by Ron MacLean
CORNERED
HIJINKS, HIGHLIGHTS,
LATE NIGHT AND INSIGHTS
RON MacLEAN
with KIRSTIE McLELLAN DAY
Cornered
Copyright © 2011 by Ron MacLean and Kirstie McLellan Day.
All rights reserved.
Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
FIRST EDITION
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
“Acknowledgements” and “Photo Credits” pages constitute a continuation of this copyright page.
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EPub © OCTOBER 2011 ISBN: 978-1-554-68996-5
Hardcover © SEPTEMBER 2011 ISBN 978-1-55468-974-3
RRD 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Cari,
“And I want all the world to know, that your love’s all I need.
And if we’re lost, then we are lost together.”
Blue Rodeo
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Foreword
Acknowledgements
1 Good God, Is This Kid Crying?
2 The Lonely Boy
3 Just Shut Up
4 I Would Pay to Referee
5 Kicking It Pure
6 Rommel Lives in Stettler
7 One in Six Billion
8 One to One
9 A Lucky Sign
10 If I Can Make It Here, So Can You
11 The Royal Visit
12 Crash Editing
13 Get the Hell Outta Here
14 All That “Einst Freintz” Crap
15 Peter Mansfred
16 Stuartt
17 Blue Chiffon
18 The Ninety-Nine All-Stars
19 With a Cherry on Top
20 I’m Sick of Your Theories
21 The Owners Smelled Blood
22 If You Don’t Want Me to Tell Anyone, Don’t Tell Me
23 In the Crosshairs
24 Contract 2002
25 An Independent Cat
26 French Immersion
27 I Walk the Line
28 A Fairy-Tale Ending
29 You’re Telling Me That’s a Guy?
30 Mom’s Kindred
31 Justice, Not Vengeance
32 Metrosexuals
33 The Goody
34 Take Me to the River
35 The State of the Game
36 Sports Have to Be Honourable
37 Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?
Epilogue
Photos
About the Authors
Photo Credits
Index
About the Publisher
FOREWORD
I was sitting at the desk of Hockey Night in Canada alone before the Leafs game one Saturday night and in comes this kid. He sticks out his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Ron MacLean. I’m the new host.” I almost said, “You’ve got to be kidding.” He looked eighteen years old, and I’d never heard of him. I thought, “Oh boy, this is going to be fun.” That first Coach’s Corner was a near disaster. He had tears in his eyes, but I’m sure Ron will tell you all about that one.
I was not enjoying our time together on Coach’s Corner. I could see we were not on the same wavelength. I’m a redneck from the East and he’s a tree hugger from the West. Figure that one out. One time on the show we were talking about a guy, and I gave it to him pretty good.
MacLean tells me, “You can’t say that!”
I said, “Why not?”
He said, “Think of the man’s mother.”
His mother? I looked at him and thought, “Is this guy kiddin’?”
I’d find a scoop for Coach’s Corner and he’d say, “Good. We must share this with the rest of the crew working on the show tonight.”
One time, just before we went on Coach’s Corner, I heard that Lafleur was out with a bad injury. MacLean shared it with everybody! I could have throttled him. And then he tells me, “You must realize you are not bigger than the game or the story.” Imagine, this snotty-nosed kid telling me how to act on TV. At that point it wasn’t a question of whether Coach’s Corner was going to survive, it was whether MacLean was going to live.
It came to a head in Calgary during a game between Edmonton and the Calgary Flames. I was wearing a red jacket and matching Stetson. He’s from Red Deer. So as a joke, I turn to him on Coach’s Corner and I say, “You should be wearing this red jacket and hat—you cheer so much for the Flames.” After the show, he went nuts! He was throwing things in his bag and saying, “How could you embarrass me that way? It doesn’t matter what you say anyhow, you won’t be here next year.”
I admit I have a hockey player’s idea of humour—cruel. The more you can hurt a guy, the funnier it is. And when it’s your turn, you have to take it on the chin. I only kid people I like.
