TORONTO (Dec. 14) — Of all the stories I’ve told from my 17 seasons covering the Toronto Maple Leafs on radio at The FAN–590, this one stands alone. So claims my 28–year–old son, Shane, a lifelong follower of the Blue and White. It occurred in a nine–day span (Mar. 16–25, 2002) that seemed, to me, as if it lasted nine weeks. And, it culminated with a table–slamming diatribe in Mats Sundin’s room at the club’s hotel in Philadelphia… hours before a critical encounter with the Flyers that could have vaulted Toronto into first place in the old Northeast Division.
The incident was complicated by coach Pat Quinn benching forward Darcy Tucker during the third period of a 2–0 victory over Buffalo (Mar. 16) at the Air Canada Centre. Afterward, in the empty Leafs dressing room, veteran scribe Mark Zwolinski of the Toronto Star ambled up to me with a story he knew he couldn’t write for the newspaper. Not without “on the record” confirmation, which wasn’t possible. I’d heard a faint whisper about the tale during the week, but ignored it. When Zorro offered the details, I figured “heck, I’ll tackle it.” What resulted was more than a week of angst and turmoil that included the players threatening to no–longer chat with The FAN–590. Hardly an ideal circumstance in a competitive media market. One that heavily relied on audio recordings from yours truly.
Suddenly, and it seemed forever, there was silence from the Maple Leafs.
To briefly backtrack, I had the privilege of becoming the first beat–reporter on radio in the National Hockey League. Covering the team as did newspaper employees (at the time): home and away. It began during the 1993 Stanley Cup playoffs; picked up unanticipated steam in January 1995, and became a full–time radio role in September of that year. For more than a decade and a half, I attended virrtually every Leafs game — interruped only twice: in late–1995, when my mother was dying of cancer, and in late–2006, after my lone flare–up, on the road, of Crohn’s Disease, with which I’ve been living since age 16 (coincindentally, it was on this date, 18 years ago, that I last underwent surgery for the inflammatory bowel condition). By late in the 2001–02 season, I was entrenched in the Leafs role; the ACC and Pearson Airport my second homes. Greatest media gig in the city. By far.
It was also a time when the Leafs routinely advanced beyond the opening round of the playoffs; twice under Quinn — in 1999 and 2002 — making it to the Stanley Cup semifinals. Such players as Sundin, Tucker, Gary Roberts, Shayne Corson, Tie Domi, Steve Thomas, Wade Belak and Curtis Joseph were endemic to the club’s success. As was the big Irishman behind the bench. Apart from the nine days described here, it was a terrific team to cover. Lots of personality. Tons of grit. Into which I unwittingly waded with Zwolinski’s information. Mark told me that brothers–in–law Tucker and Corson had accosted Quinn, wondering why the coach insisted on playing Jonas Hoglund alongside Sundin and Roberts on the No. 1 forward unit. Though Hoglund, a Swedish–born winger signed as a free agent from Montreal, struck for a respectable 23 goals in 2000–01, he’d been misfiring for much of the current schedule, with only 11 tallies. Quinn had lots of time for his players… but he never appreciated a direct challenge. As such, I was told that Tucker and Corson’s “meeting” ended rather abruptly. Might the challenge have contributed to Quinn sitting Tucker for the third period of the Buffalo home game? Clearly, I had to find out.
SHAYNE CORSON (LEFT) AND GARY ROBERTS JOINED THE LEAFS AS FREE AGENTS IN JULY 2000.
My initial undertaking was to meld into those gathered by the elevators that led to the back–entrance to the dressing room. Not a simple task, for it was off limits to reporters. I knew all the guards and ushers in that area and pretended to be gabbing with them while awaiting the departures of Tucker, Corson… or both. At other times, my intentions were more obvious and my “buddies” among the ushers would telephone the Leafs public relations director, Pat Park. On this night, either my cover worked or the boys were too late getting to Park. Tucker emerged from the back entrance with a scowl; remember, he was on his ass for most of the third period. I gently approached him… wanting to ask about the contentious meeting with Quinn, not his benching against the Sabres.
“Can I lob a quick one at you, Darcy?” I appealed.
“No, Howard, I’m not talking tonight.”
“It isn’t about tonight,” I replied, “rather, something that occurred earlier in the week.”
“Not a chance,” insisted Darcy as he walked down the stairs that led to an underground parking lot.
“I’m not dropping the story, Darc. It would help if you’d cooperate.”
“Do what you want, Howard,” Tucker concluded before entering the garage.
My next course of action was to check with another player I trusted in the dressing room… and a member of the club’s executive to whom I often “ran past” information. This individual would never volunteer any sort of news, but neither would he openly fib if I were on to something. When apprised, over the phone, of my reason for calling, he merely chuckled and replied “carry on.” Which was all the confirmation I needed. Driving back to the radio station on Holly Street in midtown, I assembled two reports about the contentious Tucker–Corson conflab with Quinn. The newspapers picked up the story on Sunday, into Monday. At which time I was live in studio with morning co–hosts Pat Marsden and Don Landry. I told the entire story and of my attempt to speak, after the game, with Tucker. The segment, which began at 8:35 a.m., lasted more than 10 minutes. As I walked back into the news room, an announcement came over the office intercom: “Howard, phonecall for you on Line 1.” I went to the nearest desk.
“Hello?”
“Howard, this is Darcy. You bastard! You lowlife! You fu**ing prick,” came the reply.
“Sorry, Darc, not interested. I gave you the chance to talk on Saturday. You refused.”
