My Last Fight

by Darren McCarty

  It had been 16 years since I had ridden a bus on a hockey road trip. But even that seemed like fun to me. The Generals’ bus was nicknamed “Cessie,” short for Cesspool. You can draw your own conclusions as to why we called it that. But this bus looked like it had been driven straight to Flint from the movie Slap Shot.

  Sometimes the heat worked, sometimes it didn’t. But honestly, the guys didn’t mind too much because the bus rides were usually a comedy show. My three weeks in Flint were probably the best time I had playing hockey since the season the Red Wings won the Stanley Cup in 2002.

  I ended up playing on a line with Jason Cirone, a player my age who I had played against in the Ontario Hockey League. He played for the Cornwall Royals back then, and then he went on to have a memorable career in Europe. He even established himself enough as an Italian to play for that country at the Olympics.

  We were both living in the suburbs north of Detroit, and on practice days Jason would pick me up and then we would meet forwards John DiPace and Mike Kinnie at the Great Lakes Crossing shopping center in Auburn Hills, Michigan. The four of us would commute together, with me riding shotgun. I spent the entire trip busting balls and scheming about who we might prank that day.

  Playing with Cirone was fun because he could thread a needle with his passes. In Flint, I felt as if I had an offensive role. It was fun to play a ton of minutes and play those minutes believing my shifts were important to the outcome of the game.

  In my last season in Calgary, I lost interest because it seemed as if coach Jim Playfair didn’t respect what I had to offer. It’s difficult to feel essential to the team’s success when you’re only playing four or five minutes per game.

  When I agreed to play in the IHL, one of the thoughts was that the IHL tough guys were going to want to measure themselves against a proven NHL enforcer. But that never happened. In fact, the opposite occurred, as opponents mostly didn’t bother me out of respect for what I had accomplished in the NHL.

  The only moment of disrespect directed toward me came in my last game with the Generals on January 27, 2008. The Red Wings had seen enough to ask me to go Grand Rapids in the American Hockey League to continue my preparation to return to the NHL.

  We were playing against the Kalamazoo Wings, and at the end of the second period I came out to the point to cover the defenseman, at which time Kalamazoo player Travis Granbois took a two-hander across my pants.

  I remember thinking that I should skate away because this was my last game in Flint. But Granbois was the Sean Avery of the IHL. And he had been acting like an asshole. He needed his ass kicked.

  Couldn’t skate away.

  “You motherfucker,” I screamed. “You’re gonna regret that slash.”

  I grabbed his chin strap, and twisted it until he felt like he was choking.

  Obviously, everyone in the hockey world know how much anger I brought to my Claude Lemieux battle. The only other NHL guy I can remember wanting to hurt badly was Jamal Mayers. He was respected around the NHL as a guy who played hard, but Mayers raised my anger by jumping me once and I was always looking for the opportunity to make him pay for that.

  I will admit here that I wanted to hurt Granbois as badly as I wanted to hurt Lemieux and Mayers.

  “You little bitch,” I screamed at Granbois. “You think you want to try to go big time on me?”

  His face was turning beet red.

  “So how do you like playing big-boy hockey?” I asked him as I kept twisting his chin strap.

  He was on the bottom of the pile, and his feet were kicking when the linesman stepped in and saved him further embarrassment.

  Even though it was my last game in the IHL, I wasn’t going to let Granbois get away with that shit.

  Although I can’t be sure, Granbois may have momentarily passed out because he was having trouble breathing.

  “So you think you’re so fucking smart now?” I asked him. “Well this is how we played the game back in the day. And trust me, you wouldn’t be able to cut it.”

  I was 13 years older than this punk Granbois. When he was eight, I was fighting guys like Joey Kocur, Donald Brashear, Kelly Buchberger, and Derian Hatcher. I was not going to let him get away with a cheap shot against me.

  The trick of putting your fingers through the ear hole and twisting the strap is an old-school move. When you do that and put an opponent in a headlock, he will panic in a hurry.

