Fydrich: On being real

The death of Mark Fydrich brings to mind simpler times in the world of professional sports.

When Fydrich embarked on his very brief major-league career in 1976 and was stunningly successful, he caught the tradition-rich sport somewhat off guard. He had a quirky nickname (“the Bird”) and peculiar habits on the field, which have been well-documented (talking to the ball, spending time on his hands and knees re-working the mound, running to congratulate teammates on the field of play…). And while he put off some people, he radiated a boyish enthusiasm which made him popular well beyond his injury-shortened big-league career. He evidently led a simple, hard-working life as an adult. Media reports tell of neighbours who recall him as just another guy, a truly nice man who never played the “I was a somebody” card.

Why was he so popular, then and now? Well, we need only look at the way sports–and athletes–have evolved over the past 30 years to understand some of the reasons why.

Athletes now, while still playing for ‘the love of the game’, are unbelievably well-compensated. Injuries are attentively treated, rehabilitation is precise to ensure an athlete does not return before they are one-hundred per cent fit. (This is not to say that athletes today don’t play with injuries–football and hockey players prove that point regularly.) But it is to say that modern medicine and methods of training and education are simply superior, thankfully, to what was in place 30 years ago.

That said, we also often see athletes as corporations unto themselves. They are media-wary, image-conscious (see Alex Rodriguez), and often surly when the media probes too much. Not that this never occurred in generations past, but it seems ever-more the case these days. Athletes now are in tremendous physical condition (baseball being the exception, in some cases). They come to training camp in shape, not to get in shape.

Things are just very different. Sports is very much, as is often said, a business.

When Fydrich came on the scene, he was the classic wide-eyed rookie. Happily, despite his brief career (he could never duplicate his 1976 season after he hurt his arm in 1977), by all accounts he was a contended individual who was a good guy to the end. He was seen as engaging and joy-filled in his 50’s, much as he was in his 20’s as a ‘star’.

How much would Fydrich be ‘worth’ these days, in crass economic terms? Hard to say, but talent-wise it would likely start at 15 million a year. In terms of what he would mean to baseball in terms of goodwill off the field (no need for performance enhancers, an engaging, extroverted and genuinely friendly personality) the sky would be the limit.

This doesn’t even touch what he would earn as a corporate spokesperson.

In the 70’s, baseball was in a bit of a slide, as I recall. Because of the courage of Curt Flood, and after him the impact of union boss Marvin Miller and the court cases leading to player free agency, the game was changing. The game was popular, but football–both college and professional–was clearly surpassing baseball in terms of overall popularity.

Fans were still coming out to the ballparks, but buying tickets to a game was not hard. In Detroit, if I remember correctly, the Tigers might draw 10,000 or so to a game, depending on the opposition. That season that Fydrich joined them and created a storm, 50,000 would show up to watch him in action. Every time. Non-baseball fans went. He was that much of an attraction, a curiosity, a star, a draw. He must have made the Tigers a ton on the “bottom line” that season, as he was likely drawing a rookie salary of ridiculously small proportions compared with the modern day.

I didn’t know Fydrich and never had the opportunity to interview him in the years I was involved in sports broadcasting. Looking back, I wish I had. Un-rehearsed and natural, likeable and delightful in good times and bad, he was unlike most of what had followed.

Today, we tend to knock that naturalness out of our young athletes. Make them corporate, dull, rehearsed. It is easy to understand, as the media have a long history of falling very quickly in–and out of–love with young “stars”.

Fydrich leaves a mark, as good people do. Not, perhaps, because he was a baseball ‘star’, but because he never played that part.

The only reason Sean Avery will ever make you think of Bobby Orr

Sean Avery and Bobby Orr in the same breath?

Not really. It’s simply that Avery’s latest and rather tasteless public outburst brought to mind someone who was – and is – very much unlike the veteran Dallas Stars forward.

Bobby Orr comes to mind because, publicly, he has always been everything someone like Avery is not. Quiet, rather dull, humble, perhaps even shy. And certainly not someone to seek the limelight.

Orr’s number 2 was recently retired by the Oshawa Generals of the Ontario Hockey League. Orr played in Oshawa from the age of 14 to his graduation to the Bruins at the age of 18. By all accounts the Oshawa organization had offered this honor many times over the years, but Orr declined because he was uncomfortable with all the fuss that would be made. (Orr has been, in recent years, a successful and well-regarded player agent.) He finally relented and the night went well.

I remember a chance encounter I had back in the fall of 1966, Orr’s rookie season as an 18 year-old with the Boston Bruins.