Not two minutes later came another intercom announcement about a call for me on Line 2.
“Hello?”
“Howard, this is Shayne Corson. You bastard! You lowlife! You fu**ing prick.”
Now, I knew the water was boiling.
Two moments stand out from the remainder of that week. First, Sundin, the gentlemanly captain with whom I’d always gotten along, pulled me aside in the dressing room. With a nervous laugh and some embarrassment, Mats said, “Howard, nobody in here will talk to you anymore and will not appear on The FAN–590 until you unveil your internal source.” I quickly realized the players felt the news had come from a disgruntled teammate, not a fellow media wag — with confirmation from a club executive. As Sundin imparted his warning, I was already shaking my head. He knew… as did I. “There’s no chance, Mats, and I think you’re savvy enough to understand.” He merely tapped me on the shoulder and said, “okay.” The second moment occurred during a media scrum, on Tuesday, with Tucker. As I stood on the periphery of the scrum and extended my hand through a gaggle of microphones, Darcy said “I’m not sure what Howard Berger is doing here. He knows I won’t talk to you guys with him present.”
At which point I pulled back my microphone and walked away.
DARCY TUCKER WAS THE MOST–DEMONSTRATIVE OF PAT QUINN’S LEAFS. ON AND OFF THE ICE.
Unlike an incident five years later with NHL super–pest Sean Avery, there was little support from the radio station. After getting an earful on the phone from Leafs assistant general manager, Bill Watters, my boss, Nelson Millman, chewed me out in his office. “For what?” I asked. “Causing the Leafs to boycott our station,” he replied. “So, you’re now telling me, after all these years, that I should pass up a good story to avoid upsetting the players? If someone else had this, you’d be all over my ass.” I walked out… understanding that I was entirely on my own. Well, almost.
What kept me going, unbeknownst to anyone, were nightly telephone calls at home from Tie Domi. The club’s popular enforcer had a soft spot for me. Not sure why. He repeatedly assured me the situation would soon blow over. “Just come in and do your job. Stay in the shadows a bit. I’ve got to remain neutral but I’ll have your back if you need it.” That was comforting… if not a solution. My immediate superior, Scott Metcalfe, correctly (as per usual) read the situation and ensured there was a second FAN–590 reporter at games and practices. By the end of the week, even Tucker was no–longer shooing me away from media scrums. To Nelson’s credit, he also came to my side and encouraged me to continue following the story. As always. I flew to Philadelphia on Sunday afternoon for the important Leafs–Flyers game the following night. Figuring the worst of the conflict was finally over.
After an uneventful Monday morning in the visitors’ dressing room, I drove back to the Doubletree on Broad St. and sent my reports for the afternoon. I was about to relax and read a book when my cellphone rang. It was Domi.
“Hey, look, you better come over here; the sh** is really hitting the fan,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I replied. “There were no issues around the team this morning.”
“Just come over to our hotel. Mats is in Room 610. Knock on the door and he’ll let you in.”
I reluctantly got dressed and made two calls: to Metcalfe at the station… and to the late Buffalo News hockey writer, Jim Kelley, whom I trusted as a mentor and friend. Kelley had been in studio with me, the previous morning, for the weekly “Reporters” segment on Leafs–TV. We discussed the Tucker–Corson–Quinn story and he supported me. Neither he nor Scott could offer a reason to not accept Domi’s invitation. So, away I went on the five–minute stroll to the Ritz–Carlton Hotel. I took the elevator to the sixth floor and knocked on Sundin’s room. The captain greeted me with a warm smile and invited me in. Sitting on an automan at the foot of Sundin’s bed was Gary Roberts. Domi occupied a nearby coffee table with two chairs. I sunk into the unoccupied one, opposite him.
“So, what is this all about?” I wondered, gazing at the players.
“Look, this thing has blown up several times during the week,” offered Domi. “Robs and I brought you here to confirm to Mats that neither of us gave you the story.”
At which point, and without warning, anger washed over me. I instinctively lifted my right hand and slammed it down hard on the table. Causing Domi to flinch. “I can’t understand you fu**ing guys,” I practically yelled. “You have a game in six hours for first place in the Division and you’re wasting your energy on this crap? Are you out of your minds?” I remember Sundin, resting on his right elbow while laying down, began to laugh. He could sense the absurdity of the situation. “For the record, Mats, neither Tie nor Gary provided me the info,” I said while pointing to each player. I recall Roberts visibly showing relief. “Now, would you guys leave me the fu** alone.”
Sundin winked at me and I walked out.
MATS SUNDIN TALKED RECENTLY WITH A FAN WEARING HIS FORMER QUEBEC NORDIQUES JERSEY. WHILE SIGNING, IN PETERBOROUGH, ONT., A COPY OF HIS NEWLY RELEASED AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
As I was heading back to my hotel, who do I see in a nearby coffee–shop window? None other than Zwolinski, having lunch with fellow scribes Mike Zeisberger (Toronto Sun) and David Shoalts (Globe and Mail). I walked in.
“You a**hole,” I vented at Zorro, smiling. Then I recounted the previous 20 minutes.
As a postscript, the Maple Leafs lost the game that night to the Flyers and Roberts suffered a rib injury. He walked off the team bus afterward to tell us about the ailment.
“Karma, Robs,” I teased, when he finished.
“Tell me about it,” Gary replied, climbing painstakingly back onto the vehicle.
EMAIL: HOWARDLBERGER@GMAIL.COM
