All the Way (16 page)

I know my role and it is being energetic and changing the pace of the game and dropping the gloves when that makes sense. With my style of play, I know fights are bound to happen. Someone is going to get pissed at me. If you lay a guy out, your instincts are to drop the gloves. I did that for the first seven years of my NHL career. I went out looking for it.

Nowadays, it's a little different. I pick my spots. I fight on my terms. I fight when my team needs it. I'm not going to fight on anybody else's terms. If a fight arises, it arises. I don't go looking for fights. But then, sometimes, something goes down and it becomes your job to fight. You get a tap on the shoulder from the coach and you know what you're supposed to do. I think now I have a better understanding of when it's time to change the momentum in the game with a fight. It's about communicating with the guys on your team. Sometimes the guys need a lift, and you get out there and create it. You don't have to say to the other guy, “Do you want to go?” As a fighter, you just see it in his eyes. If I go on the ice and I see that we're down by two goals and the other team has put one of their tough guys out there and I've been put out there, I know what's supposed to happen. And the other guy knows why I'm going out. There are other times when it's more spontaneous. But you've always got
to be ready as a fighter. Things can turn on a dime pretty damn quickly.

I think most fighters don't love doing their job, but ultimately if that's what's going to keep them in the league, that's what they're going to do. There are a lot of guys in the NHL or in juniors who are willing combatants only because that's what they're told to do. Do they like doing it? Probably not, but whatever is going to take them to the next level, they're going to do it. But for me, because of the way I grew up and the things I had to fight for, I don't mind doing it at all, even though I know there are other elements to my game. If we play a team and they've got four or five guys who are willing combatants, then
Yeah, fuck, let's go.
There aren't a lot of teams that have players like me. I live and die for my teammates. They're my brothers. They're the reason why I'm there every day, ready to go to war and do battle. I want to be that person. Being able to change the momentum of the game or lift the guys up with a fight is rewarding. I get satisfaction from that.

I understand that you put your life at risk when you fight, but for me there's no fear. Once you start experiencing fear, that's when you know you're starting to go downhill. Every game I go into, I'm confident. Confidence is everything. It's unbelievable what the mind can do for you. If you start second-guessing yourself before you go into a fight, you're fucked right then and there. I've had a lot of guys, junior hockey guys, come through training camp and say, “Hey, you're not the biggest guy. Have you got any tips for me? I'm kind of a fighter. What have you got?” Guys ask who taught me how to fight: “In the off-season,
what did you do … train like a boxer?” Fuck, no. I'm not that kind of fighter. I'm a hockey player. If I was a fighter, I'd fucking train for MMA or boxing. Fortunately, the way I grew up is what's carried me through my whole hockey career. I had to learn how to stick up for myself when I was fricking seven years old, so why wouldn't I do it now?

It's just like throwing a switch for me. Early in my career, I only knew how to throw rights. Today, I can throw with both hands. That was part of the process of learning how to fight. Now I'll go toe to toe with anyone. Obviously, with heavyweights it's a different story. I may take a beating and, when that happens, you mentally lose confidence. For a minute, I think,
Fuck, do I really want to keep doing this?
But my confidence always comes back.

Some guys in the dressing room are like, “Geez, how do you keep doing it?” I don't really know. I'm not a great teacher, but I give them one piece of advice: you have to go in believing you can win. Don't ever second-guess yourself. The other guy will know it; you'll know it. A lot of guys I fight, when I ask them to go and they're just like, “Aw, fuck …,” and then they hesitate. I know right then I've got them. That's the biggest part of the game for fighters now: understanding your mental preparation.

What does it feel like to be in a hockey fight? You find out you have muscles you never knew you had before. And you're so in the zone. It's just me and the other guy. You know it's going to happen. You can see it in the guy's eyes.
Fuck, he wants to go.
You know you've got him beat mentally and that's half the battle. You know that just by looking in his eyes. But you still have to stay
composed, because you're not going to win every fight. Some guy will catch you with a lucky shot, and that's part of the game, too. It's all about will, about fighting for dear life.

Everything else that's going on in the rink is blacked out during a fight. I have one goal at that moment, and that's to fricking pound the piss out of this meathead because either he asked me to go or he did something to my teammates. And when you're in that state of mind where you want to kill—there's an edge there and if you go over it, that's when you'll get hurt. There's a fine line between being in control and being out of control. So, as much as you want to pound the piss out of this guy, there's a lot of shit going through your mind. If you go over that fine line, that's when you get knocked out or you fucking blow your knee out. So, it has to be a controlled anger. And after the fight, it's all over. There's no retribution. But if need be, I'm willing to go again. If it happens, it happens.

The best part about being a fighter is the support you get in the dressing room. When the guys actually appreciate what you're doing for the team, it's more enjoyable. When you don't get that feedback, don't get that love from the boys, I think that's when you start losing interest. You'll come into the dressing room at the end of a period after you've had a fight and you can't even talk you're so exhausted—you're huffing and puffing. The guys will come up to you and just tap you with their sticks. They don't have to say anything. You know that's a sign of appreciation, their way of saying,
We know what it's like.
Of course, the fans love the fights. They love that part of the game, and it's great to give them what they want and hear the cheers. But for
me, the most important part is what you feel in the dressing room. You have that euphoric feeling of being wanted. You feel that you're loved and appreciated for all of the shit you've gone through and put yourself through for the team. I did that for six years in Nashville, and that's what kept me there. If I hadn't done it, the fans wouldn't have loved me and maybe the coaches wouldn't have thought,
This is why we're keeping him here.

The game evolves every year and things change. You've got to be able to skate and play and do all that other stuff as well. Over the last couple of years, I've gained more clarity about why fighting is part of the game and why I'm called upon to do it, rather than simply fighting in anger or to please the crowd because that's what they want to see.