I was raised in a small town in southwestern Ontario, about a 4 hour drive from Toronto in those days. My eldest brother was receiving his Masters degree at Convocation Hall at the University of Toronto on a Friday night. (I believe the late Carl Brewer, a wonderful player with the Leafs in the early 60’s who had retired from pro hockey for a time, was also receiving a degree that night.)

I was the youngest of the family and we drove up that day to attend the graduation ceremony. We had not announced our intentions early enough to obtain seats for everyone, so my Dad and I were the ones left to “stand”, while my Mom, sister and my brother’s fiancée found seating.

That night, I never got inside the auditorium. Instead we just stood in the hall, waiting for the lengthy event to end. (When you’re 13, hearing hundreds of names read out in sequence when you can’t even see the "action" was pretty dull stuff.)

With nothing to do but kill time, I roamed around the halls. My Dad was leaning up against a wall near the exit, reading a newspaper.

I happened to notice some men (they all seemed like fairly old guys to me) in a small group, sharing stories and having a few laughs. One of them, younger than the others, was taking part in the frivolity. What caught my eye was that the young guy seemed somehow familiar. To me, he looked like Bobby Orr.

Now to put things in context, back in 1966, we didn’t have the kind of media exposure that is common today for politicians, entertainers or athletes. I had seen Orr’s picture in the hometown newspaper’s sports pages, and maybe (maybe) had seen him interviewed on television on Hockey Night in Canada.

But this was Orr’s rookie season, and as ballyhooed as his arrival to the NHL was back then, I could not be sure of what I was seeing right in front of me.

I ran over to my Dad and told him that I thought I had just seen Bobby Orr. My Dad didn’t even look up from his newspaper. "Why would Bobby Orr be here?" he said. He wasn’t being sarcastic--simply, in his mind, realistic. Kids, after all, are prone to dramatize.

But I knew the Bruins were playing the Leafs in Toronto the next (Saturday) night, so I knew that Orr could be in Toronto, at least.

I went back to eavesdrop on the group’s conversation. Just at that moment, the young guy started to pull away from his friends, and I heard someone say, "See you, Bobby".

That was all I needed to hear. I hustled over to my father and announced what I heard, and pleaded with him to at least check this guy out. By now, even my Dad was sensing I may not be crazy. It so happened that the young fellow had to work his way through a crowded hall and walk by us to get to the exit.

It was a moment I no doubt sized up as a once-in-a-lifetime fluke that would not ever come my way again. With my hopeful eyes on the fast-developing situation, my Dad rose to the occasion and gently, but firmly, grabbed the young man by the arm as he hustled by.

"Excuse me", my Dad said to him. “This young man here thinks he knows you. Do you mind if I ask you your name?”

"Bob Orr", came the reply.

I’d hit the mother lode. My Dad said, "Shake hands with my son". I shook Orr’s hand, who was quiet, and gracious. He was only 5 years older than me, but honest to God, I might as well have been meeting Jesus. It was that big a deal to me.

When we had driven back to my older sister’s home (she lived in Mississauga, as I recall, though it wasn’t called that in those days, it was probably Port Credit) I thought not about my brother’s hard-earned academic achievement, which was the reason for our rare visit to the big city but about meeting the best young hockey player I had ever seen (and as it turns out, would ever see).

I joked about never washing my right hand again, and probably didn’t, for a time.

Certainly there are athletes today who are gracious and humble, and would be so in meeting a young admirer. But all too often you have to stand in line and then pay for the honor.

The world has changed in the last 40 years. Attitudes, media, technology, money.

Oh well.

It was nice to read about Orr’s comments on his special night in Oshawa. A man of 60 now, but still publicly humble and gracious.

Maybe Sean Avery will be that way 30 years from now. But if so, he’s got a long way to go.

Gillick sets an unusual example in sharing credit

Often, the first thing new Coaches or General Manager’s do when they take over from a “fired” or displaced predecessor is directly - or subtly - comment on all the work that needs to be done to rebuild the organization.

By making this claim publicly in the first days of their administration (much like an incoming political party who claims that things are much worse than they feared when they took office and “saw the books”, therefore they can’t afford to do what they promised they would do during the election campaign), it sets the expectation bar so low that any progress is seen as major improvement under their watch.

So it was refreshing to hear Philadelphia Phillies General Manager Pat Gillick give credit to Ed Wade, his predecessor as GM of the National League pennant-winning Phillies. So often when a team succeeds, you don’t hear about the earlier Coaches or Managers who actually also helped build the squad’s success.

