Monday, December 29th, 2008:
"Bet you didn't expect this sort of response" said Mike Gillis, the first person Mats Sundin saw as he exited a charter airplane outside of Vancouver International airport.
"I certainly didn't expect any different" Mats said, flashing a smile.
It had been a long day already, flying in from Stockholm, doing everything possible to hurry the days event’s along. It still hadn't stuck to Mats that he, technically, wasn't an NHL hockey player yet. He had been training steadily for the past three weeks, trying to get his body back into the shape it was in when he was leading his beloved Toronto Maple Leafs...
A troubling thought that Mats, at this moment in time, cringed at talking about
Some fans had gathered around the airport even before the plane had arrived, several signs in hand, but more to show support for their newest hero. Mats had arrived. He was actually here. ”Gary, grab his bags please" Mr. Gillis barked, giving orders in a manner passed onto him through a family of miners from the northern berg of Sudbury, Ontario. His voice was stricken with a slight cold, likely due to his late night's recently. Mike hadn't been getting a lot of sleep, for one reason or another. Call it stress, or call it luck, but the only guy Mike wanted to see was walking down airplane steps, in the city that houses his hockey team, the Vancouver Canucks. The pair entered the limousine and headed past some of the townhouses that surrounded Vancouver International. The car was certainly driving fast, prompting Mr. Gillis to tell the driver to "Slow the **** down". The orders caused visions to flash across Mats' mind. Visions that had caused him to lose sleep for the past few months. Visions....That were turning into nightmares.
"Plenty of player's have had small places right down in this area" Mike said, pouring himself a glass of water from the jug placed inside the limo. "I know Trevor Linden had three places here right up until he retired last year, said one of 'dem was the first place he ever lived in when he got here". Mats nodded approvingly. His bald, slightly-stubbled head remained focused on the passing shrubbery, on front lawns of normal, everyday working Vancouverians. The houses slowly went up in the scale of prosperity, the lawns eventually stretching right up to the front doors which were usually beneath massive white columns. The only thing Mats could think about was the place in Toronto he sold last year, at the time igniting rumors in the media that he wasn't happy in Toronto and that he was getting out of town after the season.
For once in his career, the media was right.
"My wife has dinner made up at the house” Gillis remarked. “She loves making fish all the time, I don’t know why. It’s like it’s the only-“
“What day are you hoping for me to come back?” Mats interrupted, causing Mike to trip on his words. Mike noted Mats' expression and realized his newest client was all business. He liked it. He thought about a day in his mind for when he hoped Mats would make his return, but drew a blank. He had thought about it before, and knew it was bound to come up in conversation, but still had not decided. All he could think about was how happy he was to have won “The sweepstakes”. Gillis was a man of many words, no matter who he was talking to. When he remarked to former captain Markus Naslund, who had been with the team since 1995, that he wasn’t going to offer him a contract for the upcoming season, that he was going to sign Mats Sundin in his stead, Naslund rebuked, saying not only will Mats not come, but the Canucks won't make the playoffs next season without him. After Markus had left, Mike realized he had likely said too much to the team’s former savior, entailing harsh word’s that Markus clearly didn’t mean, but the GM didn’t care. He had loved Mats since the first time he saw him play, and knew in his heart that one day, Mats would be on his team. With a question like this posed in front of him, however, his heart started to race. He had no idea, but regardless of the day, he waited in anticipation. “We’ve got a lot of home game’s coming up. Five in a row in the middle of January.” Gillis said. “It’s up to you. Whenever you feel that you’re ready to come back, you’ll be welcomed with open arms”.
Gillis smirked, satisfied at his own response, despite his uncertainty only moments before.
Mats pulled back. This GM really doesn’t have a plan for him? He had gone through this entire process, yet, didn’t have a day that he even hoped Mats could return at? It was a troubling thought among several others that were clouding his mind already. Mats was so used to being told what to do from his time in Toronto that part of him didn’t like to have such a free mind. He was vocal, sure, but when it came to the back-room dealings between player-and-general-manager, he tended to let his agent do his talking for him. JP Barry wasn’t with him today, so he was forced into this banter-session. Mats is a loyal player, but a terrible sales-person when the cameras weren’t on him.
