Fun-loving fury of Bolts' Konopka is contagious

Zenon Konopka, reigning Lightning middleweight and heavyweight fun lover, was raised in historic Niagara-on-the-Lake, a picturesque village in rural Southern Ontario near the U.S.-Canada border, not far from Niagara Falls. A few times, while visiting the Falls, the thought has actually crossed Konopka's mind, which doesn't surprise anyone who knows Zenon.

"Going over the Falls?" Konopka said with a wide grin. "I've thought about it. Who doesn't for a second? Some guys have done it, mostly in barrels. But there are a couple of people who've lived not going over in a barrel. I think I'd use the barrel, yeah, probably a barrel."

Probably a barrel.

Meet the NHL leader with 180 penalty minutes, as well as fighting majors, 20 and counting. Konopka, 29, has kicked around the minors too long, worked too hard, heart and hustle, to hold back anything now. The other night, he fought 6-foot-7 Thrashers defenseman Boris Valabik, who had about seven inches and 40 pounds on him. The last time the teams had met, Valabik had picked on 19-year-old center James Wright. Konopka remembered. "That's part of my job here, to take care of the young guys, any of the guys," he said.

The day I sat with him, Konopka had two black eyes, one from a stick and one from a fist. His nose has flattened out, having been broken 14 times - sticks, glass, pucks, punches.

"My face leads me wherever I go," Konopka said. His lovable mug has had 400 stitches. Who needs to go over the Falls?

Somehow this fourth-line center who has just two goals and two assists, who's lucky if he gets nine minutes of ice time a night, who until this season had played just 39 NHL games, has, yes, somehow become an important part of this team, and it's more than fighting, having everyone's back. Konopka is good at face-offs, he's smart, funny, keeps everybody loose, card games, pranks, jokes, never any let up, not Zenon.

"I don't want to call him a loose cannon, but he just does things, on the ice, obviously, but off the ice, too," Lightning coach Rick Tocchet said. "Team building stuff. He's always got something going on to create an atmosphere in the room that bonds people together."

Someone asked if Konopka ever worries about the punishment his body takes.

"About [eight] years ago, I was in Wheeling, West Virginia, making 350 bucks a week," Konopka said. "Now I'm playing in the NHL. I'm the same guy. I live life hard, on the edge. You only live once."

It's the same way when Konopka goes home to Niagara-on-the-Lake. He's the leader of a band of live-hard friends who go back to junior hockey days or earlier. If you hear noises to the north some summer night, it's probably them playing.

One of them owns a pub called "The Jailhouse." They play summer hockey, hard, or shoot off fireworks at Zenon's house, or hold their annual "Summer Olympics," staged by Zenon, as are various prank wars and side bets and, well, where were we?

The Olympics are between Zenon and the boys from Niagara-on-the-Lake and their pals from nearby St. Catharines. There's golf, bowling, basketball, road hockey, a bunch of stuff, an event each day, losing side buys dinner at the end of it all.

"Funny thing is, Zenon's team always ends up winning," said Scott Ellis, Zenon's friend and former junior teammate. "I think me messes with the rules each year."

Boxing is not an official event at the Zenon Summer Games, but only because boxing can break out at any event in the Zenon Summer Games, including once during the ping pong event over whether a ball was in or out. The fight was on. Guys paired off. Zenon tangled with Pooch, whose real name is Steve Poirier.

Pooch can go.

"Turned into a real Battle Royale," Pooch said. "Zenon loves to wrestle. With Zenon, everything is a battle with that guy. Anything could turn into a wrestling match. My wife gets angry, because my shirts always get ripped when Zenon's home."

The boys rescued Zenon last NHL season. He was called up from the minors, from Norfolk, to join the Lightning in Buffalo. Only the airlines lost his equipment. But Niagara-on-the-Lake isn't far from Buffalo, so Zenon called the boys and asked them to hustle down with some skates and pads.

"But did you ever try and skate in someone else's skates?" Konopka said. "Oh, it was ridiculous. But they were good enough to fight on."

He played two shifts, got in one fight. So began his Lightning career.