Gillick’s comments reinforce the notion I’ve long held about him.

More than 30 years ago, when I was a young nobody working in radio on the smallest station in the Toronto radio market, the Toronto Blue Jays were the new expansion team. The team, under ‘PR’ oriented President and General Manager Peter Bavasi, was very aware of building the team’s profile, even with small-time radio folks with no “influence” such as myself. I was able to interview, at length, all the names in the Toronto front office, including Bavasi, manager Roy Hartsfield and of course Gillick, who had moved over from the Yankees organization, if I remember correctly. Gillick, now 71, was then an up and coming baseball guy. He was approachable, smart and worth interviewing because he had something to say. He became GM in Toronto and built the Jays into a World Series Champion.

My work took me to other situations and I never stayed in touch with Gillick. But I also recall that, somewhere along the way, my eldest son, then in Grade 7, sent Gillick a letter asking some questions for a school project. Gillick actually wrote back with some comments. While he didn’t disclose any state secrets, it was no form letter and I was impressed with the fact the he actually took the time to respond to specific questions posed by a 12-year-old kid. Gillick would not have been doing this because he “knew” me. He didn’t. He was simply the kind of person who would take the time to write back to a kid.

Gillick has been one of those universally respected guys in major league baseball for 30 years. Ed Wade would be among those who could tell you why.

Wild do the right thing

There are many different ways to communicate.

In the following case, actions speak louder than words.

This week, the Minnesota Wild announced they would offer a seriously injured player a contract, even though, technically, they are not required to do so to retain his playing rights.

The player is Kurtis Foster, a young defenseman who suffered a badly broken leg in a controversial icing-play incident.

Wire stories reported that Wild GM Doug Risebrough had already decided on a course of action.

One story, from TSN.com, reports that the Wild are not sure if Foster will be able to play in the NHL again, because of the seriousness of the injury.

"I don't have to qualify him [to retain his rights], but I will," Risebrough told the (Minneapolis) Star-Tribune. "It's a bad message not to do that. He's a good player. He needs a motivation [to rehab], and he doesn't need that stress in his life."

The Wild will offer Foster a one-year, $1.025 million contract before the June 25 deadline, which insurance would not have covered according to Wild assistant general manager Tom Lynn.

The professional sports world often reflects a kind of ego-driven and self-centered attitude, an environment which can be very cold and all about “business”.

In this instance, it seems clear that the Wild recognize that one of their own was hurt while in the line of duty, and they aren’t prepared to let him worry about his immediate future.

They have sent a message and they have done the right—and honorable—thing.

Serena, athletes, and class

Venus and Serena Williams are unquestionably two of the finest tennis players ever. Athletic and strong, when focused and healthy they are almost unbeatable.

By all accounts they can be charismatic and charming. Not that these are essential qualities for what many define as “success” in sports (victories and material wealth) as the sisters are very wealthy, indeed.

But for many of us, we prefer sporting stars who are grounded, perhaps even a bit humble.

This is where one of the talented sisters hit a stumbling block recently. After losing a quarter-final match at the U.S. Open to Justine Henin, Serene was quoted as saying:

"I just think she made a lot of lucky shots and I made a lot of errors. I really don't feel like talking about it. It's like I don't want to get fined. That's the only reason I came. I can't afford to pay the fines because I keep losing."

This was not the usual comment made by players after a loss. Customarily players will at least grudgingly offer congratulations at the media conference, and at least concede that the winner played well.

So stunned was the U.S. media by Serena’s comportment at the press gathering, that many wrote stories which referred to Serena as “classless”.
Here is the rub. One the one hand, the media criticizes athletes who give pat, rehearsed, superficial answers. But at the same time, when a player steps off that line in a manner which does not please reporters, the response is often swift – and negative.

In my work with many athletes over the years it has become clear that there is a real pressure to be interesting when interviewed by the media, not to simply mouth clichés and the standard jock stuff.

Yet they all realize they are one strong opinion from being categorized in some negative manner by the media. And once an athlete has a “reputation” with the media, sometimes based on even one small incident, the issue can take on a life of its own.

One of the follies (though necessary, it seems) of the way we cover sports has always been the need to make athletes answer questions at moments of absolute frustration, immediately after a personal or team defeat. We expect them to say something of interest, but criticize them if they fall short of our imposed ideal.

Was Serena off base? Just being honest? Or both?

Would she have handled the questions a little differently if allowed to conduct the interviews a day later?