Noticing Mats took some time to give a response, the burly Canucks executive pulled out a piece of paper from the breast pocket on his tailor-made Louie DeBonz suit. Folded, he gave it to Mats. The paper had a detailed schedule of the Canucks game’s in the month of January. “So, he is hoping I can be back in January” Mats thought to himself of Gillis. He went over the games laid in front of him, looking at the flight schedule each situation posed. After swinging down to Nashville and Atlanta for back-to-back’s starting New Year’s Day, the Canucks returned home to play a Sunday nighter at GM place, then to Edmonton on Wednesday. Then the real sticker came: a 5-game home-stand against all sorts of teams from throughout the league (Starting with the Blues on the 9th and ending with the Blue Jackets of Columbus on the 18th). Mats pondered the date’s, stone-faced at Gillis’ jabbering about what each game offered as far as planning goes.
“The game on the seventh against the Oilers is on Sportsnet. That’d be a big draw on t.v.” Gillis exclaimed. He was obviously trying to maximize profits for the long-term of the team, even if in the grand scheme of things, it was only one game. The Canucks contests against the Oilers had performed well on both Sportsnet and TSN this season, and Gillis hoped on the inside that Mats would choose this date for a return. It would also give him some time to get his feet wet in the NHL once again without the pressures of playing at home. Given that the next five games after the Oilers matchup were at home, it seemed like the ideal choice. “I think if you were looking for an opinion, and given you already said yourself that you’re really close to being in shape, the Oilers game on the ninth is the best fit. It works for all of us”. The car was now entering a long, winding driveway, the mailbox out front saying “The Gillis residence”.
“That’s probably the best day” Mats remarked”.
“Good” Gillis responded. “I’ll tell the guy’s for the press-conference tomorrow.
The Press Conference. Mats hadn’t even thought of what he was going to say, or what he was going to wear. His fiancé had pulled his favorite Andrew Marc suit from his closet in Sweden and prepared it for him when Mats had told her he was close to signing. Earlier in the month he had went to his bedroom to grab something, only to notice the suit sitting out there on the bed. The solid-grey jacket glistened under the Swedish sunlight beaming in from the window. The black undershirt looked plain against the sun-washed jacket, the white buttons standing out noticeably. He took a seat on his bed beside the suit, needlessly picking a few white lint dots from the collar on the jacket. He immediately was taken back to almost a year ago, when he first picked it up. As always, Mats had gone to Korry’s on Danforth avenue after closing time to be fit for the suit. As always, Saul Korman met Mats at the front door, beaming with enthusiasm despite a long day made longer by the latest Toronto celebrity coming through his door. And, as always, Saul had brought his best tailor’s to help Mats. They talked over hors d'oeuvres Saul had prepared for the occasion, hoping to just chat with the city’s beloved hockey captain. The situation was spectacular, if not expected due to past meetings of the same kind.
“This might be my last season” Mats had said to Saul, just as his tailor was sizing up the upper-leg area of Mats’ left thigh. “I don’t think I can go through with this anymore”.
The statement prompted Mr. Korman to snap his finger’s and rush two tailors and his own assistant out of the room. Saul shut the door behind him. It was just him and Mats now, something any man of Saul’s demeanor would live for. He sat Mats down in a plush, green leather chair in the corner of the room, the surrounding mirrors providing a split look on all sides of Mats’ profile. It was the middle of the season, the Maple Leafs were on a five-game losing streak and had just dropped a 3-2 loss to the San Jose Sharks. The game before, the team was unimpressive in a 5-2 loss to the lowly L.A. Kings, a game that was much worse than the score-line showed. Mats was having second thoughts, and didn’t know who to talk to.
“We all get old sometime” Saul said, unsure that was the best choice of words. He pushed his square-rim glasses back with his finger, a habit he’s had since childhood. “I’ll never be the guy to tell the greatest Maple Leafs captain in history to hang up the skates, though”. Obviously proud of his prior statement, Saul took a seat beside Mats, hoping to comfort him on a more personal level.
“I just can’t believe we never got there, to even taste it. All I ever wanted to do was to make the finals. Half the time I never cared who won, just so long as our team made it there”, Mats proclaimed. “We got so close so many times after I came here, after all that time through Ballard that ****ty owner, right through to where we are now. And where are we now? This team is not as good as everyone thinks. Add to all that, we’ve got a guy now with cancer (Jason Blake), a few kids who won’t turn the corner (Alex Steen, Matt Stajan, Alex Ponikarovsky), and the veterans just don’t care like they used to (Tomas Kaberle, Bryan McCabe, Darcy Tucker). We’re gonna miss the playoffs, again, and I don’t know how much more I can take of this ****.”
