All the Way (22 page)

I couldn't believe it when I heard that Wade had committed suicide in 2011. Really, I still can't believe it. I don't know all of the details. The Wade I knew enjoyed every day of his life. He was a family guy. He had a wife and two kids. He was one of the best teammates I ever had. And he seemed happy being retired from hockey, enjoying every day to its fullest. He was doing the TV show
Battle of the Blades.
It seemed like he had everything going for him. It just goes to show you that life is lived day by day and hour by hour. You never know what will happen.

Because of what my family had been through after Terence died, I knew how it felt to have a loved one commit suicide, but I still couldn't imagine how his family dealt with it. I passed on
my condolences and let them know that I understood what they were going through, and that we were all in this together. Any time you lose a brother or a friend, it's like life kicks you right in the balls. The test is how you react to it. Are you going to fold and crumble and let it beat you, or get up and live to fight another day? You're going to experience feelings you could never imagine in your worst dreams. But you have to pick yourself back up. No one is going to do it for you. Sometimes, though, it takes time.

Following his strong play during the Predators' playoff run in the spring of 2011, Jordin entered the 2011–2012 season feeling more confident than ever, and it showed on the ice. His game had evolved. He was still willing to drop the gloves when necessary, but his penalty minutes fell off significantly, while on offence he was starting to make more of a contribution than at any time during his NHL career. By season's end, he'd finish with 6 goals and 24 assists in 77 games, numbers that when combined with his physical presence and his high-energy style made him the kind of player that every NHL general manager covets. It was also the final year of his contract with the Predators, and because of his years of service, he would have the option of becoming an unrestricted free agent for the first time in his career, able to sell his services to the highest bidder. Nashville had been his only home in professional hockey, and Barry Trotz, who'd stood by Jordin during the tough times and helped him develop his game, had been his only coach. Jordin loved the city, and loved the fans, and they loved him back. When he'd returned from rehab, they had supported him. And every time he stepped on the ice, he could hear that ripple of excitement in the crowd, anticipating another Tootoo moment. But professional hockey is a business, careers are short, and when the opportunity arrives for a player to sign a lifechanging contract, there's little room for sentiment.

David Poile, the Predators' general manager, offered me a contract extension in December 2011, but I turned it down. It was still early in the season, I was having a career year, and I figured I was worth more money than what they were offering. In this day and age, you go to the team that you think offers the best opportunity for you, not to mention the best pay. I thought I could do better, either with the Predators or with somebody else.

It turned out that I had a great season, and so did the team. We finished fourth in the Western Conference, then beat Detroit in five games in the first round of the playoffs before losing to the Phoenix Coyotes in five games in the next round. I dressed for only three playoff games, which was a real disappointment, but by then I knew my career as a Predator was coming to a close in any case. Just before the regular season ended, Poile had offered me another contract that was actually worth less money than the first offer. So there really wasn't any option. I knew that I wasn't coming back to Nashville, and that it was time to test the open market.

When the playoffs were over and Jen and I were packing up our belongings to move back to Canada for the summer, that's when it hit me. I'd spent nine years of my life in this home. But it was time for change in my life. I needed something different.
I needed new surroundings. I needed a different opportunity. It was the right thing for me to do, but it was definitely tough.

I have friends in Nashville that I'll have for life. The people there who understand the game and knew what free agency meant, they understood my position and knew that I had to go. But among the average fans, I know a lot of people were disappointed.

In the National Hockey League, July 1 is one of the most important days on the calendar. It's when players at the end of their contracts become free agents and can sign with any team. I remember being on the phone that day from about eight in the morning until four in the afternoon—conference calls with my agent and the coaches and general managers of different teams. By the time it was all finished, I think we had talked seriously with eight teams.

The Winnipeg Jets were the first team that called, just after eight, and we were on the phone with them for an hour. After that call, it got quiet and I thought,
Holy shit, maybe no one else is going to call and this will be my only opportunity.
I thought I'd love playing in Winnipeg, but at the time I didn't think going there would provide me with the best opportunity to win a Stanley Cup. But after the conversation we had with the Jets' coaching staff and management, I got off the phone and said to Jen, “Holy shit, maybe we are going to Winnipeg.” They talked about their expectations for me and how they were going to help me get established in the city. It was very encouraging. The team had been back in Winnipeg for only one season at that point, and they knew that the fans would enjoy my style of play.
And, of course, it was the closet team to home—a short, direct flight from Rankin Inlet, an easy trip for my family and friends, and just down the road from where I'd played junior hockey in Brandon. If you'd asked me the day before, it would have been the last place I would have expected to wind up, but after that phone call I thought I was going to sign there for sure.

But then the phone started ringing and the calls started coming in—
boom, boom, boom, boom
—and my heart was changing every fricking hour. The Washington Capitals called.
Maybe I'm going to Washington.
I called my buddy Joel Ward to ask him about the organization. We had been neighbours in Nashville when he played for the Predators and we'd hung out quite a bit. The Flames called.
Maybe I'm going to Calgary. Do I want to play in a Canadian market?
The Florida Panthers called. That would be okay—or at least the weather would be. Things were very hectic. Not only was I talking to my agent and to the teams, but I started having conversations with players on some of the teams who were calling, asking them about the cities and about their experiences there. The day just flew by.

By the end of that afternoon, it looked like we had a deal with the New York Rangers. I really liked the idea of living in New York and playing there. My agent was just about to make a phone call to confirm the deal, but then he called me back twenty seconds after I'd hung up with him. He said that Kenny Holland, the general manager of the Detroit Red Wings, had just called, and that he'd gone over the top of what the Rangers were offering and had also thrown in a signing bonus. In my heart, I knew that I wanted to go to a contending team. I was at
a point in my career when I wanted to have the best opportunity to win a Stanley Cup.

