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Hockey Night in the Caribbean
A young couple on vacation from Washington, D.C., strolls into the bar at the stately Runaway Hill Inn on the Bahamas’ ridiculously idyllic Harbour Island, having parked their kids with the in-laws. As they sidle up to the vacant bar, a man gets up from a nearby table, taking a break from a heated game of checkers with his young children. His imposing physique and shaved head are tempered by an easy smile. “What can I get you folks?” he asks. As suitably fruity tropical drinks are ordered, he starts the business of ensuring that their rare night off is casual but memorable. He sets their drinks before them and nods, “Enjoy.” It’s clear the young couple are not hockey fans, oblivious to the fact that the hands that have just shaken up their cocktails are the same hands that have directed 694 pucks past the world’s greatest netminders and enabled teammates to do the same 1,193 times. These same hands have planted themselves on the sides of Lord Stanley’s Cup and hoisted it high on six blissful occasions. These hands belong to Mark Messier. Wait. Before you start a fundraising telethon to Help Save Mess, do not despair. He is not the bartender at an upscale Bahamas hostelry but the owner of an upscale Bahamas hostelry, and when he arrives here, it is by private jet. But the mere fact that he’s sitting in a pair of flowered shorts and blue Crocs unassumingly tending to the needs of his oblivious guests speaks volumes about the fourth period of Mark Messier’s stellar career and what’s in store for him. I’m hanging out in paradise with the object of idolatry from my Edmonton upbringing – where they’ve recently retired his number and renamed a street in his honour – so that I can see first-hand what Life after Hockey holds for one of the most consummate players of his (or arguably anyone’s) generation. It’s a rare entry into the life of one of hockey’s most high-profile yet reclusive figures. Even in his playing days, Messier took pains to keep his private life private. Historically, the transition into full-time real life after professional sports has been an extended, slow-moving denouement, where the adoring public has seen the main act and is anxious to redirect its adoration onto the next feature. Which is what brings me up the wending driveway of the Runaway Hill Inn, an 11-room manse set on 10 bucolic acres facing the blue Atlantic. The set-up seems like a CBC dream come true: Fawlty Towers meets Hockey Night in Canada, but for Messier it’s no joke. He bought the property two years ago, and those mitts have been tinkering and tweaking the already successful operation ever since. On my second day, managing partner Steve Flannery informs Messier that a shipment of wicker chairs is held up in Nassau. The hotel’s high season is imminent, so the Captain gets on the phone to bring a little closure to the matter in a way only Messier can. |
