All the Way

by Jordin Tootoo

  It was different during games as well. The biggest thing I noticed was that the fans in Detroit really understand the game. They have a history with the sport. In Nashville, every time we touched the puck I think the fans thought we were going to score a goal. They made noise all the time. In Detroit, it was the opposite. Sometimes you could hear a pin drop out on the ice. You wouldn’t have known there were twenty thousand fans in Joe Louis Arena. Regular-season hockey there is kind of blah. They know they’re going to make the playoffs, so they save all of their energy for then. As it got closer to playoffs, you could feel the intensity in the arena start to build up. And then when the playoffs came around, it was like, Where were those fans all year? The raw emotion would bleed out of the stands to us.

  For the first thirty-five games, I was in the lineup every night. Because of the lockout, it was a shortened season. We were playing every other day. Guys were getting injured and going in and out of the lineup. I was playing through injuries. Mentally, it was strenuous, but I kept going.

  And then it just petered out from there. When I signed with Detroit, the biggest reason was because I knew there wasn’t another player like me and there wasn’t any question that I was going to be playing. But then I started playing fewer and fewer minutes. I was a healthy scratch on a lot of nights. Communication is very important to me. Im guessing it’s important to everyone. When you communicate, it makes things a lot easier. But I didn’t find there was a lot of communication with the Red Wings. You were on your own, and you had to figure things out on your own. It’s tough when you feel like you’re in limbo.

  I started to question myself, to ask what I wasn’t doing right, what it would take for me to get back in the lineup. I started wondering about myself and doubting myself. They brought me there to bring them the physical part of the game. Then they told me I wasn’t producing enough and they had to take me out of the lineup and try something new. And yet they told me that I’d done everything they’d expected.

  I wanted to be in the lineup every night and I did everything I could to make that happen. When you’re told you’re not going to be playing, it kind of stabs you in the heart. Should I fight more? What am I doing that’s not right? No one had any answers for me.

  Then the playoffs came around. We had finished seventh in the Western Conference, just squeaking into the playoffs by a point, and were matched against the number-two seed, the Anaheim Ducks, in the first round. Obviously, they were the heavy favourites. For the first game in California, Babcock put me in the starting lineup. That made sense, because I’d played in almost every playoff game for the Predators when I was in Nashville, and they told me they were going with experience, which was a good thing for me. Then we lost, 3–1. I took a cross-checking penalty in the first period, and the Ducks scored on the power play, but otherwise I thought I had done okay. I played only a little over six minutes the entire game. No one else on the team played less than ten.

  And then, the next day, my name wasn’t even on the lineup sheet. When I asked why I was out, I was given the old “we’re going to switch things up.” And that was pretty much it. Frick, when you’re told that they’re going to switch things up and then they switch things up and it doesn’t work, you figure you might get another chance. But after that, it was like I didn’t exist. They were putting skill guys who weren’t grinders on the fourth line, and all I could do was skate after practice with the other guys who hadn’t dressed for the game, all the time thinking, Geez, why the hell did I even come here?

  Players like me go to war for their teammates and do whatever it takes to be there for them. Once the playoffs come around, it’s all about having a group of guys who are willing to go to war for each other. I know that I’m a guy who will do anything for his teammates. I felt I got shafted by Detroit. In my mind, it was like, Thanks for coming out, thanks for helping us get to the playoffs, but now we’re just going to go with the guys we have. I felt like I’d fallen off the face of the earth.

  We won that series with Anaheim in seven games, and then we took the Chicago Blackhawks to seven games in the second round before losing. The Hawks went on to win the Stanley Cup. But I didn’t play another second after that first game against Anaheim.

