Drance: Why not retiring No. 1 diminished Canucks’ celebration of Roberto Luongo

Welcomed on the ice by former teammates Cory Schneider and Henrik and Daniel Sedin, and flanked by his immediate family, Roberto Luongo was formally inducted into the Canucks ring of honour on Thursday evening, ahead of the club’s impressive 4-0 victory over the Florida Panthers.

It was ultimately a small ceremony for one of the giants of Vancouver Canucks hockey.

Now there were some nice touches. Schneider was a charming, understated emcee and a welcome addition to the proceedings. Public Address announcer Al Murdoch put some extra mustard on a genuinely funny joke about how Luongo never got to wear a captain’s “C” on his jersey when that gift was presented by the twins. A Kevin Bieksa-narrated video tribute video played on the jumbotron and was genuinely moving, hitting all of the right notes.

Ultimately the main event was Luongo himself. As usual.

Charismatic, human and cool, the best goaltender in franchise history — and it isn’t close, it isn’t debatable — delivered a typically relatable and touching extemporaneous speech to the Rogers Arena faithful.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” Luongo told the crowd. “Hockey is fun again in Vancouver. This is the way it’s supposed to be.”

Luongo talked about his favourite hockey memories, noting that the biggest moments of his career all occurred at Rogers Arena — the 2010 Olympic Gold Medal victory, his quadruple overtime playoff debut, the night that Alex Burrows slayed the dragon and Kevin Bieksa’s overtime winner in the Western Conference Final.

He thanked his former coaches, and former executives — poking fun at his contract, and defending John Tortorella with a tut-tut toward the fans when the crowd booed his name.

And he thanked the fans, for the good times, but also for the trials and the tribulations. For the scrutiny and the pressure. For everything that forged Luongo into Teflon.

“It wasn’t always rainbows and butterflies,” Luongo noted. “There were some harder times… but those times made me who I am today.”

The self-awareness of that commentary was stunning. People are complicated, relationships are complicated and professional hockey is complicated, particularly during the hard cap era, with a contract that was arbitrarily subjected to changing rules governing it.

Luongo’s tenure in Vancouver was pockmarked with real-life complications.

In 2008, Luongo was criticized for jetting off to be with his wife Gina in South Florida during a difficult pregnancy with the couple’s firstborn child Gabriella. Then came the “will he or won’t he” speculation around his contract status. And the playoff performances scrutiny.

By the time Luongo stabilized Team Canada’s play in net, helping to deliver a Gold Medal on home soil at the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver, the first question he was asked by the media in the mixed zone after skating about the ice surface with an oversized Canadian Flag, was about the goal he permitted to Zach Parise on a third rebound in the final minute of the game.

Then things really got heated. A lifetime contract subject, retroactively, to a cap recapture penalty. The “pumping tires” thing in the Stanley Cup Final. A multi-year goalie controversy. Literally years of trade speculation.

Then the club decided to deal Schneider instead, which left Luongo in limbo with an organization that had tried to move on. A change in agents. A benching for a signature event at BC Place. And finally a trade.

No, it wasn’t always rainbows and butterflies, but that’s life. That’s professional hockey.

It’s not, however, what defines Luongo or his legacy. It’s not what defines his special connection with fans in this market.

Luongo’s legacy isn’t about that drama. It isn’t about his contract. It isn’t about his playoff overtime bathroom break, what happened in the first two Chicago series and it’s not about Game 6 in Boston or Game 7 in Vancouver. It isn’t about how he compares to Kirk McLean.

No, Luongo’s legacy is about his greatness. His humanity. His competitiveness. The fact that he was the most consistent elite goaltender in the league and he wore Canucks colours in his best seasons.

He’s a first-ballot Hall of Famer and you can make a near-bulletproof argument for him as one of the five best puck-stoppers to ever do it in the NHL. He played his best seasons in Vancouver, was the face of the franchise and won a gold medal for Canada in the greatest sporting win this city has ever seen.

He’s the franchise leader in every relevant goaltending category, and given how sparingly goaltenders are used these days and the dizzying heights that Luongo’s Canucks teams hit, he likely will be for multiple generations to come.

He’s the type of person who took a tough situation — the controversy that raged around him and Schneider — and turned it into a lifelong friendship, and comedy gold.

This is what sports and nostalgia and the collective memory of fandom are about. It’s about the eight-year stretch when Canucks fans got to root for, got to know and got to connect with one of the greatest goaltenders and characters to ever play the game.

And as time passes, that’s what remains. That memory. The greatness. The connection. The big moments.

What fades is the drama. The complications are inherent in hockey and relationships and real life.

Which is why the small ceremony for a player like Luongo was so ill-fitting on Thursday night. So deeply underwhelming, despite its charms.

To put a player of Luongo’s stature in the Ring of Honour, between loyal Canucks citizens and non-superstar players like Orland Kurtenbach and Harold Snepsts, as opposed to hanging a banner and retiring the No. 1 alongside the other Canucks first ballot Hall of Famers who played their best hockey in Vancouver is incongruent. It’s the sort of decision so baffling that it requires explanation.

And any compelling explanation is bound to be as petty as it is unconvincing.

It’s said that Luongo, a goaltender whose save percentage in the regular season (.919) is a near-perfect match with his save percentage in the playoffs (.918), couldn’t get it done when it counted.

Some have argued that the most consistent elite goaltender of his era can’t possibly have his number retired because it was the same number worn by a long-tenured and highly admired league-average starter who predated Luongo in Vancouver by a decade, and whom no one ever thought should have his number retired until the discussion turned to Luongo.

Some say that a player can’t have their number retired if they ever requested a trade, which is both an oversimplification of Luongo’s situation and an argument inconsistent with the club’s standard for retiring numbers.

Or it’s suggested that Luongo’s number shouldn’t be retired due to the salary cap recapture nonsense that bogged down this franchise cap-wise after Luongo decided — having exhausted all other options — to retire when his body gave out and the game became misery, rather than go through the unbecoming pantomime of existing as a zombie on some teams cap balance sheet until his contract expired.

To place Luongo’s likeness and his iconic No. 1 in the ring of honour is to memorialize the earthbound elements of Luongo’s legacy. To honour and give primacy to the petty explanations, and the complications inherent in real life and the business of hockey.

It’s such an unfortunate unforced error by the club. One that does nothing to diminish Luongo’s standing, but instead diminishes how the accomplishments of one of the four greatest players to ever wear Canucks colours in their prime are officially recognized by the club.

If the Canucks had just done the obvious thing and memorialized and retired the No. 1 — which no player will wear for multiple generations in any event, so great is the respect for Luongo — they’d have been honouring Luogno’s less tangible, more aspirational legacy of greatness. They’d have paid tribute to the unique bond between star player and fanbase that he forged.

The club would have served the collective memory of hockey fans in this city, as opposed to prioritizing small internal grievances.

What really should have been a momentous night in the history of the franchise instead felt off. As if a wet blanket hung over the proceedings occupying the space that a “Luongo 1” banner really should’ve.

(Photo: Jeff Vinnick / NHLI via Getty Images)