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Hockey Night in the Caribbean
“I appreciate that…” “I am aware of the customs involved...” and finally, “Please just do your best.” The phone call ends in bemused frustration. Evidently, guaranteeing victory over the New Jersey Devils is easier than dealing with the ins and outs of Caribbean furniture delivery. I briefly consider putting in a call to Jim Peplinski or Rich Sutter to have them personally inform the supplier what can happen when Messier is agitated. Instead, I ask Messier why he perseveres at Runaway Hill rather than opting for one of the island’s swank new mansions. He clearly doesn’t need the money. He’s a quiet but noted philanthropist and takes on few endorsement deals (he’s introducing natural phenom Cold FX to the U.S., but only after using the product personally for ten years). So a full house at Runaway Hill 365 days a year obviously isn’t the hockey legend’s goal. “To be honest, our extended family now numbers almost 25, and if everyone comes down, I want us all to stay together.” I consider telling him that filling his hotel with relatives may not be the shrewdest business move, but it becomes clear during my stay that family is a Messier priority. To the Harbour Islanders, or Brilanders as they’re called, Messier is a rarity – not because of his Hart or Conn Smythe trophies but because his arrival here in the mid-1990s significantly predates the island’s current jet set persona. In an irony ignored by the down-to-earth Messier, he doesn’t even hold the island’s record for most Sports Illustrated covers; supermodel Elle MacPherson lives here as well. It’s telling that Messier elects not to ensconce himself up island with the other celebrities – including Revlon billionaire Ron Perelman and fashion designer Diane von Furstenberg – but rather to locate in the vibrant middle, which abuts the island’s capital, Dunmore Town. Messier is like the King of Kensington, smiling at everyone as he walks down the street and returning a hello from the local cemetery’s caretaker who he answers by name. This scenario is played out on every street corner on the island (not that there are many, but you get the point). With the island’s laid-back vibe, it’s tough to even conjure up the rigours of hockey, and Messier seems to prefer it that way. A few of Mark’s close friends, Mike and John, are here, both from that hockey hotbed of Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. Over a dinner of fresh line-caught tuna, the conversation ranges from Iraq to a series of unpublishable golf jokes but only briefly lingers on the business of sticks and pucks. Later in the evening, over a marathon game of Texas hold ’em, it’s clear that Messier still has a competitive fire. Unfortunately, no amount of legendary leadership will make K-10 suited a better hand than my pocket Queens. I briefly consider not cashing in the chips and keeping them instead as a memento, but a run-in with a $23 hamburger at one of the island’s eateries disabuses me of such sentiment. |