I started to like Ron because he didn’t back down. I appreciated his gumption. The problem was, he wasn’t getting it. Instead of taking my kidding as a compliment, he was offended. He hadn’t realized yet that TV is a tough business. There’s no mercy. You screw up and a lot of people are happy and ready to take your spot. It’s really not how good you are, it’s how tough you are. You have to have tough skin. He was getting good reviews, but I knew his day was coming. I said to him one time, “Don’t get too cocky, kid. You’re just on a honeymoon. It’s only a matter of time till you get yours.”
And sure enough, it came in Edmonton, his home country of all places. When he did his usual bang-up job at an NHL awards dinner (nobody does that emcee stuff better), the next day he was ripped to shreds in the paper. He couldn’t understand it. I said, “Kid, the honeymoon is over. Now you are in my world. It’s open season on us now, so toughen up! Can’t you see it’s us against them? Screw them all, we’ll show ‘em!” And he did toughen up, and that’s when we started to click.
He started to get the hockey player’s mentality—if you show weakness, make fun of it. If I showed I had a cold, a sore back, neck or knee, he would ridicule me just like the hockey players. It was pure joy for me, as I felt I was back in my hockey days. But with his puns, I opened Pandora’s box.
I remember going out to drink with him for the first time. We were at the bar and he orders chicken wings. You don’t eat when you drink, not even dinner—just ask the old AHL players. So I say, “What did we come here for—to eat or to drink? Now cancel that order!”
And now comes the hard part for me—compliments. I’m not good at giving them and he’s not good at accepting them. At the end of the playoffs, we’ve been on the road together every day for two months and worked together every other day on what seems to be a zillion shows. Finally, after the last one, we head home. We only live fifteen minutes from each other, so the taxi drops me off at my house first. And it’s just, “See ya.” And then I always give him a shot, and he always shoots something back. No handshake or any of that phony stuff. And that’s it, till next season.
We travel in different circles. He’s a wine guy who likes sailboats, and I’m a beer guy in a rowboat.
Okay, anyhow, back to the compliments. First, let me say, I would not have lasted twenty-five years on TV without him. I feel he is like my defence partner on the Rochester Americans, Darryl Sly. He carrie
d me on the ice for years. I had my strengths—tough in front of the net, I could fight and hit. But Darryl did all the legwork for me.
Ron is the same way. I have my strengths—sharp dresser, good-looking, charm, personality, I know hockey, and I’m humble. And he has his strengths. If he thinks I am going down the wrong path, he will steer things another way, which ticks me off. But that’s what the game is. He tries to get to me on TV and I try to get to him. It’s fun and dangerous and, yes, we’ve had a bit of trouble over the years. I’m sure Ron will tell you about that in the book.
He’s good at picking things out in the game. For instance, this year in the third game of the Stanley Cup finals, I never noticed Shawn Thornton of the Bruins taunting Aaron Rome of Vancouver and then Rome coming out the very next shift and nailing Nathan Horton, knocking him out of the playoffs. Or Gregory Campbell of Boston yapping at Roberto Luongo at the end of the June 13 game. Ron is the guy who caught these things. And he is one of those rare birds who can do an update on air while in the middle of a conversation with somebody.
Another thing, as far as I am concerned: nobody does a better interview.
He has confidence supreme. When we are walking through an airport, a guy might holler, “Great show last night, Grapes!” And Ron will laugh. Or if we are somewhere and a guy hands him a camera and then asks him to take a picture of me with the guy, Ron thinks that is hilarious. Complete confidence.
Okay, enough of that. Ron, when he reads this, won’t believe his eyes. But what the hell? After keeping the beer cold in hotel rooms after games for twenty-five years, he deserves it. Cold beer and nibbles and stories, that’s what we do—and they are great stories. I’m sure you’re going to hear them in this book. I can hardly wait to read it.
Donald S. Cherry
June 2011
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A special thank you to Cari MacLean, who rode herd on the book—Cari was the calm in the middle of the storm. And we’d like to thank Kirstie’s husband, Larry Day, for his balanced perspective, all his ideas and excellent edits. We’d also like to thank our amazing research assistant, Julie Folk, owner/editor of adrenalinereginasports.com, as well as Sonja Bloomer and Carol Morgan, who kept all pictures organized and on track. Thanks to our hard-working researchers and transcribers and facilitators from Pyramid Productions, Inc.: Carole Cottreau, Steve McLellan, Mike Banks, Carol Morgan, Arana Lyle, Justin Thomson, Shely Henry, Evan Adlington, Tyler McLeod, Sheila Rae, Geordie Day and Vittoria Walter. We’d also like to send a special shout out to Len Glickman from Cassels Brock, and to Alison Woodbury.