Mats knew Saul would have nothing of value to say. It was Mats in that room alone, with no one to give him advice anymore on his decisions. No one to tell him that they need him. No one to tell him that all was fine.
Saul bantered to Mats about how the city loves him, a speech Mats had heard thousands of times before. He already knew that, but how would these same fans respond when he left? How would they feel to see him in another jersey? Questions began to mount in his own mind that he could no longer answer. He started asking himself questions. More and more questions until he felt nausea creep in. He felt sick.
“I need a glass of water” Mats blurted out. His tone indicated something was wrong. It was harsh, and not in the kind tone that Mats had always talked in.
“Let me grab some for you. I have the city’s finest in my fridge downstairs” Saul calmly said, rushing out of the room, opening two big wooden doors at the room’s entrance. Two of the tailor’s fell inwards, obviously having listened to the conversation going on inside for quite some time. Saul yelled something in French at his worker’s, prompting a mad scramble before Saul closed the doors behind him.
Now it really was Mats alone in the room on this cold January night. He got up and glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked deep into his hazel eyes, sweat forming beads and flowing down his face. His mouth sat open like it did when he was playing, a confused face to someone who didn’t know him. Having always wondered why he skated around with his mouth open so much, he closed it, forcing his dimples to slant downwards into an unwelcoming frown. As he stared, the nausea only got worse, like a snake crawling up from his stomach. He stumbled backwards, only to regain his balance at the last second. He looked around the room in panic, disgusted at himself for causing such a scene given the circumstances. All he could think about was the Air Canada Center on a Saturday night, screaming his name in anticipation of the puck being dropped to start yet another game. He thought about playoff games in year’s past, and former teammates who were out of the league. He remembered one conversation he had with Mike Gartner, shortly after Gartner retired. The noted veteran said he should “do everything he can to taste the ultimate victory, to seize the moment that was his.” Mats grabbed the waste basket in the corner next to him and threw up. The garbage can was a mesh-weave steel bucket, prompting his regurgitation to spill through the side’s and onto the floor. There he was, the city’s hero, on his knees slouched over a garbage can late at night in a clothing store. He felt disgusting.
It was at that moment, that Mats realized he could no longer play for the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Next Chapter: Coming Very Soon.
"Bet you didn't expect this sort of response" said Mike Gillis, the first person Mats Sundin saw as he exited a charter airplane outside of Vancouver International airport.
"I certainly didn't expect any different" Mats said, flashing a smile.
It had been a long day already, flying in from Stockholm, doing everything possible to hurry the days event’s along. It still hadn't stuck to Mats that he, technically, wasn't an NHL hockey player yet. He had been training steadily for the past three weeks, trying to get his body back into the shape it was in when he was leading his beloved Toronto Maple Leafs...
A troubling thought that Mats, at this moment in time, cringed at talking about
Some fans had gathered around the airport even before the plane had arrived, several signs in hand, but more to show support for their newest hero. Mats had arrived. He was actually here. ”Gary, grab his bags please" Mr. Gillis barked, giving orders in a manner passed onto him through a family of miners from the northern berg of Sudbury, Ontario. His voice was stricken with a slight cold, likely due to his late night's recently. Mike hadn't been getting a lot of sleep, for one reason or another. Call it stress, or call it luck, but the only guy Mike wanted to see was walking down airplane steps, in the city that houses his hockey team, the Vancouver Canucks. The pair entered the limousine and headed past some of the townhouses that surrounded Vancouver International. The car was certainly driving fast, prompting Mr. Gillis to tell the driver to "Slow the **** down". The orders caused visions to flash across Mats' mind. Visions that had caused him to lose sleep for the past few months. Visions....That were turning into nightmares.
"Plenty of player's have had small places right down in this area" Mike said, pouring himself a glass of water from the jug placed inside the limo. "I know Trevor Linden had three places here right up until he retired last year, said one of 'dem was the first place he ever lived in when he got here". Mats nodded approvingly. His bald, slightly-stubbled head remained focused on the passing shrubbery, on front lawns of normal, everyday working Vancouverians. The houses slowly went up in the scale of prosperity, the lawns eventually stretching right up to the front doors which were usually beneath massive white columns. The only thing Mats could think about was the place in Toronto he sold last year, at the time igniting rumors in the media that he wasn't happy in Toronto and that he was getting out of town after the season.
For once in his career, the media was right.
