The Death of Hockey By Klein & Reif: Did This Book Stand The Test of Time?

Jeff Z. Klein and Karl-Eric Reif’s The Death of Hockey (1998) arrives as a sharp, impassioned polemic aimed squarely at what the authors saw as the NHL’s accelerating decline in the late 20th century. 

Written with a mix of wit, anger, and deep affection for the game’s traditions, the book argues that professional hockey was being systematically degraded by corporate greed, overexpansion, and the encroachment of spectacle over substance. Klein and Reif, seasoned journalists with a keen eye for the culture of the sport, paint a dramatic portrait of a league losing its way — a league where too many teams, too many games, and too many business-first decisions were threatening the integrity of “the greatest game on earth.”

The book’s underlying thesis is that money and mismanagement were killing hockey from within. The authors criticize league executives for chasing television markets over hockey markets, expanding into regions with little interest in the sport, and diluting on-ice quality in the process. They lament the loss of small, intimate arenas and the sense of local identity that once defined the game, arguing that the NHL was drifting away from its cultural roots. Their concerns extend to on-ice trends as well: the acceptance of excessive violence, the decline of skill-first hockey, and a creeping “tackiness” in presentation. Although the tone is often acerbic — sometimes to the point of overstatement — the writing is undeniably engaging, fueled by a genuine belief that hockey deserved better stewardship.

As a time capsule of late-1990s hockey anxieties, The Death of Hockey is remarkably vivid. But the question is unavoidable: did its predictions come true? 

The answer is both yes and no. Klein and Reif were correct about several trends. The league’s rapid expansion created short-term instability, and the Sunbelt market experiment was uneven for years, with teams like Atlanta, Florida, and Carolina struggling at various points. Concerns about fighting and safety became even more urgent in the decades that followed, culminating in sweeping rule changes aimed at reducing head trauma — a validation of the authors’ argument that violence had overshadowed skill. Their warnings about commercialization also resonate strongly today, as the NHL increasingly depends on digital ads, outdoor spectacles, gambling partnerships, and corporate integration.

Yet in other ways, their pessimism underestimated the sport’s resilience. Far from dying, hockey has enjoyed periods of significant growth since the book’s publication. The league’s southern markets slowly stabilized, and teams such as Tampa Bay, Nashville, Carolina, Florida and Vegas emerged as thriving hockey communities with strong fan bases. Rule changes following the 2004–05 lockout ushered in a renaissance of speed and offensive creativity — the very style of hockey the authors feared was being extinguished. Talent development is deeper than ever, the women’s game has grown exponentially, and the NHL has seen record revenue in the 21st century. 

While the league still wrestles with many of the issues Klein and Reif highlighted, the existential crisis they predicted never fully materialized. And in many regards, the league has never been better.

Ultimately, The Death of Hockey remains a compelling and thought-provoking read, especially for fans interested in the evolution of the sport. Its critiques are often sharp and still relevant, but its apocalyptic framing has not entirely stood the test of time. Hockey didn’t die — it changed, sometimes painfully, sometimes for the better. Klein and Reif captured a moment when the game felt endangered, and even if history has been more nuanced than their thesis suggested, the book endures as an important voice in the conversation about what hockey was, what it became, and what it ought to be.