  After we were knocked out of the playoffs, we had a year-end team meeting. Babcock told us that if anyone wanted to meet with him individually, he could call and set something up. He said, “My phone is always on, but, otherwise, have a good summer and we’ll see you in the fall.” I was so furious that I just wanted to fuck off. I wanted to get out of Detroit as fast as possible. I hadn’t played in a month and a half and I hadn’t had any real communication with anybody in the Red Wings organization during that time. There was no way I was going to call Babcock. Why would I meet with him? What did I have to say to him—even though, deep down, I had a lot to say to him. But I thought, Fuck it, I don’t want to see him and I don’t want to talk to him.

  But then I called my agent and talked to him a bit about it. I cooled off and we both decided it would better to make the call and sit down with Babcock, so I ended up having a meeting with him. And to be honest, it felt like a brush-off at the time. There isn’t a hockey player in the world who doesn’t want more ice time. I knew I could contribute. All my life, I’ve been a guy who was counted on to contribute. So it really got under my skin that Babcock didn’t see things that way. But once I cooled off a little, I figured I had to try to see things his way. I realized that Babcock didn’t have to take that meeting with me, didn’t have to explain himself at all. I see now that he wasn’t there to talk hockey. He just wanted to shake hands and part ways on good terms. Whatever our differences of opinion, I have to respect him for that.

  And so off I went, back to Kelowna for the summer. I did my best to clear my mind and get rid of my anger. Eventually, I decided that somehow the next season would be better, that I wouldn’t ask for a trade, that I would go to training camp and give it my best shot.

  During the off-season, Jordin went back to Nunavut, returning to his roots, returning to the land, and shedding some of the frustration from the previous season. In addition to going home to Rankin Inlet, where he reconnected with family and friends, he embarked on what has become an annual tour of even more remote Inuit communities in Nunavut and the Northwest Territories, some of them far above the Arctic Circle. It’s a way of rejuvenating himself and giving back to his people.

  I have a big following in the north. How big? Well, it’s hard to say. There aren’t many people up there, but for those people I’m like a massive sports figure in America or maybe the president of the United States, who has millions and millions of people following him. When I fly into small communities in the north, I’m like that to them. When we’re coming in, a lot of the time the pilot will make a couple of flybys to give us a bird’s-eye view of how big or how small the place is. Usually there are just a few dozen houses in the middle of the tundra. From the air, you can see everyone running out of their houses and jumping on their quads or their bicycles and heading for the airport, knowing that I’m on that plane. It sends chills down my spine. It’s just me. What’s the big deal? Sometimes I don’t get it, to be honest, because I’m just a small-town boy who grew up and was lucky enough to get to live the life that a lot of these kids wish they could live.

  Visiting these communities is a way of saying thank-you for their constant loyalty and their commitment. They look up to me as a role model. They’re people I can count on to be true, loyal fans, not fans of Jordin Tootoo just because he’s an NHL player. They’re fans because of who I am and where I grew up and the steps I’ve taken to be where I am today. A lot of those people have never had a chance to leave their little towns, let alone see an NHL game in person. It’s an unbelievable experience for me, getting to travel across the whole of the territories. And given how the season with Detroit played out, that year’s trip was especially good for me.

  It’s a part of the world that is very isolated from the s
outh. Up there, you can kind of separate yourself from all of the commotion that goes on down south. These are communities of five hundred people, or three hundred people. It’s very soothing for me to land in one of those places and get away from my cellphone and my other life. You’re not completely cut off from the outside world, because every community is connected by the internet and has satellite television. But it’s the mentality, the feeling of being apart—the same as I had growing up as a small-town boy. Life in the north is very simple. It isn’t about being on a schedule. You just kind of go with the flow. I’ve lived in the south now for a number of years and life there gets pretty hectic. You seem to get caught up in your schedule, in what you have to do that day. In the north, it’s a lot more relaxed—and it seems to get more relaxed the farther north you go.

