New Jersey Devils Codexery

Larry Robinson

The wall the Devils built their identity behind, one blocked shot at a time.

Larry Robinson

Larry Robinson is one of the most revered defensemen in New Jersey Devils franchise history, a Hall of Famer who brought two decades of elite experience, leadership, and physical grit to the Prudential Center (then Continental Airlines Arena) locker room during the club's formative 1990s. Arriving as a veteran after his legendary career with the Montreal Canadiens, Robinson became the spiritual and tactical anchor of a young Devils defense that would grow into one of the NHL's most feared units.

His role transcended raw statistics. Robinson was the shot-blocker, the locker-room elder, the player who set the tone for how a Devils defenseman played: hard, selfless, and unapologetically physical. For a franchise still proving itself in its first decade, his presence was a statement that the Devils were serious, and that their blue line would not be bullied.

Position
Defenseman
Jersey Number (Devils)
2
Devils Tenure
1992–2000 (approximately seven seasons)
Hockey Hall of Fame
Inducted 1997
Stanley Cup Championships (career)
1979, 1986 (Montreal Canadiens)
Norris Trophy
1983 (Montreal Canadiens)
Signature Role with Devils
Veteran defensive anchor, shot-blocker, locker-room leader

Lore & Background

When the Devils were still a young franchise searching for its identity in the early 1990s, the arrival of Larry Robinson signaled a shift in culture. Here was a player who had already won everything the game could offer—two Stanley Cups, the Norris Trophy, a place in the Hall of Fame—and yet he chose to be the guy in front of the net, taking shots to the ribs and the face so the goaltender could breathe. He did not need the glory. He needed the team to win.

Robinson's partnership with Scott Stevens on the top defensive pairing became a cornerstone of the Devils' blue line. Where Stevens brought speed, range, and offensive creativity, Robinson brought the old-school, no-nonsense physicality: the body-check, the stick in the passing lane, the willingness to be the last line of defense. Together they set a standard that younger defensemen like Scott Niedermayer and Brian Leetch (briefly) and others would measure themselves against.

Perhaps most importantly, Robinson was the bridge between the Devils' early scrappy identity and their emergence as a legitimate contender. He mentored, he pushed, he demanded accountability. In a locker room full of hungry young players, his quiet authority—born from two decades of elite competition—gave the franchise a gravity it had not yet earned on its own. He was, in the truest sense, a Devils man long before the jersey officially said so.

In Their Own Story

The arena was humming with that particular late-season tension, the kind where every shift felt like a referendum on the whole season. The puck was dumped deep, and the opposing winger was skating it in with two seconds of head start. Robinson didn't even look up. He was already there, chest out, stick low, a human wall in the blue paint. The shot came—a wrist shot, hard, aimed at the five-hole. It hit the front of his pads and died. He didn't flinch. Didn't look at the bench. Just turned, carried the puck out, and fed it to Stevens for the clear. The crowd noise was a wall of sound, but in that small pocket of ice, there was only the quiet thud of rubber on vinyl and the creak of his skates cutting a tight turn. He'd done it a thousand times. He'd do it a thousand more. That was the job. That was the Devils.

Reader's Guide

Role: Veteran defenseman, defensive anchor, locker-room leader.

Larry Robinson joined the Devils in the 1992-93 season as a two-time Stanley Cup champion and Norris Trophy winner, bringing a level of seasoned authority the young franchise desperately needed. Wearing the number two, he became the physical and tactical backbone of the Devils' blue line, pairing with Scott Stevens to form a top unit that combined range with old-school grit.

His signature contributions were less about points and more about presence: relentless shot-blocking, intelligent positioning, and an unshakeable standard of accountability. He was the player who made the young defensemen better simply by being on the ice beside them, demanding that every shift be played with purpose and physicality.

A memorable moment in the broader canon is his 1997 Hall of Fame induction, which occurred while he was still an active Devil—a rare distinction that underscored how his career peak and his Devils years overlapped. He carried the weight of a legend while still lacing up to play.

His lasting legacy is cultural as much as competitive. Robinson defined what it meant to be a Devils defenseman in the franchise's formative years: selfless, physical, and utterly committed to the collective. He is remembered not for a single highlight but for a thousand small, unglamorous acts of defense that held the team together. He was, and remains, irreplaceably Devils.

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