Thank you to HarperCollins Canada—Jim Gifford for his invaluable input and for pulling everything together, Noelle Zitzer and Allegra Robinson for their editorial expertise, Greg Tabor for the cover design, and our publisher, Iris Tupholme. Many others at HarperCollins rolled up their sleeves to make this book happen—Neil Erickson, Leo MacDonald, Michael Guy-Haddock, Sandra Leef, Norma Cody, Shelley Tangney, Charidy Johnston, Cory Beatty and our publicity whiz, Laura Hughes. Thanks to Lloyd Davis and Sue Sumeraj for their copy editing and proofreading.
Kirstie expresses her love and thanks to her family for their ongoing support, in particular to her parents, Joan and Bud McLellan; her children and grandchildren, Charlie, Lundy, Paul, Geordie, Buddy, Kristin, Téa, Jaxon and Griffin; and her sisters, Jan Folk and Julie Sinclair.
We’d also like to thank the following people for their invaluable help and stories: Ron MacLean Sr., Don and Luba Cherry, Rodney Fort, Bob Goodenow, Dave Hodge, Craig Adams, Don Meehan at Newport Sports, Jim Byrd, Anne Wortham, Harold Bloom, Terry Ludwick, John Shannon, Charlie Macoun, Larry and Willy (JACK FM Vancouver), Kerrin Lee-Gartner and Max Gartner, Paula and Murray Brookbank, Dr. Matt Brown, Wendy McCreary (NHL Alumni Relations Manager), Marian Finucane, Todd Swanson, Ray Blair, Glen Sather, Brian Burke, Mark Messier, Marty McSorley, Jamie Salé, Jim Cuddy, Kurt Browning, Doug Gilmour, Trevor Pilling, Anne-Marie Maugeri, Kirstine Stewart, Jeff Keay, Dave Cutler, Heather A. Marshall, Mike Dodson, Paula Murrin, Kathy L. Harlen, Miragh Bitove (Archivist and Collections Registrar, D.K. [Doc] Seaman Hockey Resource Centre), Tyler Olsen (Chilliwack Times) and Jacob Bestebroer (Chilliwack Bruins).
Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following for permission to reproduce excerpts:
Lyrics from “Midnight at the Oasis,” by David Nichtern, reprinted with permission of Notting Hill Music Inc., USA.
Transcribed excerpts from the audio interview between Marian Finucane and Nuala O’ Faolain are used courtesy of RTÉ, Ireland’s Public Service Broadcaster.
Lyrics from “Alive,” by Edwin, reprinted with permission of David Martin, Stephan Moccio, and Edwin.
Lyrics from “The Wherewithal,” by The Tragically Hip, reprinted with permission of The Tragically Hip.
Lyrics from “Lost Together,” by Blue Rodeo, reprinted by permission of Keelor/Cuddy; published by Thunderhawk Music.
Transcribed text from Coach’s Corner is reproduced with permission of the CBC.
Thank you to all who helped with photos:
Howard Elliott and Tammie Danciu from The Spectator; Andrea Gordon from The Canadian Press; Brenda Carroll, Simone Seguin and Peter Ogilvie of the CBC; Julianna Child of Fox 40 World; Patricia Desjardins from The Gazette (Montreal); Jillian Goddard from Sun Media; Reg Vertolli from Metroland Media Group; Jessica Tomao of the NHL; Clayton Didier, photographer; Wendy Watts from the Toronto Star; Louis Calabro and Judy Watt of the Academy of Canadian Cinema & Television; Paul Mason from the Jim Pattison Broadcast Group; Steve Poirier from the Hockey Hall of Fame; Sergeant Daren Kraus and Captain J.R. Noel of the Canadian Forces; Ted Pakozdi and Patricia from ICP Photography; Jerry Murphy; Todd Swanson; Marty Vellner; Terry Krushelnicki; Ben Flock, photographer; Brad Dalgarno, photographer; D.J. Wright, wedding photographer; Gary Kennedy, photographer; Gordon Phippen, photographer; Patrick Festing-Smith, photographer; Peter Bregg, photographer; Sherali Najak; David Sealy; Melanie McKinnon, Crown Copyright Officer, Public Works and Government Services Canada; Laurie Near from GetStock/Toronto Star; Barrie Erskine; Liesa Kortman; Frank Gunn; Nancy Ackerman; Chris Bolin; Doug Fraser; Cindy Gillies and Julie Chambers at the Calgary Stampede
1
GOOD GOD, IS THIS KID CRYING?
