106 points, eighty of them assists, with the Prince Albert Raiders, who dealt him to the Broncos. With his effervescent personality, Kruger quickly became a favourite among his teammates. Wilkie says Kruger was always smiling; he had one of those smiles that often resembled a smirk.
Referring to Kruger’s mother Louise by her nickname, a chuckling Wilkie says, “I remember Fanner always telling him she would ‘smack that smirk off your face’ if he didn’t stop.”
Remember that this was in an era when the game of hockey was all about size, and smallish players in the NHL — and the WHL, for that matter — were few and far between. It was no secret that NHL scouts tended to look for bigger players; it was the same with the WHL, which really is a mirror image of the NHL.
Kruger knew full well that the odds were against him. That’s why he would do almost anything to cut those odds down by a bit. For example, early each season, when NHL Central Scouting would send one of its scouts to visit each WHL team in order to weigh and measure individual players, Kruger would put pucks in his shorts — anything to add a few ounces to his weight. He would also put pucks in the bottom of his socks to look taller.
“He had the heart of a lion and skills that were second to none,” Wilkie says.
A lot had happened in the days before Kruger’s funeral, which was just another shock to Wilkie’s system. After the funeral, Wilkie left the church, climbed into his car, and discovered he had no place to go. So he drove around aimlessly until, for some reason he can’t explain, he found himself at the accident site.
Courtesy of The Hockey News.
“I pulled over and just stared at the torn-up ground and cried,” he says. “I was shouting, ‘Why? Why God? Why?’ I was not in a good place, and remember feeling darkness, emptiness … soulless.”
Next was the memorial service. It was held on Sunday, January 4, with at least thirty-five hundred people filling the Centennial Civic Centre. The north and south parking lots were packed with a number of buses; each of the WHL’s Eastern Division’s other seven teams was in attendance. Inside, the ice surface had been covered with plywood, and a huge stage was set up on the west end of the ice. The stage held flowers, a microphone, and a table on which were displayed pictures of Kresse, Kruger, Mantyka, and Ruff. To the left of the table hung the Broncos jerseys of Kresse and Kruger; those of Mantyka and Ruff were hanging to the right.
Trent Kresse was well known in southern Saskatchewan as much for his ability on a baseball diamond as his hockey skills. He was described as sweet, sensitive, sentimental, and romantic.
Doris Kesslar, the mother of Trent’s fiancée, Kari, said, “I knew if I could have hunted the world over for a perfect son-in-law, he was it. The most important thing in his life was Kari, more than hockey, more than anything. His life revolved around her.”
On the ice, Kresse was the guy with the golden hands. A natural athlete, he had starred on Saskatchewan baseball diamonds since he was a kid. Like Kruger, Kresse had spent the previous season with the junior Indians, picking up eighty-two points, including fifty-four goals, in just thirty-nine games. That was enough to earn him an invitation to the Broncos’ training camp, where he quickly made an impact. He was quick, he saw the ice well, and, obviously, he could score. The Swift Current Sun often referred to Kresse as the K-Man — he was the K-Man, and scoring goals was his assignment.
On the ice, Kresse and Kruger became the Broncos’ version of Gretzky and Kurri or Bossy and Trottier. Soon, it was hard to imagine one without the other.
“They had a bond that no one else had,” Wilkie says.
Kresse also made an impact on one of the Broncos’ youngest players. When Tracy Egeland and his wife, Tara, welcomed a bouncing baby boy into the world in 2008, they named him Trent. The Egelands wanted to
Referring to Kruger’s mother Louise by her nickname, a chuckling Wilkie says, “I remember Fanner always telling him she would ‘smack that smirk off your face’ if he didn’t stop.”
Remember that this was in an era when the game of hockey was all about size, and smallish players in the NHL — and the WHL, for that matter — were few and far between. It was no secret that NHL scouts tended to look for bigger players; it was the same with the WHL, which really is a mirror image of the NHL.
Kruger knew full well that the odds were against him. That’s why he would do almost anything to cut those odds down by a bit. For example, early each season, when NHL Central Scouting would send one of its scouts to visit each WHL team in order to weigh and measure individual players, Kruger would put pucks in his shorts — anything to add a few ounces to his weight. He would also put pucks in the bottom of his socks to look taller.
“He had the heart of a lion and skills that were second to none,” Wilkie says.
A lot had happened in the days before Kruger’s funeral, which was just another shock to Wilkie’s system. After the funeral, Wilkie left the church, climbed into his car, and discovered he had no place to go. So he drove around aimlessly until, for some reason he can’t explain, he found himself at the accident site.
Courtesy of The Hockey News.
“I pulled over and just stared at the torn-up ground and cried,” he says. “I was shouting, ‘Why? Why God? Why?’ I was not in a good place, and remember feeling darkness, emptiness … soulless.”
Next was the memorial service. It was held on Sunday, January 4, with at least thirty-five hundred people filling the Centennial Civic Centre. The north and south parking lots were packed with a number of buses; each of the WHL’s Eastern Division’s other seven teams was in attendance. Inside, the ice surface had been covered with plywood, and a huge stage was set up on the west end of the ice. The stage held flowers, a microphone, and a table on which were displayed pictures of Kresse, Kruger, Mantyka, and Ruff. To the left of the table hung the Broncos jerseys of Kresse and Kruger; those of Mantyka and Ruff were hanging to the right.
Trent Kresse was well known in southern Saskatchewan as much for his ability on a baseball diamond as his hockey skills. He was described as sweet, sensitive, sentimental, and romantic.
Doris Kesslar, the mother of Trent’s fiancée, Kari, said, “I knew if I could have hunted the world over for a perfect son-in-law, he was it. The most important thing in his life was Kari, more than hockey, more than anything. His life revolved around her.”
On the ice, Kresse was the guy with the golden hands. A natural athlete, he had starred on Saskatchewan baseball diamonds since he was a kid. Like Kruger, Kresse had spent the previous season with the junior Indians, picking up eighty-two points, including fifty-four goals, in just thirty-nine games. That was enough to earn him an invitation to the Broncos’ training camp, where he quickly made an impact. He was quick, he saw the ice well, and, obviously, he could score. The Swift Current Sun often referred to Kresse as the K-Man — he was the K-Man, and scoring goals was his assignment.
On the ice, Kresse and Kruger became the Broncos’ version of Gretzky and Kurri or Bossy and Trottier. Soon, it was hard to imagine one without the other.
“They had a bond that no one else had,” Wilkie says.
Kresse also made an impact on one of the Broncos’ youngest players. When Tracy Egeland and his wife, Tara, welcomed a bouncing baby boy into the world in 2008, they named him Trent. The Egelands wanted to
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