  I didn’t hit him. I think I tried to gouge his eyes out. I didn’t give a fuck. He pissed me off because he tried to make a name for himself. When he was flopping around on the ice like a fish, I told him, “You don’t have what it takes, kid.”

  The only other fight I had in the IHL involved Muskegon tough-guy Chris Kovalcik, who might be the most respectful enforcer I ever met.

  We lined up for a faceoff, and Kovalcik said to me, “You’re my idol and it would be an honor to fight you. Would you fight me?”

  I didn’t want to fight him, but how could I refuse that respectful challenge? So I dropped the gloves, and I kind of swatted away his punches, and we wrestled around. It wasn’t much of a fight.

  But the kid said something like, “This has been the best day of my life.”

  It was my honor just to meet him. What a respectful athlete. But that’s not the whole story.

  Holland heard that I had a fight with the Muskegon tough guy and that I didn’t aggressively pound him.

  When I got to Grand Rapids, Holland came up to me and said, “You don’t want to fight anymore? You let an IHL heavyweight manhandle you. Do you still have it?”

  Holland loved razzing me about one thing or another.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said. “I didn’t want to hurt the kid. I could have killed him. After the game, I think I signed an autograph for him.”

  When you factor in my experience with the Grand Rapid Griffins and then my return to Detroit, I think I had as much fun playing hockey in 2007–08 as I had ever had.

  In my Griffins debut, on February 15, 2008, I scored three goals and added one assist in a 6–3 win against the Lake Erie Monsters.

  It was $1 hot dog night at Van Andel Arena, and some fans threw hot dogs as well as hats after I scored my third goal at 2:45 of the third period, a booming slap shot past Lake Erie goalie Mike Wall’s blocker.

  One fan even threw a shoe on the ice to celebrate the hat trick. I have no idea what that was about.

  The announced crowd of 10,062 gave me a four-minute standing ovation. It was quite a night. It was the largest crowd the Griffins had drawn since opening night. According to MLive.com, the team had a walk-up sale of about 1,700 tickets in the last few hours before game time.

  “What can you say, this is like a movie script,” Griffins coach Mike Stothers told the media.

  Darren Helm assisted on my first goal at 5:53 of the first period. Wall had stopped his shot but surrendered a juicy rebound, and I drove it home quickly, just like Brendan Shanahan had taught me to do years before.

  My second goal came on the power play. I stuffed a backhand wrap-around past Wall in the second period.

  I told the media that the game showed me that “I am doing the right things” that would put me on the path to returning to the NHL.

  I truly believed that I could step in and help the Red Wings in 2007–08 the way Joey Kocur stepped in and helped the Red Wings when Holland signed him out of the beer league in 1996–97.

  One of the best aspects of my time spent with the Griffins was the fact that my son Griffin was 11 and old enough to enjoy being around a pro team.

  Stothers allowed him to announce the lineup before the game and he even took a road trip to Peoria with us.

  The Griffins were formed in 1996, the same year that Griffin was born. And he got into his head that the Griffins were named in his honor.

  Stothers was an old-school coach, and
those are my favorite kind of coaches. He would tear a strip off you if you weren’t playing well, and I have never minded that because I feel like you know where you stand with old-school coaches.

  He was tough to the point that his tirades could be downright funny. We were down 1–0 after two periods against Rochester, and he came into the dressing room and emptied both chambers on all of us. It reminded me of the way Mavety used to fire away at us in my junior days. No one was spared his wrath that night.

  Garrett Stafford got pummeled, and all of the top players were singled out. Then he walked across to forward Tyler Redenbach, a former Western Hockey League standout who wore his very white hair in an afro.

  “And you, Q-Tip, when are you going to start showing some jam?” Stothers bellowed.

  I buried my head in my towel to prevent Stothers from knowing that I was laughing my ass off. I peeked out and caught team captain Mark Hartigan doing the same thing. It may have been the funniest coach yelling episode I’ve ever heard.

