Playing With Fire by Theoren Fleury

Author:Theoren Fleury [Fleury, Theo; Day, Kirstie McLellan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-55468-797-8
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2010-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

23

RETURN TO JAPAN

MY LAST SEASON with the Flames, 1998–99, began with another trip to Japan—this time to Tokyo. The Olympics in Nagano had raised hockey’s profile, and the league was trying to build some goodwill and secure sponsorships with some of the big Japanese companies. So we went halfway around the world to open the season by playing a two-game set against the San Jose Sharks.

This time, I had a lot of fun there—I think. All I remember is being in some fuckin’ strip joint in a place called the Roppongi district. Well fuck, why not? It was full of drugs, booze and hot South American women. I never had sex with any of them. I was so fuckin’ high and wasted, there was no chance of that happening. But I loved hanging out with them and partying. I remember being just stoked when we landed in Tokyo. We had a couple of days off to explore before we played. I said to the concierge, “We are just looking to go have some beers and have some fun. Can you help us?” And he told me to go to the Roppongi district. A couple of guys from the team came along, and sure enough there was a ripper joint. This group of girls was hanging around at the front. Every one of those girls was good-looking. A little hard around the edges, you know, but hey. This particular strip club was a shady place, full of tourists. The Japanese people were more into geisha, not hookers. I walked in, picked one and tipped her a thousand bucks. Money was not an issue. I liked the company. I needed the company. I was number one on the team, the most famous and the most alone. I was at the top and I fucked it all up because I had no idea what to do once I got there.

Each night I would choose a different girl, but we would have the same conversation. “Where are you from?” “Oh, I’m from South America.” “Well, what do you do down there?” “My father is a fisherman.” “Why are you here?” And she would tell me her story about how she was a victim of some kind of abuse, neglect or abandonment. Every one of them would tell me about the kid she’d had back home when she was in her early teens. How was she supporting that kid? By being a stripper. It is great money.

I have a theory as to the reason I could not stay out of strip joints. Finding the hottest girl and keeping her beside me all night, and then adding booze and cocaine to the picture, made me feel like a rock star.

Except for game nights, my routine in Japan was to arrive at the club after dinner and make sure to be back at the hotel by 6 a.m. I was so fucking loaded that whole trip that I hardly remember it. The first night, I went right from partying to practice, wasted.

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