Hockey Dad (24 page)

It's the exact opposite of the OHL draft, which is both
comprehensive and
fi
nite. OHL scouts come out in droves
in the minor midget season to watch all the prospects. They
evaluate them and on one Saturday in May, they render judgment. The kids get drafted, or not, but everybody knows
where they stand.

The trying-to-get-a-scholarship process is a lot less de
fine
d.
If schools have interest, they make contact. But there are myriad rules and regulations on when they can contact, how much
they can contact and even how many times they can watch a
player play.

The college recruiters come and go like apparitions. Sometimes they're there; sometimes they're not. Sometimes they
talk to your kid after the game; sometimes not.

By my count, there were at least half a dozen schools that
I thought were seriously interested in Mike as he prepared for
his third year of Junior A. We were pulling out all the stops,
too. Mike went off to a two-week power-skating school in
North Dakota to address the No. 1 weakness in his game. He
was working out at Gary Roberts's Station 7 gym in Toronto.

There was one college in particular that had maintained
fairly regular contact over the summer-letters, phone calls
with both Mike and me, leaving us with the distinct impression
they were perhaps on the verge of offering Mike a scholarship.

Mike came back from the power-skating school and went
immediately into training camp with St. Mike's, which was
a grueling experience. The Buzzers took pride in being the
best-conditioned team in the league; training camp was like
boot camp. There was also an ambitious schedule of preseason
games, with a string of
five
in seven days. Because the team
had a bunch of kids away at OHL camps and their star player,
Andrew Cogliano, was taking a little time off after playing for
Team Canada at the U-18 tournament in the Czech Republic,
Mike found himself playing in all these preseason games. I could immediately see he was fatigued even before the
preseason games. Maybe power-skating school right before
training camp wasn't such a great idea. Oops. After the third
game in three nights, the college recruiter who maintained
contact with us all summer walked by me in the arena lobby.
When I said, "Hey, how you doing?" he nodded at me and just
kept on walking. Strange, I thought. Oh, well, maybe he's busy.

A few days later at another game, he was there again. It was
the same deal. This guy was blowing me off! I couldn't believe
it. He had done a complete one-eighty from the summer. I
could only guess it was because he'd seen a very weary Mike
playing those preseason games and determined he wasn't what
they were looking for. Two things really ticked me off about
that. One, all he had to do was tell me that to my face. Two, it's
the %$#&*!% preseason. They make decisions on scholarships
based on a few preseason games? You gotta be kidding me.

Mike was playing decently for the Buzzers, but not as well
as he needed to. Instead of the list of prospective schools getting longer, it was getting shorter by the day. Our last two
hopes were down to St. Lawrence University and Clarkson
University-upstate New York rivals separated by only ten
miles. Clarkson decided it wasn't sold on Mike's skating
but were honest and up front about that, which I greatly
appreciated.

So now it was down to only St. Lawrence. If Mike didn't
get an offer from SLU, Plan B was to play the following season
in Division III at Oswego University on the southeast corner of Lake Ontario, northwest of Syracuse and northeast of
Rochester. St. Lawrence had been watching Mike since he was
a sixteen-year-old with the Legionaires. While they seemed
fairly interested over those three seasons, and maintained cordial contact, they were totally noncommittal through the
entire process.

SLU associate coach Chris Wells was at back-to-back Buzzer
games in late November/early December. Call it fate or whatever, but almost any time SLU was in the building, Mike scored
a goal and played well. So it was on a Friday night in early
December Chris Wells told Mike, and then me, they were prepared to make Mike a scholarship offer.

Hallelujah!

But standing in the lobby of St. Mike's Arena that night,
Chris Wells told me that it was for two years. I quickly did the
math. Two years of scholarship would mean two years of paying for school. And, at $40,000 (U.S.) per year (tuition, room
and board), that was way out of my snack bracket. I told him
that's a lot of money for us, at which point he indicated he
wasn't talking money; he was talking about when he wanted
Mike to attend the school; in two years, or the fall of 2006. He
was trying to say he wanted Mike to play one more season of
Junior A before going to college.

That was no problem. I actually preferred Mike go into
college as a twenty-year-old freshman because his skating and
strength still weren't where they needed to be.

As it turned out, the St. Lawrence scholarship offer was
for three years, meaning I would have to pay for one year. The
amount, $40,000 (U.S.), was not insigni
fi
cant, but if you calculated the cost of Canadian university for four years, minus
what Saginaw would have paid, it was pretty much a wash.

The three-year scholarship, or three-for-four as it's called,
is not uncommon in the world of college hockey. It allows the
schools that do it to divvy up more scholarship money among
more players. Plus, if the player turns out to be a bust in the
first
year and quits, there's no expense to the school. A lot of
scholarship players do get full rides, all four years paid for, but
those kids have real competition for their services.

Beggars can't be choosers, they say, so Mike and I were
thrilled to take what was offered.
Mission accomplished.

