Detroit News’ opinion article
January 5, 2007
by Lynne Meredith Schreiber

My first memory of Steve Yzerman is when I was 14 and he was a 19-year-old recruit. I’d been attending Red Wings games since I was 4. We were Red Wings groupies before, during and after the “Dead Wings” years and as a teen, all I could think about was Stevie Y.

Tuesday night, I sat beside my dad at Joe Louis once again, as one after another person sang the praises of my hockey idol. They raised his jersey No. 19, never to be worn again by another Red Wings player.

They lauded Yzerman for his integrity, his sportsmanship, his teamwork — all the things I always loved about him. The way he married his high school love and stayed married. His humility. The way he took little, if any, credit for his great, great talent on the ice, instead sharing his night of honor, his career highlights and his Stanley Cup wins with all those around him, from the front office and locker room alike.

These used to be standard American characteristics quality, integrity, character. That’s changed, big-time. Now, the words most often used to describe our nation are divorced, obese and lawsuit-happy.

As Americans have devolved as a people, individuals like Stevie Yzerman have soared to stardom not for his winning, his 692 career goals or the way he came to work even when he was injured, all admittedly fantastic. He is a star because he does not tell everyone he’s a star. He is a star because he is, at heart, an average family guy who plays well with others.

A truly humble person knows himself at the core. He doesn’t need to shout out his accomplishments; he’s content just to be. That’s Stevie Y.

What I saw on the ice during that hour-and-a-half retirement ceremony was not just a hockey great among other hockey greats, though there were plenty.

I saw a man swiping at the corners of his eyes and whispering to his eldest daughter, Isabella, under the spotlight.

I saw a cohesive family, buoyed by the commitment of its leaders, two long-married parents, who provide a much-needed and, in our society, often-missing anchor for their children.

I saw a big group of guys who are friends at the core, who stand by each other through thick and thin, who stand for something more than just a game.

Hockey itself used to be just that — a game, before all the big-money contracts and glitz. It was a game of small-town guys with good values.

Stevie Y still is one of those guys. And we would all do well to try to be just a little bit like Steve.