We’ll never know.

For now, it’s easy to criticize an athlete’s choice of words when they are tired and downhearted.

That said, graceful acknowledgement—even if somewhat forced and superficial—of the victor costs an athlete nothing, can enhance one’s reputation and can save a fair bit of aggravation.

"Do as I say..."

The National Football League, according to its own people, is looking to “clean up its act”.

League officials acknowledge the NFL — as popular as it is with fans and bettors every Sunday in the fall — has a lot of work to do to get rid of its image as a league with too many athletes who are greedy, selfish and too often in trouble with the law.

As this public relations initiative evolves to help the League smooth its rough edges, here comes a double dose of irony.

A large number of highly-respected former players, including Hall-of-Famers Mike Ditka, Bart Starr and Sam Huff have called on the League and the NFL Players Association to do more to help former players, many of whom are, by all accounts, in desperate need of financial assistance. The players from the 50’s and 60’s did not make “the big bucks”, and many have found the transition to life after pro sports very difficult. Quite a number have medical costs that they simply cannot cover.

Various reports persist in suggesting that the vast majority of today’s players have no interest in giving up any of the millions of dollars they earn annually to share with those who helped build the League before them.

Critics suggest the League and the Players Association should do more. Much more.

A lot of the criticism has been directed at long-time Players Association President Gene Upshaw, himself a Hall-of-Famer who earns more than a million dollars a year in salary.

In a recent ESPN.com story, Upshaw is quoted as telling the Philadelphia Daily news (in response to critical comments attributed to former Buffalo Bills guard Joe DeLamielleure) that, “A guy like DeLamielleure says the things he said about me, you think I'm going to invite him to dinner? No. I'm going to break his ... damn neck".

Many of DeLamielleure’s friends and fellow former players were quoted in the ESPN story as saying that the man they called Joe D should be concerned about the alleged “threat” from Upshaw. One former player is quoted as saying, “I don’t trust him (Upshaw) not to be violent.”

Here is a League, an institution, really, in the United States, working supposedly hard to clean up its image.

The guys who built the foundation upon which the League now stands are simply asking that some of the millions of dollars that today’s League and players are earning be shared equitably among former players in need.

When one of the leaders of the NFL “establishment” (Upshaw), doesn’t like the criticism they are receiving, they respond with the kind of public comment that makes even tough-guy ex-NFL types shudder.

In terms of the messages the League is communicating, it may be that the League itself, and its leaders, need to set the bar much higher in terms of its own attitude and behaviour, if it wants to set an example for its modern-day players to follow.

If only Crosby can make it last…

Bobby Hull was one of the great ambassadors for the game of hockey from the late 1950’s throughout his entire professional career, which ended in 1980.

While there were reports of various off-ice issues over the years, Hull was nonetheless one of those sporting “heroes” who made the time to speak with fans, who would stand and sign autographs for long periods of time after games and practices, when teammates were long gone.

In a nice piece printed recently in the Ottawa Sun, columnist Don Brennan tells how, when the Penguins were in Ottawa to play the Senators, a group of youngsters, hoping to see Sidney Crosby, waved and held up signs as he was leaving the rink after practice. When security wouldn’t allow the young fans near the team bus, Crosby ventured off to meet with the youngsters, pose for pictures and sign autographs.

Shades of Bobby Hull, indeed. And in an era when so many athletes simply have no interest in the fans, and certainly wouldn’t make the time to sign an autograph unless they were paid to do so, it is at the very least refreshing to see Crosby handle his early fame in this manner.

If he can maintain his approach for another twenty years, we can speak of him in the same breath as a Hull, or even a Jean Beliveau, who has shown respect for the game and the fans long after his playing career came to an end.

This is a wonderful lesson for young athletes on one of the many off-ice/ off-field qualities it takes to become a real professional in any sport.

"I can't do it all by myself!"

It’s remarkable how seldom professional athletes will really and truly take responsibility for their actions and/or performance.

Sometimes, on the rare occasions when they do, the response is rather peculiar. Case in point: recent comments by Ottawa Senators defenseman Joe Corvo. Corvo said publicly he has not played up to par this season, and a newspaper headline in the Ottawa Sun thereafter read, “Corvo too honest?”

Corvo’s coach went so far as to say, “you’re always a little surprised when a player admits to lacking confidence publicly”, essentially suggesting it would have been better for Corvo not to acknowledge his poor play.

Corvo responded by saying, “Guys (athletes) are kind of programmed to say robotic responses…I don’t think I’m the first one that’s been honest.”