"My wife has dinner made up at the house” Gillis remarked. “She loves making fish all the time, I don’t know why. It’s like it’s the only-“
“What day are you hoping for me to come back?” Mats interrupted, causing Mike to trip on his words. Mike noted Mats' expression and realized his newest client was all business. He liked it. He thought about a day in his mind for when he hoped Mats would make his return, but drew a blank. He had thought about it before, and knew it was bound to come up in conversation, but still had not decided. All he could think about was how happy he was to have won “The sweepstakes”. Gillis was a man of many words, no matter who he was talking to. When he remarked to former captain Markus Naslund, who had been with the team since 1995, that he wasn’t going to offer him a contract for the upcoming season, that he was going to sign Mats Sundin in his stead, Naslund rebuked, saying not only will Mats not come, but the Canucks won't make the playoffs next season without him. After Markus had left, Mike realized he had likely said too much to the team’s former savior, entailing harsh word’s that Markus clearly didn’t mean, but the GM didn’t care. He had loved Mats since the first time he saw him play, and knew in his heart that one day, Mats would be on his team. With a question like this posed in front of him, however, his heart started to race. He had no idea, but regardless of the day, he waited in anticipation. “We’ve got a lot of home game’s coming up. Five in a row in the middle of January.” Gillis said. “It’s up to you. Whenever you feel that you’re ready to come back, you’ll be welcomed with open arms”.
Gillis smirked, satisfied at his own response, despite his uncertainty only moments before.
Mats pulled back. This GM really doesn’t have a plan for him? He had gone through this entire process, yet, didn’t have a day that he even hoped Mats could return at? It was a troubling thought among several others that were clouding his mind already. Mats was so used to being told what to do from his time in Toronto that part of him didn’t like to have such a free mind. He was vocal, sure, but when it came to the back-room dealings between player-and-general-manager, he tended to let his agent do his talking for him. JP Barry wasn’t with him today, so he was forced into this banter-session. Mats is a loyal player, but a terrible sales-person when the cameras weren’t on him.
Noticing Mats took some time to give a response, the burly Canucks executive pulled out a piece of paper from the breast pocket on his tailor-made Louie DeBonz suit. Folded, he gave it to Mats. The paper had a detailed schedule of the Canucks game’s in the month of January. “So, he is hoping I can be back in January” Mats thought to himself of Gillis. He went over the games laid in front of him, looking at the flight schedule each situation posed. After swinging down to Nashville and Atlanta for back-to-back’s starting New Year’s Day, the Canucks returned home to play a Sunday nighter at GM place, then to Edmonton on Wednesday. Then the real sticker came: a 5-game home-stand against all sorts of teams from throughout the league (Starting with the Blues on the 9th and ending with the Blue Jackets of Columbus on the 18th). Mats pondered the date’s, stone-faced at Gillis’ jabbering about what each game offered as far as planning goes.
“The game on the seventh against the Oilers is on Sportsnet. That’d be a big draw on t.v.” Gillis exclaimed. He was obviously trying to maximize profits for the long-term of the team, even if in the grand scheme of things, it was only one game. The Canucks contests against the Oilers had performed well on both Sportsnet and TSN this season, and Gillis hoped on the inside that Mats would choose this date for a return. It would also give him some time to get his feet wet in the NHL once again without the pressures of playing at home. Given that the next five games after the Oilers matchup were at home, it seemed like the ideal choice. “I think if you were looking for an opinion, and given you already said yourself that you’re really close to being in shape, the Oilers game on the ninth is the best fit. It works for all of us”. The car was now entering a long, winding driveway, the mailbox out front saying “The Gillis residence”.
“That’s probably the best day” Mats remarked”.
“Good” Gillis responded. “I’ll tell the guy’s for the press-conference tomorrow.
The Press Conference. Mats hadn’t even thought of what he was going to say, or what he was going to wear. His fiancé had pulled his favorite Andrew Marc suit from his closet in Sweden and prepared it for him when Mats had told her he was close to signing. Earlier in the month he had went to his bedroom to grab something, only to notice the suit sitting out there on the bed. The solid-grey jacket glistened under the Swedish sunlight beaming in from the window. The black undershirt looked plain against the sun-washed jacket, the white buttons standing out noticeably. He took a seat on his bed beside the suit, needlessly picking a few white lint dots from the collar on the jacket. He immediately was taken back to almost a year ago, when he first picked it up. As always, Mats had gone to Korry’s on Danforth avenue after closing time to be fit for the suit. As always, Saul Korman met Mats at the front door, beaming with enthusiasm despite a long day made longer by the latest Toronto celebrity coming through his door. And, as always, Saul had brought his best tailor’s to help Mats. They talked over hors d'oeuvres Saul had prepared for the occasion, hoping to just chat with the city’s beloved hockey captain. The situation was spectacular, if not expected due to past meetings of the same kind.
