My Last Fight

by Darren McCarty

  What annoys me the most though are the wasted fans that come up to me slobbering drunk at bars to tell me (slurring, drooling, and spitting) how I shouldn’t drink alcohol or that they don’t like that I drink in public. Yes friends, this really happens. The irony is staggering.

  While I ponder my bad behavior through the years, I also wonder why women bought what I had to offer. It will always baffle me how these women somehow found a way to convince themselves that they were going to be in a relationship with me, or that they were special, or that we were soul mates.

  The reality was that I had a difficult time remembering their names, or juggling how to keep them low-key. Often, my mission was to figure out how to get rid of them. My favorite line was: “You’re too good for me, I can’t bring you into this crazy life of mine. It’s not fair to you.” That one worked well because it still made them feel like they had some worth to me and that it was me with the problem. None of them ever wanted to believe they had a problem, too.

  I’m not saying that was an honorable way to end an affair. I’m saying that was a method that worked. It was a proven exit strategy.

  I never understood why they kept coming back, even though the women knew I was married and knew, in their hearts, that they were being used for sex. They knew I wouldn’t acknowledge my relationship with them to anyone. Yet they kept coming back.

  When I read about Tiger Woods’ exploits, I thought of my own lifestyle. I invested nothing in these relationships I had with multiple women, yet they imagined that they were in these deep loving relationships with me. Some of them clearly believed that we were going to be together forever when in reality it was just about sex to me.

  There is no statute of limitations on how long a woman will believe she was still a special person in your life, even though you viewed her as a short-term dalliance.

  In April 2013, I heard from a woman who I’d had an affair with around 2000 or 2001. She said she was waiting to hear from me because she always felt we were soul mates. She knew I was married back then, and she knew I was re-married now. She even knew my wife’s name. But that didn’t stop her from trying to rekindle our relationship.

  In the midst of writing this book, a mistress from the 1990s reached out to me via email. What they don’t know is that my email goes to my smartphone and to my wife’s smartphone. We read them and laugh. Then I push delete. I rarely reply. The only time I do is if Sheryl knows and thinks I should because the woman won’t stop emailing. In that case, I simply ask her to not contact me further.

  Sheryl just shakes her head. “Baby, you’re an awesome guy and all,” she says. “But geez, you’re not that amazing. These poor, desperate women.”

  As you will read, these people aren’t always harmless. Your past comes back to bite you. Sometimes it bites the people you love. Those wounds sting the most.

  17. The Last Dance

  “I’m doin’ the best I ever did, I’m doin’ the best that I can, I’m doin’ the best I ever did, now go away”

  —“Whatever”

  Godsmack

  “I bless those who curse me and pray for those who have spitefully used me. I am sorry, I had to leave them behind.”

  —Hulk Hogan

  Everyone wants to be friends with Darren McCarty, the former Detroit Red Wings hero, and no one wants to be friends with Darren the addict.

  The oddity of my situation is that fans always want to be around me, while others who have been close to me in the past now want nothing to do with me. Fans want to shake my hand and talk about the Stanley Cup wins, while some of my former friends and family members have shut me out of their lives.

  Some say they can’t be around me because I drink, but I wonder if they would be more tolerant of my drinking if I still had a million dollars in my bank account.

  Right or wrong, my take is that if you are with me when I’m holding the Stanley Cup over my head, then you should also be with me when I’m just scraping money together to pay my bills.

  It’s devastating to me that I seem to be ex-communicated from some friends and family members. I’m sure they would argue that it’s a “tough love” approach, something they learned from Al-Anon. Maybe to them, it seems like the right way to deal with the situation. But from my perspective, it feels like betrayal.

  During this book process, I went to see one of my friends, Sean “X-Pac” Waltman, once a champion WWE wrestler. He was at a small gig in Ybor City, Florida, when I saw him. He has battled drug and alcohol problems, and his best earning years are well behind him. But I was introduced to his mother, who was there supporting him even after his fall from stardom. He told me his mother has always stood beside him through his multiple incidents with substance abuse and rehab stints. Today, Sean is making his comeback. He has conquered many demons in his life; I hope he never stops fighting too.

  When I heard that story I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom because I was holding back tears. I stood there at the sink and splashed cold water on my face. It took me several minutes to pull myself back together.

  I often think about my late stepfather, Craig. I feel as if I would still be close to my family if he were still alive. I don’t think he would have allowed the situation to deteriorate as much as it has. His death changed my life in so many ways. My grandfather and Craig were the two father figures I had in my life, and both left this world far too early.

  Those were the two men in my life who could hold me accountable. They were the two men who could guide me toward the right line of thinking. When Craig died I was left with only women trying to tell me what to do. I needed a male role model to help me through my issues.

