Killer by Doug Gilmour

Killer by Doug Gilmour

Author:Doug Gilmour
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2017-09-04T04:00:00+00:00


14

’93

WE HAD A FEW DAYS off before our first-round series against the Detroit Red Wings started, so Pat Burns sent the team up to Collingwood, a couple hours north of Toronto. He wanted us to get away from the media, clear our heads and get some practices in.

While we were up there, two or three days before we were set to play the first game against Detroit, I learned that my grandfather, Jack, had died. He was my mom’s father.

When I was growing up, my grandfather didn’t want to be called anything special. It was just “Jack.” We’d go to Nanny and Jack’s place. And Jack was a joke teller. In the summertime, he’d sit on the deck while my grandmother cut the lawn. She’d keep running over the lawnmower’s power cord, and he’d sit there and say, “Jesus Christ, Nanny! That’s the third lawnmower you’ve run over this year!” Jack was just an old-school guy. They were fun to be with. We used to climb trees in their backyard. We had so many great memories.

Nanny and Jack were both there to see me score my first hat trick when I was with St. Louis. We went to Burger King together before the game, because I wanted to spend some time with them. (I figured it was lucky, but when I tried to eat there again before a game it didn’t work.)

It was tough to lose him. It was sudden, unexpected. And I hadn’t really experienced death in my life yet. When I was about 12, my dad’s father, Grandpa Russel, had died of a stroke. My grandmother, Daisy, was diagnosed with lung cancer about a month and a half later. She died quickly. It’s weird how that happens—how two people can live their entire lives together, and then somehow die within a few months of each other. Aside from that, though, death was new to me.

I called Burns and asked if there was any chance I could go home. I figured I could get there and back in time for the first game.

“It’s not a good idea,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

I called my parents and told them I couldn’t make it to the funeral. But I wanted them to do something for me. I wanted them to pick me up a bunch of Jack’s T-shirts. They brought them to our first home game against Detroit.

In those days, we always wore the baby blue full-body underwear beneath our gear. Before that first game, I put one of Jack’s T-shirts on over top. I’d wear his T-shirt in every game throughout those playoffs. We were about the same size, so it was a perfect fit. I had three of them: a couple of blue ones and a white one. During those playoffs, I’d sometimes have to change between periods because I’d sweat so much. But each time I did, I pulled Jack’s T-shirt back over my head so it was on when I played.

The Red Wings were a good team.



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