All the Way (24 page)

But, you know, it's not all serious. A lot of the time, girls from the communities will come up to me and ask, “Will you be my baby's daddy? Can we go on a date? Can you take me back down south?” And, obviously, I get a lot of hockey questions. I get a real chuckle out of the kids; once one kid starts asking questions, it's like a trickle effect, and suddenly they all start talking. You can see it in the kids' eyes, how excited they are. I recognize that look because I was that same kid growing up. Every time we had a guest speaker come to class, we listened and we watched. And now that guest speaker is me.

The lockout that shortened the 2012–2013 NHL season had continuing repercussions the following year. Because the regular-season schedule was reduced to forty-eight games, the league's salary cap didn't rise to the same degree it would have following a full year of hockey. Clubs that had already committed salary through long-term contracts were going to be forced to make some difficult decisions in order to get below the threshold. Coming into training camp in the fall of 2013, everyone knew that the Red Wings, like most teams, had salary cap issues. And from the first day of camp, Jordin was one of the players on the bubble. The Wings had other options for third- and fourth-line duty, some of them earning less than the $1.9 million Jordin was guaranteed for the second year of his three-year contract. When he was hurt during training camp and missed some valuable time, the writing was on the wall, though Jordin wasn't the first to understand that.

Going back to Detroit, I thought there was a chance it could be a whole new start for me and the Red Wings. That season, we would have a normal, full training camp, and I would have a chance to show them what I could contribute to the team. But, instead, it was the same deal right off the bat. They told me I was going to have to fight for a spot on the team. They'd signed a few guys in the off-season and there was a lot of competition for what were really just a couple of jobs.

So, deciding not to ask for a trade during the summer had kind of backfired on me. The role that I played wasn't really in their plan. They decided to go with more skilled guys throughout all four lines. I was in and out of the lineup during camp, and I felt that I did everything they asked of me. My teammates were patting me on the back and making me feel good and feel wanted on the team. But none of that mattered.

One day, I was called in and told I was being put on waivers. What that meant was that any other team in the league could claim me, but if they did, they would have to take on my contract, which I knew wasn't likely given that nearly everyone in the league was up against the salary cap. If no team claimed me, Detroit could send me down to the minors—to their American Hockey League farm team in Grand Rapids, Michigan—where they'd still have to pay me, but my salary wouldn't count against their cap. It's called “burying a contract.” I wasn't the first guy it's happened to, and I won't be the last.

Kenny Holland, Detroit's general manager, gave me the news: “Toots, we have cap issues. It's unfortunate that you're the guy who has to be put on waivers. You've done everything right up to this point. You've been a real pro in the dressing room. The guys like you. Thanks for coming, but we're sending you to the minors.”

Maybe I should have seen it coming, but the truth is I didn't, not at all. I knew that guys were coming back from injuries, and that there was the whole salary cap thing that the media were talking about, but it never stood out in my mind. I thought I was one of those guys they would count on. And then I got the call. They decided to go more with youth, and good for the young guys who were stepping up and seizing their opportunities. I was one of those guys not so long ago. But what happened to the part about having to earn your spot? Nowadays, everything is just kind of handed to the kids.

After I had the meeting with Holland about putting me on waivers, I called my agent. We were both really hoping that I was
going to get picked up by somebody. There were teams calling about me, but nothing worked out. So I packed my bags and headed for Grand Rapids. Mentally, I wasn't ready to be in the minors. I was there physically, but I wasn't there in my head. The first couple of days, it was okay. I thought,
This is going to be temporary. I've just got to play hard and do what I do.
I was thinking,
The game is going to be a little bit easier down here, and I'm going to be faster and stronger.

But the game in the AHL is totally different. After playing in the NHL for nine years—playing at that pace with the systems we use and the positioning of players—the truth is, in some ways it's a lot easier playing in the NHL. Down in the minors, it's kind of a mad scramble, and that wasn't good for me at that stage in my career. After the first couple of games, I was frustrated, but I kept telling myself I was just there temporarily, to let it go, to let it go. One week went by. Another week went by. By then, I was scratching my head and thinking,
Frick, somebody fucking trade me somewhere, please. I can't handle this.
Then a month had gone by and I was getting the same story every day from Detroit:
We're trying, we're doing our best. We're calling around. We're talking to teams.
And all I could think was,
Just get it done. If you have something—anything—get it done. You told me when I came here than I'm an NHL player who deserves to be in the NHL. Frick, it's been a month. What the hell is going on? Get me out of here. You guys tell me one thing and you aren't following through on it. Where's the loyalty?

When you believe in yourself, good things are supposed to happen, but it sure didn't feel that way when I was in Grand
Rapids. I started wondering about the future.
I'm an NHL player and I deserve to be in the NHL, not the AHL. Maybe at the end of my career that's where I'll be, but I still feel like I'm in my prime.
Mentally, I was drained. I felt like I wasn't there. In terms of the people running the Red Wings, I was starting to think that since I was out of sight, I was also out of mind. It felt as though they'd tell me what I wanted to hear, and then they'd hang up and forget about me again until our next conversation.

I talked to some other guys who had been through the same experience. For example, Wade Redden—he'd been a big deal in Ottawa, a second-overall pick, an All Star; he'd played in the World Cup and then, after the 2012 lockout, he'd ended up buried in the minors just like me. Everyone I talked to said the same thing:
It's tough. You're hoping for a second chance. And you question yourself, question the decisions you made. Why the hell did I sign here when I could have signed with ten other teams?