  Today, I fill some of the voids in my life through my new relationships with Sheryl’s family. My mother-in-law is a beautiful woman who holds bible studies in an after-school program and preaches at the jail once a week. She prays for me and texts me messages of encouragement. My stepmother-in-law and father-in-law have also helped me. Sheryl’s dad is an alcoholic, and he overcame his addiction to become successful in business. He went from poverty to wealth and back again a few times before finding long-term sobriety. He has been sober for more than 30 years. He’s an inspiration.

  A person doesn’t know me just because he or she knows my NHL statistics. You can’t learn anything about me as a person by reviewing my numbers.

  If you want to know what I’m about, look at my ink work. My tattoos say more about me than my goal total does.

  In 2008, Inked Magazine, the Sports Illustrated for tattoo aficionados, listed me as one of its All-Stars for being one of the professional athletes with the most intriguing etchings on his body.

  Tattoos are forms of self-expression, like songs or poetry or paintings. You probably won’t be shocked to know that I was with Bob Probert when I received my first body art work in 1994. I paid the artist to do an Aries with an “HD” (for Harley-Davidson) running through it. That was representative of my life at that time.

  But my other tattoos are far more personal. You don’t want to be saluted on my left arm because that’s my tribute arm. You could say I wear my heart on my sleeve. That’s where I have a cross and chain as a tribute to my stepdad, Craig, and my grandfather, Jigs. That’s also where I pay homage to my musician friend, James Anders. His design has the words, “It’s all about rock.”

  My right arm is my legacy arm. That’s where I have an artist-rendition of a Griffin, a menacing four-footed medieval beast. That’s to commemorate the birth of my son, who is named Griffin.

  You’re probably wondering why there are no tattoos on my body commemorating my four Stanley Cup championships. That’s because those titles, as proud as I am of winning them, do not represent who I am as a human being.

  Someday, my intention is to complete the vine on my right arm to include ivy and birth flowers to celebrate the birth of my daughters. I still want to add some paws on my l
eft arm to pay tribute to some beloved family pets. I would also like to have a tattoo of my grandmother’s cherry oak piano. I still need to have these additions designed though. (I’d like to get a tattoo that’s a tribute to Sheryl, but she won’t let me because she says it’s bad luck for a relationship. It’s an old Italian wives’ tale that if you tattoo a tribute to a lover on your body it curses the relationship, but I’m still trying to talk her in to it.)

  If you want to get to know me, just study my tattoos. My life is all there in my ink. I’ve wanted new tattoos for a while, but can’t seem to get it done. My tattoo work remains a work in progress, much like my life.

  Although I’d hoped to have a more normal life when I cleared away the troublesome people in my life, it didn’t end all of the drama.

  The initial thought that everyone had when I began making changes in my life was that Sheryl had come in and demanded that I do it. The truth is that Sheryl didn’t demand I do anything. I was ready to change. I wanted to clear my trees and start a new life with Sheryl. That wasn’t something she made me do. It was something I longed to do. It was exhausting mentally and physically to live the wild life I was living. Even though I was surrounded by people, it was a lonely existence because I knew none of those people were in my life long-term.

  But the deadbeats I trimmed from life decided to blame Sheryl for the “new” me. Two waitresses I’d been dating even worked together to launch a hateful slander campaign against Sheryl and me.

  When I was dating these women, they all hated each other. But as soon as I ended things they all started hating me because I wanted nothing to do with them.

  They posted a nasty message on the “97.1 The Ticket” Facebook page when it was announced that I was going to be working there as a sports talk-show host.

  When Borders announced that I was going to be sitting with Dani Probert to sign Bob’s book, these people attacked me on Borders’ website.

  The lies they spread about me caused great harm to my reputation. They told people that I was selling crack out of my basement, a lie that even reached people within the Detroit Red Wings organization. Of course, I wasn’t selling drugs. The truth is that I didn’t even have a basement.

  They were just angry that they were no longer associated with a former Detroit Red Wings player.

  Sheryl made the mistake of trying to fight back, and their actions became even more hurtful. Then we tried to ignore them, but that also didn’t work. At one point, someone from my former group wrote a letter to the hospital where Sheryl worked and said she was stealing drugs so I could sell them.

  Fortunately, the hospital administrator laughed that one off because Sheryl’s drug counts had never been off during her time at the hospital.

  Plus, these nitwits posted their letter-writing plan on Facebook and we were able to point people to their Facebook page and show them what these women were capable of doing. We were not dealing with people of superior intelligence.

  In July, Sheryl was accused of breaking the window in a car belonging to one of the women. We were able to prove Sheryl wasn’t even in town at the time.

  We routinely received threatening messages from them, usually around 3:00 am, after the bars had closed. The situation was well beyond out of hand, but they took it to a new level when a friend showed us a conversation on their Facebook page. They said Sheryl needed to be “taken care of” because this chick’s window had been broken and they said it was Sheryl who had broken it.

