Game, borrowed him for the 1994 playoffs, then cut a deal to adopt him from the vanishing Salt Lake squad.

“That was big because everybody started that mascot situation,” said Michael Franke, Komets president and co-owner with his brother David since 1990. “It was the beginning of what I call the ‘It’s-not-all-the-game’ promotion of minor-league hockey, and the mascots were the first thing.”

Photography credit: Ross Dettman

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