Barry Melrose Was Hockey's Loudest, Coolest Voice — And Now He's Gone
For an entire generation of American hockey fans, Barry Melrose wasn't just a guy on TV. He was the sport itself. That booming laugh, that glorious mullet, those suits that looked like they were stolen from a Vegas magician — he made hockey feel like the coolest thing on the planet, even when ESPN barely had the puck on their radar.
Melrose died Wednesday at 70, leaving a void in the hockey world that nobody will ever fill. From his playing days as a hard-nosed defenseman to coaching Wayne Gretzky to the brink of a Stanley Cup, to becoming the lone voice of the NHL on sports television's biggest platform, Barry lived more lives in the game than most of us could dream of.
'The Unquestioned Face and Voice of Hockey in the U.S.'
Steve Levy, his longtime friend and ESPN colleague, said it best: "For more than 30 years, Barry was the unquestioned face and voice of hockey in the United States." And he wasn't wrong. From 1996 until his retirement in 2023 following a Parkinson's disease diagnosis, Melrose was the guy who brought the NHL into your living room — even when the network didn't have the rights. He'd break down highlights on NHL 2 Night, or trade playful jabs with Kornheiser and Wilbon on PTI. If you heard that laugh, you knew it was time for some hockey talk.
Jack Eichel, the Vegas Golden Knights' superstar center, summed it up perfectly: "You think about the hair. You think about the personality. You think about the wild suit jackets and everything that he meant in the game. He will be missed."
From a Farm in Saskatchewan to the Bright Lights of LA
Melrose wasn't born with a silver spoon — he was raised on a farm without indoor plumbing, picking up a stick at 15. The Montreal Canadiens drafted him in 1976, and he went on to play 300 NHL games across Winnipeg, Toronto and Detroit. But it was behind the bench where he truly became legendary. In 1993, he coached the Los Angeles Kings — led by a swaggering Wayne Gretzky — to within three wins of the Stanley Cup. The man knew how to make hockey feel like a rock show.
Tony Granato, who played for Melrose on those Kings teams, remembered his coach's magic touch. "He could light up a room. There was no phoniness to him. He just was himself," Granato said. "To some, it looked like a little cockiness or a little bit of swagger. But underneath all the humor and all his stories and that big laugh he had, he had a confidence in himself."
Cool Was the Rule
Barry was cool. That was the rule. As SportsCenter's Neil Everett would say at the end of his segments: "Cool is the rule." But here's the thing — that coolness was never fake. When he made headlines for saying fans shouldn't visit Newark's Prudential Center without a wallet, he didn't hide from the blowback. He went to Newark, toured the city with then-Mayor Cory Booker, and flipped his opinion. "He took a bad situation and turned it positive," Booker said. That was Barry: accountable, genuine, and always willing to grow.
He wasn't perfect. His second coaching stint with the Tampa Bay Lightning lasted just 16 games in 2008-09, and he famously gave rookie Steven Stamkos just six minutes of ice time in his third NHL game — a move that still haunts Lightning fans. But even that failure didn't dim his shine. He came back to ESPN, kept being Barry, and kept growing the game.
The Game Loved Him Back
When the NHL returned to ESPN in 2021, Melrose was the torchbearer — the guy who'd kept the flame alive through all those years of shouting into the void. As ESPN's Kevin Clark put it, he was "a godsend" for the sport. John Buccigross called him his best friend and a big-brother figure.
NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman even saluted the legend, mentioning his "flowing locks of his distinctive mullet" and the "flared lapels of his trademark long suit coats," saying Melrose "never failed to boost your love of the game of hockey."
Barry Melrose was hockey for so many of us. Now he can drink all the Bud Lights and smoke all the cigars and play all the rounds of golf he wants. But the rest of us are left with an empty spot in the broadcast booth and in our hearts.
Rest easy, Barry. You were the best of us.