  For me, that was the last straw. I felt like we had to do something to protect ourselves.

  Armed with copies of the Facebook postings and text messages, we went to the police department and filed charges. We were advised to also seek a Personal Protection Order (PPO).

  The judge granted us an immediate PPO ex parte, meaning it was granted without the other parties being present for a hearing. Judges don’t like to grant ex parte orders because they seem to be in conflict with the spirit of the fifth and 14th amendments, which assure that people are entitled to due process in court proceedings.

  But judges will grant ex parte orders if there is overwhelming evidence, which we presented.

  In the granting of the PPO, the judge warned us to be careful. Of course, the media reported on the legal proceedings and one of the women hired a lawyer to fight the PPO.

  It quickly became a media event. Sheryl and I became headlines. The story was picked up by every newspaper, website, and television station. We had the television people knocking at our door. Media attention has been part of my life for many years; I can roll with the punches. Sheryl, however, was freaked out by the attention. It doesn’t make sense to her that we were victimized in this situation and we were being hounded by the media.

  As we drove to the court for the legal proceedings, our attorney warned us that every media outlet had asked for, and received, the judge’s permission to document the proceedings.

  That means that cameras seemed like they were in my wife’s face as she was testifying in the case. We had been threatened and harassed and now we were being violated by the process.

  The opposing counsel tried to present emails, supposedly from Sheryl, showing that we had made threats. But they were not from my wife’s account, or from any email account my wife ever owned (In fact, Sheryl’s name was even spelled wrong on the fake email account). The judge did not accept those as evidence.

  But the circus-like atmosphere of the event convinced Sheryl that we were being more harmed than helped by our decision to use the legal system to provide protection.

  “Darren, these people are insane,” Sheryl said. “Plus, the piece of paper [PPO] isn’t going to protect us anyway. Let’s stop the media invasion into our lives, and let’s not give these women and their attorneys any more fame.”

  She suggested that we offer to settle this if the women removed all of the hateful comments from the social media sites and agreed not to make any more public comments about us.

  “Because we went through with this, the police have it all on our record that they have threatened us,” Sheryl said.

  That’s the offer we made, and it was accepted. The agreement was that all of the posts had to be removed, and no further posts about us would be allowed. The judge only agreed to drop three of the four PPOs, though, keeping open temporarily the one for the woman who was involved in a Facebook conversation about my wife being “taken care of.”

  We had to go back to court 30 days later to resolve that issue.

  After the final PPO was dropped, one attorney went to the media and was quoted saying, “It’s unfortunate that athletes and their spouses believe they are entitled to special treatment even far long after they’ve been out of the spotlight.” He went on to say, “Fortunately, for us in this case, in the courtroom justice was blind and ultimately the correct decision was made.”

  This was ironic because his client was the client that the judge initially kept the PPO active against for an additional 30 days. We made the decision to dismiss it, no one else. The judge’s decision was never given in this case, except to continue this particular PPO for 30 days. We literally had to go back to have it dismissed. When we did, the judge kept asking us if we were sure that this was the decision we wanted to make.

  It just goes to show that what the media reports and what actually happens are two very different things.

  All of this is public record, so anyone who wants to review the records can. I’m glad of that because I have nothing to hide.

  The public record shows that one of these ridiculous human beings said that my wife should be harmed because her window was bashed in.

  In a Facebook conversation, one of her “friends” said he would do it so she wouldn’t have to get her “hands dirty.”

  Another guy said he would come in his “death truck” and get it done for her.

  The fascinating aspect of the sit
uation is that the woman testified under oath that she never accused my wife of breaking her window, even though we presented the Facebook evidence.

  Under oath, she also said that no one had broken her window. She said it had been broken by the summer heat.

  This situation was created by sick, hateful, and delusional people. When I was going through this, all I could think about was how I spent all of my time with these kinds of people when I was in my dark period. I let these people in my life. It makes me sick to know that my poor choices a few years ago meant Sheryl had to go through this ordeal.

  “It’s okay, babe,” Sheryl would say. “These people don’t scare me.”

  She should have run the other way when she met me, or left my ass when she discovered how I was living in 2009. But she stayed with me, first as a friend and now as a wife. Her love has never wavered. I now understand what true love is about.

  Sheryl saved my life.

  When I pointed out that my mess with my 3:00 am girlfriends is public record, it occurred to me that my life is essentially public record. Once I beat up Claude Lemieux, I was never again going to have a private life.

  My employment history since I retired from the game is well known. I worked for Versus as an analyst until NBC Sports Network took over, at which point my boss was fired, which meant that everyone he hired was fired. After that is when I worked in the pawn shop business with American Jewelry and Loan on Greenfield Road in Detroit. I was featured on the reality show Hardcore Pawn.