  Playing for Stothers in Grand Rapids made hockey fun again. It’s said that old-timers don’t have anything in common with younger minor leaguers, but I had a blast.

  One reason why I’m still very interested in the Red Wings’ success today is that I feel like players such as Jimmy Howard, Jonathan Ericsson, Darren Helm, Justin Abdelkader, Kyle Quincey, and Joakim Andersson are my guys.

  I feel connected to them, and I hope they feel like I helped them in some way when we played together in Grand Rapids. Maybe I couldn’t show them how to score like Brendan Shanahan showed me, but I felt like I schooled them in some of the tricks of the trade, like how to protect yourself in the corners or how to defend yourself in a fight.

  I feel like I have watched Jimmy Howard grow up in the Detroit organization.

  Ten days after I netted a hat trick for Grand Rapids, Holland had seen enough to sign me to a $600,000 pro-rated contract. I had been playing in Grand Rapids for $75,000, pro-rated, meaning I was making about $2,800 per week before taxes. But at that point in my life, I probably would have played for free just for the opportunity to get back to the show.

  Even after I signed, I had to spend two more weeks in Grand Rapids on a conditioning stint.

  The truth is that Red Wings coach Mike Babcock was not as convinced as Holland was that I could help the team.

  But when I played my first game back with the Red Wings on March 28, 2008, Babcock started the Grind Line. I was out there playing with Draper and Kirk Maltby. It was a classy gesture by Babcock.

  I ended up only playing three regular season games, but I believe I played well enough in the season finale against Chicago to earn a place in the playoff lineup. I seemed to win the 12th forward role over Aaron Downey.

  Per my tradition, I did score an important playoff goal, netting the team’s first goal in a 4–2 win against the Nashville Predators. It wasn’t the biggest goal of my career, but it sure felt that way at the time, given the climb I’d made to get back to the NHL.

  “You can’t help but cheer for people who are trying to get their life back on track, especially when a guy has worked as hard as he has and has been one of the favorite sons here in Detroit,” Babcock told the media after the game.

  Babcock is not a players coach. He can be infuriating. That’s why I appreciated his comments after that game.

  Johan Franzen and Tomas Holmstrom both had injuries, and I was able to stay in the lineup for 17 playoff games. I didn’t lose my spot until the Stanley Cup Final, when the injured players were all back.

  But when we celebrated the Stanley Cup championship on Pittsburgh’s home ice, I was just as thrilled as I was when I won my other three titles. I felt like I had done enough during the playoffs to share in the success of this Stanley Cup.

  Draper said the fact that I was able to lift the Stanley Cup again was “a Disney script.”

  In one respect, the fourth Cup was the best Cup for family purposes. My four children—Griffin, Emerson, Avery, and Gracyn—were all old enough to appreciate celebrating the championship with their dad. At the time, Griffin, my oldest, was 12 and Gracyn was four.

  Our day with the Stanley Cup included a stop at Stroh’s Ice Cream Parlor, where we filled up Lord Stanley’s mug with chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and cookie dough ice cream, plus chocolate syrup and sprinkle toppings.

  We took the Stanley Cup to the Greek Islands Coney Island for breakfast, and then the barber shop, St. Regis Catholic School, and the Core Training Facility in Troy where Jeff Pierce and his staff helped me start my comeback.

  It was the perfect day for a sober man who thought he had turned around his life. On that day, spent with my family in celebration of my hockey career, I felt like I had my life back under control. But I was wrong, as I had been many times before.

  13. Follow the Money

  “It’s okay for you to hate me, for all the things I’ve done, I’ve made a few mistakes, but I’m not the only one ... You pulled me under, to save yourself”

  —“Coming Down”

  Five Finger Death Punch

  When I played in the National Hockey League, every day was Christmas, and I was Santa Claus. I earned more than $16 million during my 15-season career and I tried to take care of everybody in the world with that money.

  One of the misconceptions about my career was that I went broke because of drugs and gambling.

