Wayne Gretzky wasn't called to the witness stand. Yet his presence in a Vancouver courtroom last fall was implied testimony. He was there to support his former protector, Marty McSorley. Between friends, support doesn't have to mean automatic endorsement of each other's actions. It can be an acknowledgement that fallibility is universal, that when a friend on balance has proved worthy of reciprocal respect and gratitude, you don't desert him.

	Marty McSorely was convicted of assault in a Canadian court on Oct. 6.

Or if you do, you should be called for unsportsmanlike conduct.

As McSorley's year-long NHL suspension comes to an end Tuesday, the question becomes: What to do with this guy?

Now that new Coyotes part-owner Gretzky is in position to at least suggest moves to new general manager Cliff Fletcher – OK, Gretzky can dictate, as assuredly as if he is speaking to a stenographer – a more compelling and far less subtle testimony would be a Phoenix signing of McSorley.

Not holding your breath on that one, are you?

For the moment, at least, McSorley is a 37-year-old defenseman with the Grand Rapids Griffins, the Senators' International Hockey League affiliate. The tie to Ottawa doesn't give the Senators exclusive claim to McSorley's rights.

The problem is, he can't play.

And, no, that doesn't refer to the one-year suspension handed down by commissioner Gary Bettman. Even as that becomes history, the harsh truth won't change.

Even if McSorley winds up in an NHL sweater, playing in a second or third defensive pairing, or as a third- or fourth-line winger determined to stir it up, he can't play.

His pathetic "martyr" act following his conviction on assault charges last fall was galling, but irrelevant in the discussion of his post-suspension NHL future. We were supposed to believe that if he had been as aggressive in his defense as, say, Larry Robinson in his prime or Johnnie Cochran in Los Angeles, McSorley could have brought down not just the NHL and Bettman, but toppled an Italian government and a military dictatorship in South America for good measure.

But the good-hearted, selfless, noble McSorley spared making the NHL the co-defendant in the trial.

McSorley, an aging, aching warrior was seeing both his youth and his usefulness slip away. His shoulder was a mess, his game was a shambles, and whatever usefulness he had earlier in his career was a yellowed memory.

Or so we're told.

Fact is, no smoking-stick evidence or testimony we could have heard in the Vancouver courtroom ("Enough, Mr. Mason! I admit it! I HAVE sent out guys and told them to fight! But I HAD to!") would have shocked us, would it?

And none of it would have changed the fundamental realities.

McSorley, an aging, aching warrior, was seeing both his youth and his usefulness slip away. His shoulder was a mess, his game was a shambles, and whatever usefulness he had earlier in his career was a yellowed memory. When Donald Brashear "won" the first fight that night, then wouldn't consent to the rematch, the frustration was volatile. It was not about one game, but about a career in twilight – or even in darkness. McSorley, who had witnessed the evolution of his role from superstar's protector to a sideshow act, swung a stick purposefully at Brashear, connecting with Brashear's head.

Oh, you say, (and McSorley said), he swung at Brashear's shoulder – and just missed?

Yeah, right.

Oh, you say, it's partly Brashear's fault that he didn't have his strap deployed, contributing to the damage of the impact when he hit the ice?

Beside the point.

And so is this: Brashear is one of the most intriguing stories in the league, given his overcoming of a troubled childhood of abuse and instability, and his progression from slug to serviceable forward, but his bush-league hand-washing and other actions continue to be worthy of disdain.

McSorley got what he deserved, both in the courtroom and from the NHL. As problematic as the principle of the legal system entering the arena of competition can be, there is a line – and McSorley crossed it. The last time an NHL player faced criminal charges in court for something he did on the ice, in 1988, Dino Ciccarelli was sentenced to one day in jail and a $1,000 fine. The difference in severity for similar actions is testimony – there's that word again – to progress, rather than lamentable as the law going where it doesn't belong.

But McSorley has done his time, so to speak.

The incident in Vancouver will remain notorious, but the stigma will not envelop any team that signs him. There is no need to justify his signing with some sanctimonious garbage about forgiveness and universal fallibility, but we'll probably hear it anyway – if an NHL team takes a chance on him. It seems unfathomable that a bad team would bring him in, and he isn't good enough to play for a quality team – especially after the long playoff. At best, he will be insurance, and perhaps someone – such as the Senators – will attempt to convince themselves that his voice of veteran leadership will be a positive influence.

The voice, though, isn't very credible when it can't be backed by performance.