from Gare Joyce of Sportsnet,

Tom Webster was, if not a shy man, then at least an unassuming one, almost painfully self-effacing around those who didn’t know him well. That’s rare in the hockey business that is, like the game, built on confidence and the bluster of people too eager to exaggerate their influence. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise that his death in April wasn’t big news in the media, that #Webbie and #RIPHawkeye never trended. Across the NHL, players, coaches, scouts and executives mourned his passing in a way that escaped notice, at least in part because the COVID-19 lockdown deprived them of the opportunity to attend his funeral.

A lot of famous names would have made it out to pay respects and celebrate his half-century in the game. Many Tom Webster stories would have been shared. I have a few of my own but I’m going to go with just one here.

Back in February 2008, I headed down to Windsor with a very sad assignment: to cover the Spitfires’ first game after the sudden death of their captain, Mickey Renaud, at the age of 19. An outgoing, charismatic kid, a genuine live wire, Renaud had grown up in Windsor and seemed to know everyone in town. He drew his last breath when he was sitting down to breakfast with a couple of younger teammates. An autopsy would reveal an undiagnosed heart condition. A few games were cancelled in the wake of Renaud’s death. When the team again took the ice, against Belleville on a Thursday night, there was a ceremony before the game that no one in attendance would forget.

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