I’d been waiting in the studio since noon. The game was scheduled for 8 o’clock Eastern. I checked my watch—it was 6:30 p.m. An hour and a half to go. I could hear Mr. Cherry in the hallway, talking to a bunch of kids. I took a look. He was posing for photographs—thumbs up, the whole bit. My heart started racing.
Finally, he rolled into the studio and spotted me sitting at the Hockey Night in Canada desk. “Ron, me boy, you’re from Red River, eh?”
Gee whiz, should I correct him? “That’s right,” I smiled, “Red Deer is my hometown. Calgary is where I’ve been working.” My hand shot out from my side. “It’s a real honour to meet you.”
He ignored my hand. “Yeah, just great. You come down here to Toronto—from Red River—and we all say, ‘What a wonderful fellow.’ I go out to Calgary and Edmonton, tell them I’m from Toronto, and they call me a jerk. Did you know that?”
I chuckled and tried not to look at my hand, which was still frozen in front of me, unshaken.
“Anyways, don’t be nervous, kid,” he said. “There’s only eight and a half million people watching you.” He leaned over, pumped my hand and went off to say hello to Bob Cole, Harry Neale and the rest of the Hockey Night in Canada gang.
I pulled out a Kleenex and pretended to blow my nose, but I was secretly patting sweat off my top lip. I didn’t want everyone to see how nervous I was. Our producer, Doug Sellars, came up to me. He looked serious.
“Ron, when you do Coach’s Corner with Mr. Cherry tonight, there are two things I’d like you to keep in mind.” Doug started counting on his fingers. “Number one, do not let Don Cherry dictate the subject matter.”
I nodded.
“Number two,” he smiled, “don’t be self-consciou
s about this, but there is something we need to point out to you.”
Oh, God.
“When you’re interviewing a guest, your eyes have a tendency to wander up and down your subject—from head to toe.” Head to toe?
Doug was still smiling. “You can’t do that to Mr. Cherry. When two men are sitting side by side, it would be a little disconcerting for some of our viewership to see your eyes focused on his lap. So remember, don’t look down.” He clapped his hands, “Okay, everybody, let’s go!”
The countdown into my first Coach’s Corner, October 10, 1986, began. “Ten, nine, eight …”
I could hear the opening theme. Wandering eyes. I have wandering eyes. I told myself, “Whatever you do, Stupid, don’t look below Don Cherry’s neck.”
“Seven, six …”
But what if I glance down? It’ll look like I’m staring at Don Cherry’s jock!
“Four, three …”
I won’t blink. My eyes cannot wander if I don’t blink. “Two, one!”
“So, Don, who do you like for the Cup this year?” I looked into Don’s big, bright blue eyes. I was fixed on them, concentrating hard.
He started talking, and I became a little uncomfortable. It was tough not to blink. My eyes were burning, filling up with tears. Suddenly, a huge tear the size of a Tic Tac slipped from my left eye and rolled down my cheek. Thankfully, the TV camera was to my right, so the viewers at home couldn’t see it. I followed Don’s eyes as he watched it splash off my collar.
He looked at me with his thoughts written all over his face. “Good God, is this kid crying?”
2
THE LONELY BOY
Both my parents were military. Dad was in the army, then the air force for thirty-two years, so I was a military brat. They met and married in France when Mom was in the air force. They were Cape Bretoners and had grown up only forty miles apart. Dad says Mom was a very pretty girl with a great sense of humour and really easy to talk to.