He couldn’t figure out why I sang during practice. He couldn’t figure out why I grinned when I played. But I was still having a good time, and he couldn’t figure out why. Daily, he ridiculed me and screamed at me. He had benched me, and even demoted me once to the fourth line. He hated that I was having fun.Ĭrisp climbed on my back the day I arrived at the Calgary Flames’ minor league affiliate in the American Hockey League. There was no need for an answer, because I already knew what he hated about me. I don’t even want you on my planet.Īll I could think of to say was, What did I do? I don’t want you anywhere near my players.

I told Cliff I want you off my team, he bellowed. He told me he had just gotten off the phone with Calgary Flames general manager Cliff Fletcher. Golden Flames coach Terry Crisp has summoned me to his office, interrupting my awesome dressing room rendition of a Neil Young tune.Ĭrispy was always furious at me-but this time he blew like Mount Saint Helens. It’s late October 1986, and I’m in the last place I want to be with the last person I want to see.

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