  The truth is that I lost my wealth because I couldn’t say no to anyone who had his or her hand out. I was the fucking Bank of McCarty. I was Daddy Warbucks. It seemed as if anyone who needed a “loan” to survive during difficult times came to me.

  About 10 years ago, one of my closest friends found himself in a financial mess because his investments went south. I loaned him $100,000 to dig himself out of the hole he was in. I gave it to him because we were tight. We were like family. There was a time when I golfed with the man almost every day. I was a godfather to one of his children. I never hesitated to give him that loan.

  He made one $10,000 payment to me. As of this writing, I haven’t seen or heard from that friend in more than seven years.

  Another time, a former member of the Detroit Red Wings organization—not a player—needed a financial boost to help a distressed business venture, so I loaned him $50,000. I have never received a dime of that money back. If I saw him today, I would probably punch him right in the fucking mouth.

  You’re probably wondering why I won’t name him, but that’s just not how I operate. I can’t throw him under the bus. It’s not in me. When I have a beef with someone, it’s about me and him. I’m not going to embarrass him publicly, even though my dirty laundry is always on public display.

  My estimate is that I gave away about $1 million to friends, family members, and acquaintances during my NHL career. My gambling losses, and the amount of money I spent on drugs, wouldn’t total anywhere near that amount of money.

  Today, I’m living on an NHL pension of $636 per month and whatever I can earn for autograph or promotional appearances. Now that I’m living month-to-month, like everyone else, it’s funny how I don’t have as many friends as I used to have.

  I’m not telling you this to earn your pity. I’m offering this truth only because I’m hoping that some young NHL prospect might read this chapter and avoid the same mistakes that I made by not managing my earnings with my future in mind.

  My money woes are my own fault. When you grow up without having money, and then you earn big money, it isn’t always easy to know how to handle it. I always spent money as if I had an endless supply.

  I didn’t start out as a free spender. My first NHL contract paid me $200,000 per season, with a $200,000 signing bonus. After taxes, I cleared about $140,000, and I remember my stepdad made me put $100,000 in the bank.

  My first major purchase was a 1991 Jeep Cherokee with the extended cab. I bought some golf clubs, and gave so
me money to Mom and Dad and Cheryl’s parents. Cheryl’s engagement ring came out of the money as well.

  Looking back, I wonder now why I gave $10,000 to my girlfriend’s parents. That was just the start of me being overly generous with my money.

  Would they have given me $10,000 if they won the lottery? I know it’s proper to give your parents a home or a car or a major gift out of your signing bonus, but how many stories have you read about athletes signing their first contracts and giving their girlfriend’s parents money? I don’t think I’ve read any stories like that.

  I tell this story only to point out that I was overly generous. My advice to an athlete today would be to invest the bulk of their money from their first contact.

  Considering that just having that amount of money made me feel like a big roller, imagine how I felt when I signed my first big contract of $4.5 million over five years. And I was just getting started. As a player, you get paid twice a month, and I remember that one of my goals was to reach the point where my take-home pay was more than $100,000 per paycheck. That finally happened in 2002–03, when my annual salary was $2.2 million.

  My take-home that season was about $102,000 per paycheck. I remember being fucking giddy that I had finally reached six figures.

  Of course that made me wonder what kind of money Nick Lidstrom and Stevie Y were bringing down twice a month. Once, on payday, I remember going up to Nick and saying, “Nick, I gotta see your check. C’mon, I just have to see what that looks like.”

  Lidstrom is such a nice guy that he showed me. It was around $425,000 or something near that. It was a stupid amount of money. But what I was earning seemed more stupid. If anyone deserved to make that amount of money, it was Nick.

  When it came to money, I didn’t know how to be conservative. Instead of planning ahead like my teammates Kris Draper and Kirk Maltby did, I lived for the fucking moment because that is my personality.

  I like to spread around my money. I often tipped 50 percent, which is why they always rolled out the red carpet for me everywhere I went in Detroit. I took care of people wherever I went.