Compare and contrast Corvo’s honest, if uncommon, self-assessment with the recent reaction of Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick, after the Falcons finished a disappointing 7-9 and missed the NFC playoffs.

Said Vick, "I don't see how people can point the finger at me," he said. "I think I had a great season. ... I can't do it all by myself. I call myself Superman, but I really don't have the cape on my back. I can't change the game in certain situations. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't."

He’s not the first “star” athlete to decline accepting responsibility for the performance of the team he is paid handsomely to lead. Quarterbacks in particular accept widespread acclaim when their teams achieve success but some aren’t as keen to accept any criticism that comes their way when things go off the rails.

When an athlete says, “I can’t do it all by myself…” he is sending a terrible – and likely unappreciated— message to his teammates, especially when the words come from a so-called “team leader” such as Vick.

No athlete in a team sport – not Bobby Orr, Michael Jordan or Jim Brown—won games or championships on their own. Every player on their respective teams made contributions. Orr, Jordan and Brown may have shown their true greatness by helping make the players around them better, but those players nonetheless all made valuable contributions game by game and throughout the playoffs until the championship was won.

The moment an athlete starts thinking – and goes so far as to start saying publicly – he is “doing it all by himself”, chances are he is, emotionally, “losing” the very people he needs to achieve success, his teammates.

There is a wonderful life lesson here for young athletes – and for young people in general.

The real issue is not so much, perhaps, that Vick said what he said. Rather, the problem is that he felt that way in the first place.

How could anyone who has seen teammates work in the off-season, play through injuries and do their utmost to play at the highest level in their sport, has the support and guidance of top coaches to help him prepare to be successful every day, really feel as though he is “doing it alone”.

With this story as a backdrop, aspiring elite athletes would do well to look inside themselves, and do an attitude check.

If you think you’re doing it “by yourself”, think again.

And if you truly can’t convince yourself that you are not a one-man band, for goodness sake, don’t say so out loud.

You’ll lose the respect of teammates, coaches, scouts and fans—and anyone who had an interest in your career.

The Vick quote reminds me of a similar comment made by a young NHL draft prospect several years ago, when asked by the media why his “stats” had fallen off.

He said, “If I had better linemates and been given more playing time, I would have scored more…”

In one sentence, the player essentially trashed his teammates and his coach and publicly laid blame on others for his own shortcomings.

We all understand that teenage athletes may sometimes say things they shouldn’t. No one should be that programmed.

But that player likely lost something in the minds of his teammates, coaches – and the scouts who were assessing him—when he made that comment.

If you’re a parent, you may want to encourage your child not to follow the Michael Vick approach to leadership.

Class Lasts

Long before I became an advisor, I, like many reading this, was a sports “fan”.

My “era” was the 60’s. There very certain athletes I admired, usually because of their attitude and work ethic. Jim Taylor, the Hall-of Fame Packers’ fullback known for his fierce determination and Dave Keon of the Maple Leafs, who lacked size but played with speed, brains and diligence night after night are two who stood out for me.

Taylor endured unbelievable physical abuse during the 1962 Championship game against Sam Huff and the New York Giants on a frozen field in bitter cold. Keon played a lead role in 4 Stanley Cup triumphs for the Leafs.

But perhaps oddly, I also latched on to a golfer as someone I looked up to.

Arnold Palmer.

Palmer had the fearless kind of attitude you simply did not associate with golf in those days. But he oozed charisma, long before I knew what that word meant.

He had peaked in the late 50’s and early 60’s. By the time I was a long-distance member of “Arnie’s Army”, he was still a force, but was not winning as frequently as he once had.

(The 1966 U.S. Open was particularly painful for me. Palmer misplayed a 7-stroke lead with 9 holes to play, and lost to Billy Casper the next day in a playoff. He lost the lead largely because he refused to “play it safe”. He never won a major again.)

As I write this, Palmer is now 75, long past his physical prime.

But he still stands out as an ambassador for golf, and for sports.

What brought this to mind was an article I read recently by Marino Parascenzo for PGA.com

Parenzsco wrote of being one of a number of reporters who had to approach Palmer late in his career, after shooting in the 80’s during a round at the Masters, where Palmer once was king— having won the tournament four times.

As the story goes, one of the writers said to Palmer, “Arnie, we hate to have to talk to you at a time like this…”

Palmer’s reply?

“Fellas, we talked when times were good. We’ll talk when times are bad.”