  It also does me a lot of good to go somewhere where people are real, loyal, humble, and true to themselves—where they’re not fake. I’m going somewhere where I can have a heart-to-heart conversation and not have to worry about bullshitting. It seems to me that, down south, a lot of the time people tell somebody one thing and then do another. That’s just how the world works sometimes. You have to bullshit your way through it. In the north, there’s no bullshit. It’s plain black and white. There are no grey areas. So, being in the north is a time to heal all of the wounds before I have to get back to reality. Those northern communities are the places where I feel most at home.

  They also give me a chance to go back to my roots and to give back. And it’s very humbling. I’m just so thankful for the support system I have in the Arctic. Any time that I can go up there and do something for the people there, I’m more than honoured to do it. I understand that I’m a huge role model. It creates an uplifting feeling in a lot of these communities to have me visit and for the kids to see their local hero. In each school I visit, we have an assembly. And then in the evenings, we have a community gathering at the local hall. I speak to everyone and say my few bits, sign autographs, and take pictures. I’m not there to preach. I’m there mainly to interact with them and say thank-you. I’m not much of a public speaker. I’d much rather sign autographs and take pictures all night than make speeches. Before I speak, I usually sit down with the mayor of the community and find out what the local issues are, and then I try to talk about them. A lot of it is about education, about convincing kids to stay in school. I also talk about community involvement, in regards to helping each other out. Pretty much every one of these communities has issues with drugs and alcohol. They know that I’ve been sober for three years. I talk about sobriety. I’m not a guy who is going to go out and preach about it. I try to lead by example. That’s the kind of person I am. If I lead by example, hopefully a lot of these people will follow.

  I understand what they’re going through. I can relate. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and within my own family. Addiction. Abuse. For me to be able to speak about it and not be afraid is important, because I’m telling them not to be afraid to talk. Speak out. There’s always going to be someone who is going to listen and will want to help. In these small communities, silent is the way to be. What happens behind closed doors is no one else’s business. When you’re in a small town and everyone knows everyone, you don’t want other people knowing about your problems. People are scared to talk. People are afraid to open up. You can see it in a lot of people’s eyes when I talk about situations I have experienced. I’m not directing my speeches only to the young kids; I’m directing them to the adults and the adolescents as well. I’m looking them straight in the eye, and sometimes they look away because they have experienced the same things. I need to make a point about opening up and not being afraid.

  I understand now that, before I got sober, the message I was sending was pretty confused, and I wasn’t setting much of an example. I was living in my own little world. I didn’t understand the importance of being a role model to these people. I didn’t understand how much of an influence I had in these communities, not only on the kids but also on the adults. I still made time for everybody but, mentally, I wasn’t there. And I was definitely contradicting myself—talking about the importance of not drinking and then, in the evening, going out and partying it up. Discretely, I thought, but they had to notice.

  When I finally figured myself out, cleaned myself up, and took a few steps back, the trips north became an unbelievable experience. Over the last three years, I’ve soaked so much in. To know that all of those people are behind me 100 percent is just an unbelievable feeling. When I visit those communities, every eye is watching my every move. Now that my mind is clear, I realize the effect I have on those people on a day-to-day basis. Part of my motivation for sobering up was making sure that I give myself every opportunity to have those people look up to me—because they’re the ones who inspire me every day to be the best person I can be, not only for myself but as a role model in the north.

  But, you know, it’s not all serious. A lot of the time, girls from the communities will come up to me and ask, “Will you be my baby’s daddy? Can we go on a date? Can you take me back down south?” And, obviously, I get a lot of hockey questions. I get a real chuckle out of the kids; once one kid starts asking questions, it’s like a trickle effect, and suddenly they all start talking. You can see it in the kids’ eyes, how excited they are. I recognize that look because I was that same kid growing up. Every time we had a guest speaker come to class, we listened and we watched. And now that guest speaker is me.