Scott Ellis is a high school teacher. Pooch owns a moving company and a bakery. Back home, the boys always knew if heart and hustle mattered, Zenon would make it. They watch the TV and his fights and Pooch says, "It's like watching your little brother fight the toughest guys in the NHL."

Zenon's mom, Arlene, watches from home and worries some, but not as much anymore. There was a time when she didn't understand Zenon's fighting. Zenon's older sisters, Celeste and Cynthia, are both music teachers. Cynthia is pursuing on opera career. Then there's Zenon's music. His Aunt Christine and Aunt Elizabeth think he's crazy with the fighting, but Arlene smiles.

"All the children love what they're doing, so that's all you can ask," she said. "I wouldn't say I like it, but it's the career he chose, and if he's happy, I'm happy."

Zenon's father would be happy, too.

Zenon Konopka sat in the Lightning dressing room and told you about the greatest man he ever knew, his father, who was also named Zenon.

"He's probably the biggest reason I'm here," he said.

His father was born in Poland. He was 3 years old when Germany invaded Poland and World War II began, The Russians joined in. One day, Russian soldiers came to the door and told his family to pack their belongings, they were going to a work camp in Siberia. They sat in a box car on a railroad track for two weeks before the train even moved, the dead and dying all around them.

But when Germany turned on Russia, a deal was struck. Male prisoners in Siberia were told their families would be sent to safe haven in Africa if the men fought the Nazis on the Eastern Front. Zenon Konopka's grandfather and uncle went to war.

"You want to talk about tough," Zenon said. "Hockey fights? Tough? Fighting the Germans, now there's tough."

Zenon's dad came to Canada with nothing. Everything he made he earned. He worked at the General Motors plant in St. Catharines as a tool grinder, and when he was done he'd go home to the 53 acres of fruit he farmed, up at dawn, or into the night in the barn.

"He taught me about work," Zenon said. "He'd work eight hours for GM and then come home and farm for five hours. I don't know when he slept. But he was always taking me to practices, always at my games, giving me everything I needed."

He wasn't a big man, but he had an edge to him. But his fairness and honesty were as solid as his handshake, and, Pooch will tell you, "Whenever you shook Mr. Konopka's hand, it was like a vice grip."

"My dad was invincible, indestructible,," Zenon said.

He wanted his boy to be a hockey player. He'd make sure Zenon got to sleep an extra hour in the morning, made sure he drank homogenized milk, because his dad said it would help him grow, help him be big enough for hockey. His dad never played hockey, didn't really know the sport, but his son's dream became his dream.

"We used to go the barber, Angelo's, seven-dollar haircuts," Zenon said. "Angelo still cuts hair. He still talks about it when I'm home, he tells me, 'Your dad used to sit in that chair right there and point at you and say, 'My boy is going to play in the NHL, you watch."

That last night, May 1994, they had a big fireworks party out at the farm. Zenon's dad used the occasion to give him a baseball bat. They both loved the game.

"It was an expensive bat, too," Zenon said. "I remember my dad swinging it and saying 'You're going to hit a lot of line drives with this bat.' That's the last thing I remember him saying to me."

He died the next day, riding his tractor down the road near the farm. A car broadsided him. He was thrown off the tractor and it landed on him. He was gone before the medic helicopter arrived. Zenon Konopka was 58. His son was 13 at the time. People were lined up around the block at the funeral home, and again at the church.

"It seemed like everybody in town was there," Zenon said. "The thing I remember at the funeral was I've never seen so many grown men bawling. He was loved and admired. It took a long time to get over it. But I know he'd be proud I made it."

Arlene sold most of the farm a few years after her husband died, but she kept six acres and the house, where Zenon comes home every summer, and there are always fireworks shows. Of course, they get out of hand sometimes. One year, Zenon got them pointed the wrong way and nearly set the house on fire. Everybody smiled. Everybody loves Zenon.

On average, more than 4 million cubic feet of water powers over Niagara Falls every minute. You can't stop it, not the great Niagara, or sometimes not a dream. Zenon Konopka made it, just like his dad said.

But would he make it make it?

You know, the Falls?

Zenon Konopka laughed and shook his head.

"Just don't bet him on it," Pooch said.

Yeah, probably a barrel.