Some of the details are fuzzy.
Aaron Ward remembers the time -- October 1993, his rookie season in the NHL -- and the place -- The Palm Restaurant in Dallas -- but he can't quite recall the target. It was either Bryan Murray or Scotty Bowman, he recalls, and two things were clear: his NHL career was at stake, and so was his reputation.
Former Detroit Red Wings enforcer Bob Probert had challenged him to do it, and there was no way of telling Probert no. The setting made it tricky, with the tables set up in a horseshoe configuration, offering very few nooks or crannies within which to conceal himself. Still, Ward made his move and minutes later executed the first "shoe check" of his professional career.
The shoe check, a popular prank among hockey players at all levels, is pretty simple. Identify an unsuspecting teammate (or coach or executive, depending on just how risky your mission), grab the nearest ramekin of butter or sour cream, sneak beneath the table, and smear it on the front of his shoe. After the deed has been done, someone yells, "Shoe check!," and one or more people checking their shoes will find they have greasy footwear.
Over the years, Ward, now an analyst for TSN, has refined his technique, identified his go-to condiment ("anything oily or butter-based") and become more brazen in his abilities. Though the easy option was once to arrive early for the team meal and hide under the buffet table, Ward soon realized he liked more of a challenge. No dinner is too fancy. No colleague is safe. No shoes too valuable to earn a pass.
It is both a source of joy and pride for Ward, a vestige of his playing days that he just can't shake. Not for the entertainment and bragging rights it provides.
"It's almost weirdly a rite of passage," Ward told ESPN.com. It's a custom that has stood the test of time in the sport and become part of the shared experience among players of several different generations.
"You know how people say something is 'uniquely American?' The shoe check is uniquely 'hockey-ian'," Ward said. "Hockey players have grown up with it."
That jocular element of the hockey culture is hardly just confined to shoe checks. Practical jokes and pranks among teammates, some impromptu, others long-running, have a long and storied tradition in hockey.
Guy Lapointe, one of the seminal figures in hockey pranking history, recalled some of his legendary stunts for the Montreal Gazette last month. Former NHLer Ray Ferraro still remembers some doozies from back in his day: Vick's Vapor Rub on his car's windshield, tampered-with toilet handles, a hotel room with every piece of furniture stacked on his bed, with the thermostat cranked up to simulate the Sahara Desert.
In fact, hotels are a popular place for the opportunistic. They offer reasonable access to an entire team of potential victims, ample amenities, and a surplus of props at anyone's disposal.
"Oh, yeah, that's like a pranking playground," Detroit Red Wings veteran Stephen Weiss told ESPN.com.
"Leaners," the act of propping a bucket of water (or any available viscous substance) on a teammates' door, knocking and waiting for the startled yelp is a popular one. But some are more sophisticated, taking years of patience to pull off.
A video chronicling the clever prank pulled by Philadelphia Flyers head equipment manager Derek Settlemyre garnered a bunch of buzz on the Internet early in the season. Before Settlemyre whips out his phone to gleefully detail each player, trainer, coach and staffer he punked with his inventive stunt, he offers a serious disclaimer.
"I can't take credit for this," he told ESPN.com. Settlemyre was first tipped to the idea by veteran Green Bay Packers equipment manager Gordon "Red" Batty.
Battie had a Gatorade cooler fitted with a fake, albeit lifelike cobra snake and had been preying on his Packers team, a source of endless entertainment. For almost 18 months, Battie had been telling Settlemyre he had to give it a try. Then, one day, the magical package arrived. Settlemyre did his best to be discreet. He also ran it by general manager Ron Hextall for approval.
Settlemyre picked an appropriate time ("I would never do it on a game day," he solemnly swore) and place (a nondescript hallway) and tried not to give himself away.
"Oh, you need a Gatorade? Yeah, they're right over there," he'd say, casually.
No one was safe. Players would lift the lid only to see an unwelcome guest among their post-practice drinks. Michael Raffl dropped his stick and bolted. Nicklas Grossman, Braydon Coburn and goaltender Steve Mason all unleashed a slew of curse words. Luke Schenn decried snakes as his "worst fear in the world". Claude Giroux was seen leaning against a nearby pillar, hand to his neck, taking his own pulse.