  The lockout that shortened the 2012–2013 NHL season had continuing repercussions the following year. Because the regular-season schedule was reduced to forty-eight games, the league’s salary cap didn’t rise to the same degree it would have following a full year of hockey. Clubs that had already committed salary through long-term contracts were going to be forced to make some difficult decisions in order to get below the threshold. Coming into training camp in the fall of 2013, everyone knew that the Red Wings, like most teams, had salary cap issues. And from the first day of camp, Jordin was one of the players on the bubble. The Wings had other options for third- and fourth-line duty, some of them earning less than the $1.9 million Jordin was guaranteed for the second year of his three-year contract. When he was hurt during training camp and missed some valuable time, the writing was on the wall, though Jordin wasn’t the first to understand that.

  Going back to Detroit, I thought there was a chance it could be a whole new start for me and the Red Wings. That season, we would have a normal, full training camp, and I would have a chance to show them what I could contribute to the team. But, instead, it was the same deal right off the bat. They told me I was going to have to fight for a spot on the team. They’d signed a few guys in the off-season and there was a lot of competition for what were really just a couple of jobs.

  So, deciding not to ask for a trade during the summer had kind of backfired on me. The role that I played wasn’t really in their plan. They decided to go with more skilled guys throughout all four lines. I was in and out of the lineup during camp, and I felt that I did everything they asked of me. My teammates were patting me on the back and making me feel good and feel wanted on the team. But none of that mattered.

  One day, I was called in and told I was being put on waivers. What that meant was that any other team in the league could claim me, but if they did, they would have to take on my contract, which I knew wasn’t likely given that nearly everyone in the league was up against the salary cap. If no team claimed me, Detroit could send me down to the minors—to their American Hockey League farm team in Grand Rapids, Michigan—where they’d still have to pay me, but my salary wouldn’t count against their cap. It’s called “burying a contract.” I wasn’t the first guy it’s happened to, and I won’t be the last.

  Kenny Holland, Detroit’s general manager, gave me the news: “Toots, we have cap issues. It’s unfortunate that you’re the guy who has to be put on waivers. You’ve done everything right up to this point. You’ve been a r
eal pro in the dressing room. The guys like you. Thanks for coming, but we’re sending you to the minors.”

  Maybe I should have seen it coming, but the truth is I didn’t, not at all. I knew that guys were coming back from injuries, and that there was the whole salary cap thing that the media were talking about, but it never stood out in my mind. I thought I was one of those guys they would count on. And then I got the call. They decided to go more with youth, and good for the young guys who were stepping up and seizing their opportunities. I was one of those guys not so long ago. But what happened to the part about having to earn your spot? Nowadays, everything is just kind of handed to the kids.

  After I had the meeting with Holland about putting me on waivers, I called my agent. We were both really hoping that I was going to get picked up by somebody. There were teams calling about me, but nothing worked out. So I packed my bags and headed for Grand Rapids. Mentally, I wasn’t ready to be in the minors. I was there physically, but I wasn’t there in my head. The first couple of days, it was okay. I thought, This is going to be temporary. I’ve just got to play hard and do what I do. I was thinking, The game is going to be a little bit easier down here, and I’m going to be faster and stronger.

  But the game in the AHL is totally different. After playing in the NHL for nine years—playing at that pace with the systems we use and the positioning of players—the truth is, in some ways it’s a lot easier playing in the NHL. Down in the minors, it’s kind of a mad scramble, and that wasn’t good for me at that stage in my career. After the first couple of games, I was frustrated, but I kept telling myself I was just there temporarily, to let it go, to let it go. One week went by. Another week went by. By then, I was scratching my head and thinking, Frick, somebody fucking trade me somewhere, please. I can’t handle this. Then a month had gone by and I was getting the same story every day from Detroit: We’re trying, we’re doing our best. We’re calling around. We’re talking to teams. And all I could think was, Just get it done. If you have something—anything—get it done. You told me when I came here than I’m an NHL player who deserves to be in the NHL. Frick, it’s been a month. What the hell is going on? Get me out of here. You guys tell me one thing and you aren’t following through on it. Where’s the loyalty?