James Duthie - The day i (almost) killed two gretzkys: ... and other off-the-wall stories about sports ... and life

The Day I (Almost) Killed Two Gretzkys

And Other Off-the-Wall Stories About Sportsand Life

James Duthie

To Cheryl, Jared, Darian, and Gracie
for your love and inspiration

Foreword

By Roberto Luongo

The first time I met James Duthie, he had me run over by a Zamboni.

I was playing in Florida with the Panthers, and James and his TSN crew came down to do a story on the relationship between my back-up goalie, Jamie McLennan, and me.

It sounded like your typical feel-good story. I figured he'd probably ask me the same kind of fluffy questions we always get with features like that. You know, How do you and Jamie help each other improve? Do you hang out together off the ice? Is it like a brotherly relationship? Everyone loves those warm-and-fuzzy hockey stories.

Now, I knew James from TV, but I didn't know him personally at all. So he strolls into our dressing room that day, and says, Nice to meet you, Roberto. Here's my idea for this story. We'll shoot all these funny scenes of Jamie acting like he's your slavetying your skates, buying your groceries, spoon-feeding you dinnerbut secretly, he'll be fantasizing about murdering you so that he gets to play more. And at the end, we'll do a dream sequence where he runs over you with a Zamboni and crushes you.

O... Kay.

Actually, I kind of liked it. Sure beats the How did you feel out there tonight? interviews we have to do after every game. Plus, I can act. Luongo doesn't rhyme with De Niro by accident. So we shot all these scenes in and around the dressing room, and then at the end of practice, he pulls out this life-sized dummy they bought from some movie company. They had it dressed in full Panthers equipment. It did look kind of like me, though the hair wasn't nearly as good.

So Jamie was riding the Zamboni, wearing this mock-evil grin. I did all the close-up shots of my face, looking terrified as the Zamboni approached (I nailed it). And then Jamie rode the Zamboni down the ice, and ran over the dummy.

I think the story is still on YouTube somewhere. It was hilarious.

A couple of years later, after I had been traded to Vancouver, James and I did a sequel, where I was having flashbacks of the Zamboni-crushing. It was more brilliant acting and special effects. James kept squirting water on my face to make me look like I was sweating, and I would roll my eyes back in my head like I was having some sort of seizure. Once again, Oscar-worthy stuff. Or at least a Golden Globe.

The point of all this is that Duthie is demented. He is a sick, twisted individual. And I like that.

I have always gotten along well with the media, and I try to answer all the questions they ask. But sometimes you do get tired of the same old stories and columns every day. Why are the Canucks winning? Why are the Canucks losing?

The media needs originals. James is one of those. His columns are just like that story we did in Florida: unique, funny, often twisted and an absolute blast to read.

He really does have to get over the Kournikova obsession, though. It's not going to happen. Have you seen yourself in HD, dude?

The only thing that bothers me about the book is that there aren't any columns in here about me. You think if a guy agrees to write the foreword for your book, you might have found something half-decent to say about him. But I couldn't find a word. Sure, Tim Thomas gets a whole column. Luongo? Not even a paragraph.

And after all I've done for him. It hurts, frankly. Not as much as getting hit by the Zamboni, but it hurts.

Preface

So what's your book about, Daddy?

My six-year-old daughter Gracie asks me this as I'm slapping away at my keyboard, simultaneously editing two columns: one about coaches who ask players to refrain from sex before games, the other a fictional interview with a monkey who predicts the outcome of Stanley Cup playoff series.

I don't like my chances of nailing this answer.

Well, it's about a lot of things, Sweetie. It's about hockey, it's about other sports, it's about being a fan, being a Dad and... lots of silly stuff.

Is there a princess in it?

Uhh, no, Babe. No princess. Though I do mention Anna Kournikova a lot.

What about a dragon, Daddy? Or zebras? (She loves zebras.)

No, no dragons. But there are some scary things in the book. Like those jellyfish that attacked us in PEI. And the howler monkeys that wanted to eat Daddy in Costa Rica. Oh, and I mention Sarah Palin, too. She's terrifying.

As for zebras, Cupcake. Well, I do talk about referees. We sometimes call them zebras because of the stripes on their shirts. (Lame, I know. But she's six, okay? I thought it was a cute tie-in.) She looks at me, puzzled. I don't get it, Daddy. If you're writing a book, what's the story about?

I'm starting to sweat now. She's relentless. Mike Wallace in pigtails.

Well... this book has a lot of stories, Gracie. It's kind of like that fable book Nana gave you. Except most of these are actually true. (OK, some of them.) The stories are about all sorts of cool things! Things Daddy has seen during his career as a sportscaster, things about sports that make Daddy mad, things that make Daddy laugh, stories about famous athletes Daddy has met. And some weird stuff Daddy just dreams up in his head.

Is that Ovechkin guy in the book? (Alexander Ovechkin is the only hockey player she knows, because her brother once got to play a video game against him, and didn't stop talking about it for, oh, nine months.)

Yup.

Tiger Woods?

Definitely. There are all kinds of interesting characters in the book, Pumkinface! Sidney Crosby, Wayne Gretzky, Tom Brady, Tim Thomas, Derek Jeter, Sean Avery, Anna Kournikova (*that's two mentions already, the Vegas over-under for the entire book is 437), Ray Emery, Chris Chelios, Evgeni Malkin, Patrick Roy...

Miley Cyrus?

Uhh... no. Oh, but Hilary Duff is in there!

It would have been a better book if Miley Cyrus was in it.

And with that final editorial declaration, she bounces off to her room, likely to stage another apocalyptic war between her Playmobile people and her American Girl dolls. (I don't try to understand it.)

Oh well. Truth is, whether you are six or 66, I can't really explain what this book is about. It is a decade's worth of whatever-happened-to-seep-into-my-brain that particular week. Many of the columns appeared on tsn.ca, some in The Ottawa Citizen and a few other newspapers, but there is also a bunch that no one has seen before. I had stored them away in my hard drive, thinking I might do a book someday (but deep down, figuring I was too lazy to ever get around to it. All hail the power of Red Bull!).

Don't look for any meaning in the order of the columns. They are neither chronological, nor categorized. I always like books where the next page is nothing like the last.

If there are any mistakes of fact in here, blame my assistants. Oh crap, I didn't have any. Then blame Google, my fact-checker of record. OK, blame me.

I'd like to thank my bosses at TSN, and all the boys at tsn.ca, for always letting me write about whatever the heck I feel like writing about, even when it has little to do with sports.

Thanks to my high school English teacher, Mrs. Scott, who was the one who told me to forget all the rules of proper grammar, and journalism, and to just write, anyway I wanted, about anything I wanted. And to tell anyone who told me otherwise to Screw off! Mrs. Scott ruled.

Thanks to my beautiful family, for putting up with me writing at the oddest of times, and in the oddest of places hockey rinks, dance classes, water parks (don't ask). And for letting me use so much of our private life in my writings. You guys will always be my greatest inspiration.