Finally, in December, the Red Wings had some injury problems and I was called up. I thought,
This is the opportunity I've been waiting for. This is my chance to go up there and prove that I belong.
It was a little bit strange walking back into the dressing room. When you leave and they tell the team you're not going to be around anymore, you kind of are forgotten. When I returned, I could tell the guys felt bad for my situation; I could definitely sense that. There were some awkward moments when I knew guys were wondering whether they should ask me how it had been down there. Of course, they knew I hadn't been happy in the minors.

I wound up playing only two games with the Red Wings. I
know that I had really strong games and I brought energy and physicality the way I'm supposed to. And then they sent me right back down to Grand Rapids, telling me the same stuff: “This is what we asked of you and you did it, but we're sending you back because we have guys coming off injury reserve.”
Oh fuck, are you kidding me? Don't tell me what I want to hear. Just be fucking honest. I'm an honest guy, and I expect honesty in return.

In March, the trade deadline came and went. That was really my last chance to get out of the minors during the 2013–2014 season, and I was definitely hoping for something to happen and was expecting something to happen. When nothing happened and the deadline passed, I was called into the office in Grand Rapids to talk to the head coach, Jeff Blashill. The first thing that came out of his mouth was, “How are you feeling?”
Fuck, what do you mean, how am I feeling? You know how I feel. Why are you asking me that? What do you want me to say? I'm stuck here in Grand Rapids for the rest of the year and I'm not happy about it.
Blashill understood where I was coming from. He said, “I hear you. I just want you to know I'm giving you every opportunity to get back to the NHL. You've been one of our best players ever since you came down here. You've been fighting for your life.” At least that was good to hear.

What Ken Holland and Jeff Blashill couldn't have known was that I was fighting for my life in other ways. As an Inuk, I've faced racism at just about every level of the game, and I think I've got a pretty thick skin. But the things I heard in the AHL really shocked me. In four months, I had to deal with three separate incidents. That's more than during all of the time I spent in
the NHL. It's bad there. Just unbelievable. With these young kids in the minors, they're undereducated and there's no sense of professionalism. They don't have respect for other players. They don't know the limits. You're supposed to let the game dictate the outcome, not personal attacks. I know there's a mental part of the game, where you try to work on guys. The type of player I am, I get under guys' skins, and I know they want to make a name for themselves by taking me on. But fuck, what I went through was just stupid, and I'm sick and tired of it.

The first time, it wasn't even one of the kids. It was Keith Aucoin, a veteran, who has logged time in the NHL. Last season he was with the Chicago Wolves, I was playing against him the whole game and frustrating him. The guy's not going to fight me. But he started waving his stick in front of me and yelling, “Go back to your fucking tribe.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
The refs heard it. They kicked him out of the game. But there was no apology and really, I don't expect an apology from guys who say shit like that. I don't have time for that bullshit.

The next situation was in Milwaukee, with some nobody running around out there trying to make a name for himself, not even a real hockey player. I don't know what he was on— some kind of fucking drug or something—but right from the start of the game he was yelling and screaming at me. And then it was late in the game—three minutes left in the third period and it's tied 2-2. And he yells at me, “Go back to fucking rehab, it's where you brown people belong. . . .” Everybody heard it. The bench, the coaches and the ref. I go to the ref and say, “Are you guys hearing this fucking shit? You've got to do something.”
The ref says to me, “I can't make a call like that in a 2-2 game.”
Well, fuck you. Fuck you, you fucking gutless piece of shit. You've got no fucking balls.

And then the last one was in the playoffs against Abbotsford— the second game of the first round. I wasn't even playing—I separated my shoulder in the first game, so I was scratched. At the end of the game there was a little kerfuffle on the ice. Both teams were jawing at each other, and it spilled out into the hallway in the Abbotsford arena after the game. I was just standing there by the dressing room, wearing my suit, when Abbotsford's strength and conditioning coach starts going off on one of our guys. I was watching, shaking my head.
You're a strength and conditioning coach and you're yelling at players?
Then, without me even saying a word, he starts going off on me. “Why don't you go fuck yourself. Go back to eating your fucking beluga whale, you meat head.”
I looked at him and thought, really? There's no fucking room for that kind of shit.

Everybody heard it—the Abbotsford players, our players, the security guards who were in the hallway. As soon as he said it, he turned and walked into his dressing room. I told our assistant general manager, Ryan Martin, what had happened. This shit's unbelievable, very unprofessional coming from someone on the staff. I told Ryan that it was the third time it had happened, and I didn't have time for any more apologies. I told him I was at my wit's end. I understand what it's like in the heat of the moment but fuck, there's no room for a staff member to go off on any player, never mind saying stuff like that.

A couple of days later, after the series came back to Grand
Rapids, the guy came up and apologized to me after practice. He was pretty much in tears. He said it wasn't in his personality to be like that, that he didn't know what had gotten into him. The same old story I've heard before. I just stood there and said, whatever.
Turn the page and get out of my face. You said it, and it's just uncalled for.

The league got involved in that one, and called me to ask for my side of the story. I told them we all have to be professionals here. I understand there are kids coming out of juniors, but that doesn't make it okay. We have to be fucking adults. There has to be better education and awareness about the variety of nationalities in hockey. It doesn't matter who you are or what colour you are or what race you are. We're here to do our job.

People are cowards when it comes to personal attacks and racial comments. You saw that in the racist shit with P.K. Subban during the NHL playoffs. How bad is your life to be like that? How low can you get to be at that point?

Whenever I speak to groups of young people when I am back home, I stress that if I could make it, they can make it. So when some racist clown starts yapping, it's not so much that he is getting under my skin, it's that he is making it clear that he would make life more difficult for all those kids I speak to and try to encourage. Look, I can take care of myself. And if someone really wants to call me out, they don't need to be racist to do it. But if you use that kind of language around me, that's not just a personal attack. That's an attack on a whole people. You can't just sweep that under the rug, or say sorry and expect it to go away.