The “lesson” for many of today’s athletes is clear and obvious. And there is, in this instance, no need to “name name’s” of those modern-day athletes who should follow Palmer’s example.

Too often athletes are only too happy to revel in their accolades, but are surly at best when times are difficult.

Palmer has been, throughout his career, a picture of consistency and class.

If you are a young athlete, looking for a role-medal or someone to emulate, consider Palmer.

I’ve written in the past about individuals such as Jean Beliveau. Palmer falls into this category.

As I often remind my clients in the sports field: How do you want to be remembered in 20 years?

If anything, individuals such as Beliveau and Palmer are remembered even more fondly know, 30 years and more past their prime, than then they were in their hey-day.

Something to remember for young athletes forging a career— and for older athletes, before it’s too late.

If One More Player Says 6 Million Dollars is an Insult...

It’s happened yet again.

A professional athlete has come out and stated – clearly, and for the public record – that he is insulted by a contract offer that he has received.

The player in question is All-Pro cornerback Ty Law of the defending NFL Super Bowl Champion New England Patriots.

The actual monetary details won’t mean much to most of us – but for the record, he has turned down a contract extension offer of almost 30 million dollars over the next four years, and was evidently insulted, in his words, by the Patriots offer. He now says he never wants to play for the Patriots again. His current contact already calls for him to make over 6 million in 2004, more than 8 million in 2005.

I recall a time many years ago – I believe it was the late 1970/early 80’s. A top major league relief pitcher/closer by the name of Bruce Sutter was offered the then staggering amount of $700,000 a season.

His reaction? He said he was insulted. He had to, he said at the time, feed his family.

So we fast forward more than 20 years later, and such insult comes at a higher price, at least.

The hockey world is now battling ‘image’ problems in the wake of the (rightly so) highly publicized Todd Bertuzzi incident. But the problem facing hockey is not simply a matter of its often misguided ‘eye for eye’ system of justice and self-policing.

It is also the reality that the people who play the game are becoming more and more disconnected from the “fans” and those who really care about the game – the very people who help pay for those same players to play the game and earn their substantial incomes.

Salaries have spun totally, totally out of the realm of what ought to be. Not surprisingly, the cost of purchasing a ticket to see an NHL game in many markets is prohibitive for the “average” person.

Fighting – or causing – the same cycle is baseball, still struggling to recapture its luster and popularity in many markets almost 10 years after a disastrous strike/lockout.

And now we hear about football players who are “insulted” by offers that would provide them with more money than they could possibly spend in several lifetimes.

Basketball has long overpaid its athletes. (Recall that Kevin Garnett of the Minnesota Timberwolves, who has been earning millions since he was 18 years of age, was also “insulted” a few years ago by a 120 million dollar contract offer.)

How did we get here? How did we reach a point where these – albeit very talented, in most cases – individuals truly believe they are worth millions and millions of dollars – per season! – to play a game they love to play.

A few years ago, in a comment that was not as publicized as it should have been, a very popular NHL (and NHL Players Association leader) player was asked about the high cost of tickets for the average dad. His reply was, in essence: “If that dad can’t afford it, maybe he shouldn’t be taking his kids to a game”.

Hmm...

Does that sound like someone even remotely connected to reality? Someone with any sense of perspective? Yet this is a player lauded for his “community work”.

Much more recently, a prominent member of one of the most popular Canadian-based NHL teams said he was prepared to “sit out” for the rest of his career, before accepting any kind of salary cap in the upcoming round of collective bargaining with the league. (This player makes close to three million dollars a year, and will expect much more in his next contract.)

After his advisors likely informed him just how bad that comment sounded to fans everywhere and anywhere, the player tried to modify his comments the next day, too late to hide his true feelings.

Perhaps it could be said that these individuals are at least ‘being honest’ and are not simply giving pat, typical responses to media questions. But in the same breath, are these really the types of messages and attitudes these athletes want to convey to the public? Do they somehow think that saying these kinds of things will engender public sympathy or support? Are they so disconnected because of their high profile and wealth they don’t understand how poorly they are coming across?

Or do they just not care?

Sadly, riches can lead to a certain headiness, a lack or loss of perspective. Only when we are touched by significant loss of prestige or income, or by tragedy, illness, a sudden loss of a loved one, do some individuals regain balance in their life.

One wonders if many athletes, past and present, worked half as hard, and showed half as much appreciation for their good fortune as, for example, the average Special Olympics athlete does, how many of them would feel “insulted” by being offered a contract that makes them wealthy beyond anyone’s wildest imagination?