The Final Call by Kerry Fraser Read Free Book Online

alone turning to the league to lend me money for it. Was it the only house on the market? he asked.
    I bit my tongue, as I did not want to throw John McCauley under the bus by telling Mr. Ziegler that it was John who had told me to look at Keenan’s house.
    The interest-free part of the loan really got him going because, as he put it, “I don’t even get an interest-free loan from the league!” (I could have suggested he needed a better negotiator, but again thought better of it.) The final edict he handed down was that I was to make full disclosure, in writing, of all the particulars of the purchase, and a budget outlining how I expected to pay for the home. I was to send this to Ken Sawyer, the league’s senior VP of finance, within the next couple of business days. (Ken is a brilliant guy who, for the past number of years, has been the chief financial officer of the Pittsburgh Penguins under Mario Lemieux.)
    Armed with the new CBA, including my C-Pool bonus, substantial salary increases for years worked after the first season, my track record (albeit a short one at that time) of Stanley Cup playoff compensation, and some smoke and mirrors, I was able to convince Sawyer (and even myself) that we were in great financial shape to purchase Keenan’s house. After receiving the material, Ken called and said it was obvious to him I would have no problems keeping up the payments. Fortunately, Ken was proven correct.

    Over the years, I’ve employed some creative methods to minimize the degree to which my training infringed on our summer family time. In 1994, I realized a dream of mine when Kathy and I bought a new 34-foot sailboat (of course, it had to sleep seven down below) and named her, appropriately,
The Search Is Over
.
    This was truly a family project. Kathy and the children had to listen to me pining over boats I had seen during trips to Marina del Rey when I was in Los Angeles to work Kings games, and watch as I daydreamed and wore out the pages of the sailing magazines I subscribed to. I came home from one West Coast trip to find a shoebox decorated with sailboat cutouts and a sign that read, “ DAD’S SAILBOAT FUND .”
    I was so touched that the kids were kicking in their change and money from odd jobs. At one point, the shoebox fund was up to $54. But the next time I came home, it was down to $33!
    The boat was delivered during the second round of the Stanley Cup playoffs to a yacht club on the Sassafras River, just off Chesapeake Bay in Georgetown, Maryland. We pretty much lived aboard
The Search Is Over
for most of that summer and the three that followed, cruising and exploring historic Chesapeake Bay. Wonderful experiences and lasting memories were created there for all. One downside, however, was that I didn’t have access to a gym, so I was forced to improvise when the need to resume training hit me quicker than a Chesapeake Bay thunderstorm. At the time, Kara, our youngest, was four years old. (She is now in her sophomore year as an English Lit major at Mount St. Mary’s University in Emmitsburg, Maryland.)
    When we weren’t sailing, we were swimming in the pool or the bay for hours. I found swimming to be a great cross-training activity. As I improved at swimming distances, I looked to add some resistance. I would tether a five-gallon pail to my safety harness and drag it behind me as I swam. With September approaching, I felt the need to turn it up a notch, and little Kara, in her life jacket, fit perfectly in the pail, providing me with the extra resistance to push me over the top. After training with Kara in tow, my body fat registered below 10 per cent at training camp.

    Officials are no different than players in that we’re just as susceptible to injury. I certainly have had my share over the years. As a young hockey player, I learned from my father that a champion never gives in to injury or the pain associated with it. You never let them know you’re hurt. Basically, Dad said that if the