32: Bada Bing, Bada Boom: Once a Buzzer, Always a Buzzer

ONE OF CINDY'S FAVORITE QUESTIONS to me is: "Do you
ever get tired of being wrong?"

No, dear, apparently not.

When we orchestrated Mike's move from Bowmanville to
St. Mike's, I warned Mike about what he might be getting into.

As good as we expected the Buzzers to be and for as much as
they promoted players to the NCAA, I thought Mike might
experience a little culture shock. The Buzzers were composed
of primarily two types-Italian-Canadians and graduates of
the Greater Toronto Hockey League (GTHL). Actually, it was
mostly Italian-Canadian graduates of the GTHL.

I try not to fall into the stereotype trap, but our OMHA
community-hockey sensibilities were that a lot of GTHL people, generally speaking, emphasized a different value system,
one where self-interest was dominant. As for Italian-Canadians,
well, without getting myself into any more trouble than I
already am, let's just say the stereotype is they tend to be emotional and excitable (not like my Irish kin…yeah, right).

The I.Q. (Italian Quotient) on St. Mike's was extremely high.

The management/coaching staff consisted of two DePieros and
a Ricci. The trainers were Frescura and Coccimiglio. The opening night lineup was Tisi in net, with Lozzi and Potacco
fl
anking
Cogliano up front. On defense, it was Zamparo with Schmidt.

Schmidt? Okay, so there was a token German-Canadian (just
kidding, Horst). We mustn't forget Cassiani and, thanks to a
few mid-season trades, Forgione, Dileo and Sgro.

I thought I had found my kindred spirit in Buzzer owner
Mike (Ace) McCarron, only to discover he's as Sicilian as he is
Irish. Well, there was always Father Mike (Lehman), the popular team chaplain.

Anyway, here I was telling Mike how he could be walking into this dressing room of self-centered extras from The
Sopranos and, what was it Cindy said, do I ever get tired of
being wrong?

Mike's two seasons at St. Mike's with the Buzzers were
the two best years of his hockey life. Mine, too. That is saying something, because Mike led a charmed life growing up
in Whitby, and playing for and with great people in Oshawa
and Bowmanville, too. But there was something special about
St. Mike's, especially those two Buzzer teams that won back
to-back OPJHL championships in 2005 and 2006. There is
obviously a rich tradition at St. Mike's, but it was the people-the management and staff, the players, the parents, the
families-who made it something special. It was as if all of
us who were there at that time knew we were in the midst of
something quite special, on and off the ice; just as we all still
know it today. The value system with this group was extraordinary. The St. Michael's College School motto is "Teach me
goodness, discipline and knowledge." GM/coach Chris DePiero
created one for the Buzzers-"Commitment, belief, trust." It
was all of that, and then some, fostering a special feeling that
is best summed up in another slogan: "Once a Buzzer, always
a Buzzer."

So, after our two years there, even I became a full-
fl
edged,
honorary paisan. If Bert or Carm or Sam say the word, I'm
there, baby, and I'm bringing the porchetta and spiducci.

Of all the dumb things I've ever done, and you know there
have been several, this was easily the dumbest, and potentially
most hazardous.

It was a Sunday afternoon game in Ajax, a month or two
into Mike's
first
season with the Buzzers. The Axemen were, by
far, the worst team in the league. This one was over early; the
Buzzers were up by
five
or six after the
first
period. Midway
through the second period, Mike beat a guy one-on-one at center ice and went in on a breakaway but failed to score. The guy
who got beat raced back and drilled Mike in the head from
behind and received a
five
-minute major and game ejection.

A minute or so into the power play, Chris DePiero put Mike
back on the ice. While the play was going on, and St. Mike's
was setting up in the offensive zone, whichever Ajax player
was closest to Mike tried to get him to
fight
. They would spear
him or whack him. It wasn't just one player; it was every Ajax
player on the ice who came within ten feet of Mike. I'd never
seen anything like it when a team is killing a penalty.

Now, I will be the
first
to admit there were some nights
when entire teams wanted to rip Mike limb from limb. Some
of those nights, I would even say he brought it on himself, for
bumping a goalie or trash-talking or hacking someone. But in
this game, I couldn't for the life of me see how he had done
anything to provoke that level of response. I was convinced the
Ajax players were acting on the direct orders of their owner/GM/coach Larry Labelle.

Carolina Hurricane scout Tony McDonald was at the game
and walked by me as the second period was winding down.

"Bob, is it always like this for your son?" he said.
"No," I replied, "not usually this bad."

"Well, it's ridiculous," he said. "It's sick, actually, sickening. I don't know how you put up with it."

I thought about what he said. He was right. This, I said to
myself, is bullshit; I'm not going to put up with it.

