9806160204
DETROIT FREE PRESS
980616
Tuesday, June 16, 1998
METRO FINAL
1WRAP
MITCH ALBOM
THE FINALS
Copyright (c) 1998, Detroit Free Press
WINGS WANT TO SHARE CUP, AND THAT'S WHY THEY WIN
WASHINGTON -- Before the games, he wanders around the tunnels at Joe Louis Arena. And after
the games, he hangs out next to his son's locker, sitting on a stool, waiting
for his boy to emerge from the shower. He is silver-haired, with glasses and a
peaceful, smiling face. I've seen him more than ever these last few weeks.
Craig McCarty is doing what any father would love to do. He is sharing in his
child's life.
But there's an urgency when he and his son Darren get together. Craig is
fighting cancer. Multiple myeloma. In between the wonderful hockey highlights,
he endures those awful cancer moments that too many of us now know, the
treatments, the side effects, the weakened condition -- and worst of all, that
haunting whisper in the back of your brain. If sand-in-an-hourglass had a
voice, it would be that whisper.
"With a disease like my father's, you never know the time line," said Darren,
sitting after practice Monday for what could be the Stanley Cup-clinching game
tonight. "That's why last year, I wanted to win so badly for him.
"And that's what's pushing me now. It's great that he's at the arena. It's
great that he's become a fixture there, because it means he's doing better and
he can handle it. But I want him to see us win again, because who knows when
we'll get another opportunity?"
He stopped for a second, and lowered his voice. "Who knows how much longer
he'll be around?"
People ask how the Red Wings manage to magically steer through the minefields
of this postseason, how they always seem to win by one measly goal, how they
manage to get big plays from unlikely players, how they've reached the edge of
the rainbow when so many others have fallen off.
The answer is more than size, strength or coaching. The answer is something
extraordinary, an extra oomph that has brought them to the lip of glory. It
begins with the desire to win.
But it ends with the desire to share.
Vladdie and Sergei
Ask Kris Draper what his dream moment would be if the Wings captured the title
against Washington tonight. This is what he says:
"I think what this whole team wants to do is give Vladdie (Konstantinov) and
Sergei (Mnatsakanov) a chance to hold the Cup again. Those guys deserve it.
We're playing for them.
"To see those two holding the Stanley Cup, in their wheelchairs, seeing the
smiles on their faces, that would make it all so worthwhile -- all the
injuries, the sacrifice, the miles we've put on the exercise bikes this year.
That would certainly be the most gratifying moment I've ever had as a hockey
player."
Here's a simple truth about human nature: When you are fighting for yourself,
you fight hard. When you are fighting for someone you love, you fight harder.
Think of the adrenaline that surges in your veins when your child is in
danger; it's more than you feel when the danger is for you, right? Think of
how easily you, personally, can shrug off an insult, but how hard it is to
shrug off one about your mother, father or spouse.
That's because the best part of mankind is that we are inclined, by love, to
pump an extra heartbeat for those who matter.
So this Red Wings team has become something different from any sports group
I've ever covered. So much of its effort is dedicated to someone else. The
Konstantinov and Mnatsakanov factor spreads from Draper to every player in
that locker room, including 40-year-old Slava Fetisov, who survived the same
crash that ended his friends' careers.
It extends to the training staff, the coaches, the team doctors, even to the
implacable Scotty Bowman, who, on Saturday, before Game 3, asked the team to
take a few quiet seconds to think about Vladdie and Sergei on the anniversary
of their crash. "Remember how lucky we all are," Bowman said. There was
cracking emotion in his voice.
Little wonder the Wings outshot the Caps in the first period, 13-1.
The ones you love
But it's not just Vladdie and Sergei. It's McCarty, wanting his ailing father
to soak every precious minute out of the wonderful ride. It's Steve Yzerman,
playing out a legacy for his newly born daughter, Maria. It's guys like Doug
Brown, who said, when asked about the best part of winning a Cup:
"It's the happiness that it brings to my parents, my wife and my children.
That's priceless. To see your family get tears in their eyes over what you've
done, it's ...as heartwarming as it comes."
"Is that one of the things you remember most about last year?" I asked.
"That is what I remember most," he said.
Now, I'm not saying that Washington, Dallas, St. Louis or Phoenix didn't have
players who wanted to share a Stanley Cup with loved ones. I'm simply saying
that, for whatever reason, this current Red Wings squad has a little something
extra. It seems almost devoid of personal ego and features an overwhelming
majority of players whose greatest thrill comes with passing the Stanley Cup
to someone else and watching the change in that person's face.
You want the secret to the Wings' invisible edge? That's it right there. In
the silver-haired daddies who'll be watching tonight, in the children who will
squeal, in the two men in wheelchairs who may shed a tear.
"Hey, the Stanley Cup is good," Darren McCarty said, "but what fun is it if
you can't share it with someone else?"
It's in that powerful spirit that the Red Wings take the ice tonight.
I wouldn't bet against them.
To leave a message for Mitch Albom, call 1-313-223-4581.
Mitch will sign copies of "Tuesdays With Morrie" for Father's Day, 7:30-8:30
p.m. Wednesday, Barnes & Noble, Maple and Telegraph, and 5-6 p.m. Saturday,
Barnes & Noble, Northville.
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COLUMN;HOCKEY;RED WINGS