“This might be my last season” Mats had said to Saul, just as his tailor was sizing up the upper-leg area of Mats’ left thigh. “I don’t think I can go through with this anymore”.
The statement prompted Mr. Korman to snap his finger’s and rush two tailors and his own assistant out of the room. Saul shut the door behind him. It was just him and Mats now, something any man of Saul’s demeanor would live for. He sat Mats down in a plush, green leather chair in the corner of the room, the surrounding mirrors providing a split look on all sides of Mats’ profile. It was the middle of the season, the Maple Leafs were on a five-game losing streak and had just dropped a 3-2 loss to the San Jose Sharks. The game before, the team was unimpressive in a 5-2 loss to the lowly L.A. Kings, a game that was much worse than the score-line showed. Mats was having second thoughts, and didn’t know who to talk to.
“We all get old sometime” Saul said, unsure that was the best choice of words. He pushed his square-rim glasses back with his finger, a habit he’s had since childhood. “I’ll never be the guy to tell the greatest Maple Leafs captain in history to hang up the skates, though”. Obviously proud of his prior statement, Saul took a seat beside Mats, hoping to comfort him on a more personal level.
“I just can’t believe we never got there, to even taste it. All I ever wanted to do was to make the finals. Half the time I never cared who won, just so long as our team made it there”, Mats proclaimed. “We got so close so many times after I came here, after all that time through Ballard that ****ty owner, right through to where we are now. And where are we now? This team is not as good as everyone thinks. Add to all that, we’ve got a guy now with cancer (Jason Blake), a few kids who won’t turn the corner (Alex Steen, Matt Stajan, Alex Ponikarovsky), and the veterans just don’t care like they used to (Tomas Kaberle, Bryan McCabe, Darcy Tucker). We’re gonna miss the playoffs, again, and I don’t know how much more I can take of this ****.”
Mats knew Saul would have nothing of value to say. It was Mats in that room alone, with no one to give him advice anymore on his decisions. No one to tell him that they need him. No one to tell him that all was fine.
Saul bantered to Mats about how the city loves him, a speech Mats had heard thousands of times before. He already knew that, but how would these same fans respond when he left? How would they feel to see him in another jersey? Questions began to mount in his own mind that he could no longer answer. He started asking himself questions. More and more questions until he felt nausea creep in. He felt sick.
“I need a glass of water” Mats blurted out. His tone indicated something was wrong. It was harsh, and not in the kind tone that Mats had always talked in.
“Let me grab some for you. I have the city’s finest in my fridge downstairs” Saul calmly said, rushing out of the room, opening two big wooden doors at the room’s entrance. Two of the tailor’s fell inwards, obviously having listened to the conversation going on inside for quite some time. Saul yelled something in French at his worker’s, prompting a mad scramble before Saul closed the doors behind him.
Now it really was Mats alone in the room on this cold January night. He got up and glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked deep into his hazel eyes, sweat forming beads and flowing down his face. His mouth sat open like it did when he was playing, a confused face to someone who didn’t know him. Having always wondered why he skated around with his mouth open so much, he closed it, forcing his dimples to slant downwards into an unwelcoming frown. As he stared, the nausea only got worse, like a snake crawling up from his stomach. He stumbled backwards, only to regain his balance at the last second. He looked around the room in panic, disgusted at himself for causing such a scene given the circumstances. All he could think about was the Air Canada Center on a Saturday night, screaming his name in anticipation of the puck being dropped to start yet another game. He thought about playoff games in year’s past, and former teammates who were out of the league. He remembered one conversation he had with Mike Gartner, shortly after Gartner retired. The noted veteran said he should “do everything he can to taste the ultimate victory, to seize the moment that was his.” Mats grabbed the waste basket in the corner next to him and threw up. The garbage can was a mesh-weave steel bucket, prompting his regurgitation to spill through the side’s and onto the floor. There he was, the city’s hero, on his knees slouched over a garbage can late at night in a clothing store. He felt disgusting.
It was at that moment, that Mats realized he could no longer play for the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Next Chapter: Coming Very Soon.
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