The period ended. I made my way to the opposite end
of the stands that hang over ice level. The Ajax coaches were
walking towards the dressing rooms directly beneath me. As
Larry Labelle walked under me, I leaned over and said: "Hey
Larry, if you want to
fight
McKenzie so badly, why don't you
come on up here?"

"Why don't you come down here?" he replied.
I don't know what possessed me to do it-I rarely say boo
when I'm in a rink watching a game-but I accepted the offer.

I located the staircase to ice level and as I got halfway down,
if anyone had been able to see it, the thought bubble coming
out of my head would have said: "What the hell am I doing? I
can't
fight
this guy. I will lose my job at TSN if that happens."

A reasonable man would have turned around. A smart man
never would have gone down in the
first
place. But since I am
sometimes neither, I just kept on trucking.

Larry and I had a rather spirited verbal exchange. He questioned Mike's manhood and said Mike should drop his gloves
and
fight
. I said something to the effect none of the players
on the Ajax team were worth
fight
ing; that he and his team
were an embarrassment. What turned out to be my parting
shot was that Larry, of all people, should realize any coach
whose own son plays on his team should know better than to
send players out to
fight
someone; that maybe someone might
decide to send someone out to do harm to his son. How would
he like that?

He didn't. Larry had to be restrained by his assistant
coaches. I sensed an opportunity to escape with a little honor,
and my career still intact. On the way back up the stairs, Larry's
wife and daughter, who ran every aspect of the game-day operation in Ajax, were coming down. They hurled a few choice
obscenities at me as we passed. I returned the favor, rather
emphatically, only to see that Father Mike, the Buzzers' chaplain, was right behind them.

"Sorry about that, Father," I said.

If only that was where the story ended.
At the start of the third period, someone told me they
overheard Larry's wife telling people she just called the police
because "Bob McKenzie from TSN assaulted my husband."

Great, sure enough, ten minutes later, two of Durham
Region's
fine
st arrived in the stands. I walked up and said
hello and started laughing. One of them recognized me, but
the other one wasn't as friendly.

"You think something is funny?" he said.

"Yeah, the fact you are even here," I said. "That's funny."
"You think assault is funny?" he said.

"Buddy, the only assault here is what's happening on the
ice right now," I said and at that precise moment the head
coaches for both teams, Larry Labelle and Chris DePiero, were
being physically restrained from going after each other behind
the penalty box and
fight
ing. "You want to arrest someone,
start down there."

I went outside with the
office
rs. They asked me what
happened.

Did you touch Mr. Labelle?

No.

Did you threaten him?

No.

Did he touch you?

No.

Did he threaten you?

No.

At that point, they said they were going to ask Larry Labelle
the same questions. I told them the game was still going on.
They said they didn't care; they would take him off the bench
in the middle of the game. And they did.

Ten minutes later they were back outside and told me the
matter was closed, they were convinced no assault of any kind
had taken place.

Whew, baby.

On the way home, Cindy asked me if I learned anything
from that day.

"I'm a badass?" I said.

She wasn't amused.

Actually, I did learn a valuable lesson that day. I hope the
Labelles did, too, although I suspect their enlightenment, if
it occurred, took place a little after the fact. The kicker to my
story is their story.

A matter of weeks after that game, a visiting player in
Ajax who had once played for Labelle took a vicious run from
behind at Larry's son. Lucas Labelle was laid out and it was,
by all accounts, a terribly frightening situation, where he was
down on the ice for
five
minutes and had to be taken off the
ice on a stretcher. There was speculation that the hit by this
player may have been aimed as much at Larry as his son. As
the player who made the illegal hit was escorted off the ice
towards the dressing room, he was confronted by two women.

He had coffee thrown at him and there was an attempt to hit
him with the metal bar that was used to secure the door to and
from the ice surface.

Larry's wife was charged with two counts of assault and
assault with a weapon. His daughter was charged with assault
with a weapon and uttering threats. It was a front-page story
on the Toronto Sun. When it went to trial about a year later,
Larry's wife was found guilty of one charge of assault, but she
and her daughter were acquitted of all other charges. Larry's
wife was sentenced to one hundred hours of community
service.

I don't take pleasure from any of that, because at the core
of it was what could have been a potentially catastrophic
injury to a young man, and no parents-not Larry, not me,
not anybody-should ever have to deal with that, especially
if it's initiated because of the player's surname or who his dad
happens to be. I would like to think we could all learn some
valuable lessons here. Every kid on the ice is someone's son and
we're all responsible for our own actions, on and off the ice.

Just remember, you never know when someone is going to
call the police and you never know when someone puts in a
call to the karma police either.

There are times you can just sense when a hockey team is coming together and something special is brewing. So it was with
the '04-05 Buzzers as they headed into the playoffs. They beat
their arch rival, the (now defunct) Wexford Raiders, to win
the OPJHL South Division title. St. Mike's-Wexford series were
something special, hard and intense, and no love lost. Junior
A hockey in Ontario just hasn't been the same since Wexford
departed the scene.