I took a look at Detroit's roster. They always seemed to be in the hunt and I thought I would be good fit there. They always made the playoffs, they had won some Stanley Cups in recent years, they had a great history, and they had great fans—I knew all about that from all the games I'd played at Joe Louis Arena with Nashville. And they didn't really have anyone who played the kind of game I did. Everything kind of happened within a couple of minutes. I felt in my heart that this was my best chance to be in the lineup every night and win a championship—and it was a bonus to go to an Original Six team with the kind of history the Red Wings have. I talked to my agent, and then we called Holland back and accepted the offer.

It was official now. I was moving on. I was a Detroit Red Wing.

Jordin had good reason to be excited about the move to the Red Wings. The Detroit organization, with general manager Ken Holland and coach Mike Babcock, was widely regarded as the gold standard in the National Hockey League. In 2013, the Wings made the playoffs for the twenty-second consecutive season, the longest active streak in the sport—and during that stretch, the team won the Stanley Cup four times. Year after year, the Wings remained in contention with a changing cast of players, but also with a strong and consistent organizational philosophy. But what they didn't have, and what they hadn't had through most of those seasons, was a player like Jordin—an agitator, an energy guy, and a fighter. His signing was seen as signal in the hockey world that Holland and Babcock felt those elements were missing from their roster, and that those elements were necessary if they were going to win another Cup. But Jordin's Detroit debut would be postponed. In the fall of 2012, for the second time in eight years, the NHL locked out its players in a labour dispute, resulting in the cancellation of training camp and the first three months of the regular season. In 2004, the previous lockout had resulted in the loss of an entire season. Jordin was still on his entry-level contract then, and so was sent down to Milwaukee in the American Hockey League, where he played the entire year. Now, as a veteran, that was no longer an option. His choices were to head for Europe, and a temporary job with a professional team there, or to wait out the lockout at home, doing his best to remain in shape. He chose the latter option.

When I signed with the Red Wings on free agency day, there was a lot of hype and a lot of excitement. I couldn't wait to get to Detroit and put on the uniform. The only guy I knew on the team was Darren Helm—he's from Winnipeg and we had crossed paths. So I called him, and I also called Zee—Henrik Zetterberg. I knew him just from playing against him for eight years. But when the lockout happened, all of that enthusiasm kind of evaporated. I stayed in Kelowna, where I lived during the off-season. There are a bunch of NHL players who spend the summers there. During the lockout, we all skated together, and some of us also practised with the local junior team, the
Kelowna Rockets of the WHL, which was great. I thought that the best thing for me was to have a home base, and know that I had ice every day and a place where I could train hard.

It was January 6 before the players finally got a deal done with the league. As soon as that happened, I made my trek to Detroit. I found a place to live out in the suburbs, and got ready for what was going to be the shortest training camp ever. I think it was only four days before we started playing games. It was a whole new experience for me, a new chapter and a fresh start. I was excited by that. But it also turned out to be a tough adjustment, and it was made that much more difficult because I had hardly any time before the regular season started. In a normal year, you would go to your city before training camp started and get used to the place and get used to the guys, and then get comfortable through camp and the exhibition season. But, because of the lockout, that didn't happen.

The Detroit players knew what I brought to the table, because we had played against each other so much, being in the same division. But because of the way I play, that meant that some of them probably didn't like me very much. I remember sitting in the dressing room during training camp and everyone was kind of silent, and then Niklas Kronwall piped up. He said, “Does anyone have anything to say to Toots after all the years of him punishing us? Now is your time to get it out, boys.” I sat there quietly and thought,
Holy shit, what am I going to hear now?
But it was more of a joke and everyone just loosened up after that. Kronwall is the kind of guy who makes things easy around the dressing room and calms things down. After that
moment I felt accepted by everyone, and knew that there weren't any grudges being held.

Barry Trotz had been my only NHL coach before that, and so I knew his terminology and his style inside out. When I went to Detroit, everything was new to me—not just Mike Babcock's style, but even the terms he used for everything. For nine years I was used to Trotz's meetings and having notes up on the board before the game, and then there I was in a place where they don't have meetings—they just have stuff written on a clipboard and you're on your own to figure it out. Most coaches draw up their practice drills while the players are on the ice. As players, a lot of us are still like kids. We have to be able to see information in order to process it. But Babcock would tell us about all these drills and not write anything down—just explain his drills in words and we had to process that in five seconds. I thought,
Back of the line, I go. Oh shit, I've got to remember to read all this and go over it and you never know if the coach is going to ask you a question, so you'd better know the answer. You're the new guy here, and you have to make sure you know everything.

I admit that I was confused. Most of the other guys had been there for years. They understood Babcock's way of coaching and how things worked. I felt like I got off to bad start. Thing just happened so quickly and there was a lot of confusion. When you don't know the style of play and you're trying to adjust your game, it's extra hard if you're not sure exactly what's going on. I think, because of that, they had doubts about me right from the start, wondering whether I could play within their system.

As a professional, you have to adjust your game and your
mentality when you move to a new team, but it took me a couple of weeks to get everything down pat. I had a lot of shit to absorb in terms of getting used to the guys, getting used to the coaching style and whatnot. I knew what they'd brought me in for. There wasn't a lot of clarification during camp as to what they expected from me, but I knew what I brought to the game and I assumed that was what they needed. I played in the exhibition games and started feeling things out. Then, as the season progressed, I thought I was playing to the best of my abilities and doing what was expected of me. They seemed satisfied. They told me that they didn't need me to fight every night. They said they needed my energy and they needed me to draw penalties, and I did that. So, as far as I was concerned, everything was fine and dandy— and when things are going well for a team, everyone is happy.