When I was still partying a lot, there was no controlled anger for me. I was fucking all-in because of all the anger I had away from the rink. That was all coming out when I fought. I didn't care if the guy standing in front of me was a skill guy or a fighter. If I was fighting a skill guy, fuck him. That was his problem. Luckily, I didn't hurt myself too badly—knock on wood— before I straightened out my life and got sober.

I know the stories of guys like Derek Boogaard and Rick Rypien—fighters who had all kinds of problems that eventually cost them their lives. But I'm happy. My life is in control. If I was still partying, I'd be a miserable man. But it wouldn't be because of fighting.

TEN

J
ordin scored only 4 goals in his first season with the Predators, and had 4 assists. But even while playing limited shifts in 70 games, he accumulated 130 penalty minutes, a pretty fair indication of the style of game he brought to the league. In the following season, the NHL locked out its players in a labour dispute and eventually cancelled the entire schedule. Because he was on a two-way entry-level contract, Jordin was sent down to the Milwaukee Admirals of the American Hockey League, the Predators' number-one farm team. While some of his teammates sat through an enforced year off, or travelled to Europe in search of playing opportunities, Jordin gained experience during a second full season of professional hockey. In the following season, 2005–2006, Jordin split the year between Nashville and Milwaukee. Then, in 2006–2007, he fully established himself as an NHL player. He wasn't the scorer he had been during his final two seasons in junior hockey, and he wasn't playing on the first line. But he settled into a comfortable role: the “energy guy” who plays a handful of shifts in every game, lays on some hits, fights occasionally, and adds adrenalin to the mix. The fans in Nashville learned to look forward to those moments when Jordin jumped over the boards. They knew it meant guaranteed action. And they saw in him an undersized underdog with an exotic background, a guy who was fearless and who would do anything to help his team win. There were other stars on the Predators roster—and for a time, in 2007, the team was stacked with talent, including Peter Forsberg and Paul Kariya. But no Predator was more beloved than Jordin Tootoo. He was a fan favourite, he was a celebrity, and he was the toast of the town. For Jordin, it was a great time to be young, and well paid, and famous. There were benefits … and there were consequences.

I think, for me, it was the easiest transition there could have been for a small-town kid going to the NHL. Nashville is not a big city. My travel to the rink and home wasn't that far. It was kind of a perfect scenario, rather than being in Toronto or Philadelphia, which are massive cities with so much temptation all over the place. Not that there wasn't any temptation in Nashville, as I found out… .

They loved my style of play in Nashville. That's what really grabbed the fans. They didn't grow up with the game, they didn't know much about it or about its history, so hockey is pure entertainment for them. All they knew was that the Predators were playing that night and Tootoo was in the lineup and he was going to fight for sure. They wanted that, and I knew it. I knew what the fans were looking for, and I gave it to them.

The next thing you know, I was a household name in Nashville. The team was happy with it because I was doing my job, doing everything that I was asked to do, and I was keeping the paying customers happy. By about halfway through my rookie season, it felt like everyone was talking about me. I might even have sensed a little jealousy from a few of my teammates regarding my popularity. They must have been thinking,
Fuck, this kid's new on the team. I've been here for four years, and he's getting all the attention. What the fuck?

At first, I was really careful about what I did away from the rink. But when I started getting regular playing time with the Predators and knew that I had a guaranteed spot—knew that I wouldn't be sent down to the farm team in Milwaukee—I started cutting loose. I decided I could party it up a bit. When I first got to Nashville, I was underage in the States, where the drinking age is twenty-one, but I found a couple of buddies who owned a bar where all of the guys on the team would hang out in a back room and get lit up, and then drag a few broads out of there. Southern girls. I started going out more and meeting more and more broads. Being a bit of a local celebrity made it easy, and all of the temptation was there. In the places I went, people knew who I was. I could go downtown and walk the streets and no one would know me, because it was still just hockey in Tennessee. But there were places I knew I could go and meet some women, and know that I would get a guaranteed pickup. For me, that's what it was all about.

I was with a lot of women in Nashville. Lots.
Lots
. And by “lots” I mean … well, you know. I was a man-whore. I had
steady girlfriends, but there's always someone hotter out there. I didn't want to be alone. I was living on my own, but girlfriends would stay with me. I had a couple of steady girlfriends who were always available, but when I was out, I would party. I feel badly for my girlfriends who had to put up with my bullshit and with me constantly lying. But I grew up lying. All I knew was lying.

I always told myself it wasn't the booze that killed me, it was the hunt. I'd go out and have dinner by myself, drink a couple glasses of wine. Then I'd call a couple of buddies, we'd go someplace, and the next thing you know, it was two o'clock in the morning.
Well, fuck, I've got practice at ten o'clock—I'd better get on the horn to find a fucking broad.
So, yeah, I fucked around a lot; I'm not going to lie about it. That was me trying to fill the void. Part of me wants to blame my brother for not being around, but that would just be me being selfish and blaming someone else. That would be a cop-out for me. That would be an easy excuse.

I did have one girlfriend in Nashville who you might have heard of. Her name is Kellie Pickler. She was on
American Idol
and has had a pretty successful singing career, but the truth is, when I met her I had no clue who she was. But by the time I met her, a lot of people in the Nashville country music scene knew who I was. It's a small town and I was in that loop. One day, at the condo building where I was living, the concierge said, “Hey, I've got a perfect match for you, Jordin. I know you bring a lot of women in here, but this one is going to be a good girl for you. Beautiful blonde. She's new in town. She's never been to a
hockey game. We were talking about hockey today and I kind of threw your name out there, saying that one of the Predators players lives in this building—maybe he can get you a couple of tickets.”
Boom. Done. Come and get the tickets.
I got Kellie passes to come to a game.