Only defenseman Michael Del Zotto took a look, saw the snake, shrugged, and shut the lid. Really, they all should have known. Scott Hartnell had always held court in Philly as the resident jokester (he was traded to the Columbus Blue Jackets this summer) but Settlemyre earned himself quite the reputation as well. And it wasn't his first foray into using a fake snake.
In fact, he draped one over the right side of a golf cart on an outing with Jakub Voracek in the summer. Voracek returned after hitting one off the tee, only to find a snake lurking near the front tire.
"I almost broke my 8-iron on his head," Voracek said, shaking his head.
And in case you thought these customary goofs were only limited to North America, you'd be mistaken. Voracek recalled plenty of similar instances from his time playing back home in the Czech Republic.
"We used to f--- around a lot," he said.
So why is this such a standby among hockey players? What is the reason that, despite players becoming increasingly regimented and conscientious in their training, diet and extracurriculars, they are still always up for a good laugh at a teammates' expense?
"We're all a big bunch of kids," Ottawa Senators tough guy Chris Neil told ESPN.com last month. "It keeps it fun. You're at the rink so much that you have to keep it lighthearted in the locker room for pranks to be pulled. It keeps the atmosphere light. That's what it takes, whether it's shaving cream in towels or baby powder in the hair dryer."
This is not the normal workplace environment, of course. What transpires within the four walls of a hockey locker room, or within the cramped quarters of a team bus or even a plush charter airplane, would likely be considered sophomoric at best, appalling at worst, to the outside world.
"You get 25 guys into a room and things gets silly," Ferraro said.
One of the vital elements of the dynamics entrenched in the humor is the promise, and fear, of retribution. It builds a sense of heightened drama.
Some teammates Ferraro chose not to retaliate against, knowing his foe would constantly raise the ante with each tete-a-tete. One such man was Benoit Hogue, the culprit responsible for Ferrarro's greasy, and smelly, windshield one night.
"Hoguey scared me," Ferrarro admitted.
But Ferraro wasn't nearly as deterred when it came to his three teammates who screwed with him while playing with the Atlanta Thrashers. The hotel hijinks came back to bite those guys when Ferraro, traded in the middle of a game, took their pants as a token upon leaving the rink.
"I have no idea how they got home that night," he mused, recalling the night years later.
Similarly, Voracek knew he would not get by unscathed when he filled teammate Zac Rinaldo's skates with shaving cream. Rinaldo, in turn, got him back with Bengay in his shorts. And so the cycle continues.
Remaining one step ahead of the opponent can garner supreme respect among peers and colleagues.
According to league lore, former Calgary Flames trainer Brian Patafie had an inkling that then-assistant coach Lapointe was coming after him following a slew of back-and-forths between the two. Lapointe waited after practice with a hose to blast Patafie with a chilly gush of water and he succeeded in drenching him to the bone.
There was only one problem for Lapointe: Patafie had donned Lapointe's (presumably expensive) suit in anticipation of the retaliation.
And sometimes these jokes serve a practical purpose, one designed to elicit more than just the usual round of chuckles. Ward recalled one particularly, um, confident, rookie who played with him while he was with the Adirondack Red Wings of the American Hockey League.
As the team grew increasingly annoyed of the newbie's attitude, Ward sought to correct it, and even got clearance from the team's head coach. Ward faked an injury, left practice early one day and nabbed the set of keys to the rookie's car, a newly-purchased Volvo. He got a cinder block, some fishing line and attached the keys before hoisting it into a river adjacent to the rink.
The rookie was puzzled as he readied himself to leave, failing to find his keys anywhere. Ward's message to the kid: "Hope you can swim."
Sure, some might see this as taking it one step too far. Some might even find this to be cruel and unusual. But it produced the intended results: a much more humble player and person.
"It keeps the herd together. No one's above it. It happens to stars, it happens to fourth-liners, even the guys that are black aces," Ward said.
"Sometimes, it brings someone down to earth."