James Duthie - The Guy on the Left

THE GUY ON THE LEFT

THE GUY ON THE LEFT

Sports Stories from the Best Seat in the House

JAMES DUTHIE

For my favourite sportscaster,

Jonathan Pitre

CONTENTS

prologue

GOLDEN SUNDAY

Hes dead.

I say this only to myself. Cant say it out loud, because the young woman behind the wheel beside me is already redlining towards hysteria. And if I even bring up the possibility that we killed him, she will most likely spontaneously combust. So I just keep telling her hes fine. But really, I think he might be dead.

So this is how the 2010 Olympic Games, the best days of my careerheck, 17 of the best days in the history of our countryare going to end? With a body on the street in front of our car? Its at that moment, somewhere between the drivers sobs and the sirens, that I briefly have one of the coldest, most selfish thoughts of my existence.

Crap, Im going to miss the after-party.

Not quite sure how I got here. Wait, that sounds like Im drunk. By here, I dont mean this intersection in Vancouver, with the ambulance, the sobbing driver, and the maybe dead guy. I mean here in that larger, life-retrospective sense.

I was supposed to be a gym teacher. That was the plan. Can you imagine getting to climb the rope every day? Even when you are ... like ... 50? And if that didnt fly, well, then Id join the RCMP like my dad. Though as a kid, Id try on his Mountie Stetson in front of the mirror, and think, dude, you look like a cartoon character. This hat was not made for your protruding ears and sizable melon. You are Dudley Do-Wrong.

I never dreamt big. Even when I stumbled into TV (not to be confused with stumbling into my TV, which I have also done), my only goal was to anchor the local sports in Ottawa. If I could somehow score a sideline pass for Ottawa Rough Riders games, I could die happy. I know what youre thinking: What kind of sick freak would want to watch that team up close? (Or I suppose, if you are under 30, youre thinking: What the hell are the Ottawa Rough Riders? Google them. There is some solid comedy in there.)

But here I wake up 20 years later, and its the last day of the 2010 Olympic Games. And somehow all sorts of important people have screwed up because theyve let me be a host on national television. Not only that, they let me host hockey games as my real job. Buffoons.

On this morning, though, I dont have time to go all Bryzgalov and try to figure out my place in this twisted universe. The little alarm clock in my hotel room on West Hastings Street is blinking 4:00 a.m. Gotta roll. This is about to be the longest day of my career. It will make NHL Trade Deadline seem brief. Plus, we never killed a guy on TradeCentre. Though Darren Pang and Pierre McGuire went at it pretty good once over whether Tomas Fleischmann was a winger or a centre. (I know. We care about hockey just a little too much. Pray for us.)

I make the short walk through the dark, mostly empty streets of Vancouver to the International Broadcast Centre (IBC). This, by the way, is the only six-hour window where the streets have been empty these last two weeks. From roughly 8 a.m. till 2 a.m., they have been packed. Mardi Gras, in February, in British Columbia, just without as many breasts being flashed. Lots of man boobs, though. Give Brian Williams a few vodka shots and the dress shirt always becomes a bandana!*

My lawyers made me add that sentence.

Its true. Canadian men (not named Brian Williams) generally love to go shirtless and paint flags on their chest when our country wins a medal. This is one of my key Olympic takeaways.

Today will be my ultimate tripleheader. I will anchor Olympic coverage on CTV in the morning, sprint to the rink to host the gold medal hockey game between Canada and the U.S., then bolt a few blocks to BC Place to commentate the closing ceremony with my Olympic co-host, Lisa LaFlamme. No biggie, one of the bosses tells me as he passes me in the hall that morning. Probably only be about 35 million people total watching those three shows. Dont blow it.

Great. Thanks.

The morning shift is like a house party. Athletes are being paraded through the studio for one giant Canadian victory lap. It has been the best Olympics ever for our country, and a gold medal win in hockey would give Canada the most golds ever by a host nation at a Winter Games. Our polite, over-apologetic nation has developed a swagger over the last 16 days. You can see it in the faces of some of the proud athletes coming through our studio. Yeah, were Canadian. Were badass now. Deal with it.

This is the last shift Lisa and I will work together in Vancouver. Some people thought it was an odd combo, the sports guy and the serious newscaster, but weve had a blast together. Lisa probably doesnt want people to know this since she is now the serious, credible host of the CTV National News, but she is actually an IDIOT. Thats in all-caps because its the official nickname for my group of high school buddies: IDIOTS. Its an extremely complimentary, loving term for me. IDIOTS have deranged, warped senses of humour. No joke is too dumb. Lisa quickly becomes an honorary IDIOT in Vancouver. On air: smart, polished, with a news sense that is off the charts. Off air: IDIOT. When she replaces Lloyd Robertson at CTV later that year, I give her mock grief for not bringing me with her. Because the national news clearly needs more hockey highlights and Will Ferrell movie lines. Which, in essence, is all I do.

Mid-morning, I leave for the gold medal hockey game. It resembles a scene from The Amazing Race: scramble out of the IBC, grab a waiting car, bail after three blocks because of the traffic, jog the couple of kilometres to the rink, just in time to host a two-hour pre-game show.

Steve Yzerman, Team Canadas general manager, drops by the set. I find Steve struggles at times in interviews since he became a GM, because he is too careful with his words, trying not to say the wrong thing, instead of just answering the questions. But today, just minutes before the biggest Canadian hockey game since 72, he is cool and smooth. Stevie Y is always clutch in the big games, I think to myself. Brian Burke, GM of the American team, also stops by. It has been just a few weeks since the death of his son Brendan, in a car accident. He tells me before we go on air he hasnt slept since the accident. Burke is a hard-ass, and weve clashed countless times on air. But were friends when the cameras are off. When I interview him, he usually shoots down all my questions and makes an I want to rip your head off face for the entire segment. Then, when the cameras go off, he smiles and winks (Gave you some good TV there, didnt I?). Hes a good man with a soft side he tries too hard to keep hidden. And on this, what should be one of the proudest days of his career, he looks broken. As he leaves the set, I have the most unpatriotic of thoughts. Part of me hopes the U. S. wins, just to give him ... something.

Our set is right on top of the Zamboni entrance at the Canadian teams end of the rink (for the first and third periods). During the game, we sit in seats with the fans. When a period ends, the set pops out like a jack-in-the-box. Its a great spot to do TV, right in the thick of the crowd. In fact, fans are so close, they can actually reach over and touch us while were doing our panels. Which is awesome, when the fans are, say, the Swedish Womens Alpine Skiing Team. But not quite as good when they are, say, the Hammered Angry Dudes after Their Side Loses Team. During one post-game show, a large well-lubricated meathead reaches over the railing and unplugs my headset, leaving me with no communication with the producer. So I just keep talking. I almost blow off an entire commercial break, which would only cost the network, oh, a couple hundred grand or so. But it gets Meathead a high-five from his equally sloshed buddy. So its worth it, I suppose.