I ran home bursting with energy, ready to explode with the news to my parents that I had been drafted by the Chicago Blackhawks.
I opened the door and immediately saw my dad in the front hallway. I could see my mom looking at my dad from the living room, grinning from ear-to-ear.
"Dad, I was --"
Dad looked somber and he was crouching down like he was trying to make himself smaller. It looked like he was hiding something behind his back with his left hand but I couldn't see what.
"With the 240th pick in the draft," dad interrupted me with a nasally voice. He was trying to do an impression of NHL commissioner Gary Bettman.
"The Chicago Blackhawks draft Bryan Hurst from the Sudbury Wolves."
He moved his hand from behind his back and revealed a Chicago Blackhawks jersey. He immediately tried to put it over my head and shoulders.
I started laughing with glee and he started to laugh as he struggled to put the jersey over my head. It reminded me when he use to tickle me as a child.
"How did you know I had been drafted by Chicago?" I asked.
"Dale Tallon phoned here looking for you cell phone number," he said.
"Where did you get the jersey from? There's no way you had time to get it from the store."
"You're right. I talked to the manager of Sportmart yesterday, and told him what I planned to do since we couldn't go to the draft in Ottawa. He let me borrow 30 jerseys. I had them hidden in the basement so you wouldn't find them. If I don't return them tomorrow we're going to need to take out a second mortgage."
It may not have been the podium in Ottawa but it was great.
Dad hugged me tightly and I laughed some more. Even my older sister Laura hugged me and she rarely shows me any affection.
I've never been drunk before in front of my parents but that changed tonight.
A steady stream of people began arriving at the house as the night progressed, offering their congratulations. Former teammates from pee wee hockey, teachers from high school, old coaches and even people who I thought disliked me.
In Canada, getting drafted is not only a special moment for a teenager, it is a great moment for the parents. They awoke seeming every day at 5 am to drive me to the rink for practise, they accompanied me on long road trips across the province and they spent thousands of dollars on hockey equipment.
I don't know if my parents would have appeared happier tonight if they won the lottery. Almost all of our neighbours and family friends popped by the house to offer their congratulations.
I've never seen my mom drunk before but she was drinking wine tonight like it was water. Out came all the stories about me as a child falling on the ice repeatedly the first time I tried on skates. She must have told the same stories dozens of times, each time louder as she kept drinking, making sure everyone heard.
It wasn't even my plan to get drunk but people kept shoving beer in my hand, slapping me on my back, shaking my hand.
It's a night I'll never forget. I can't wait to go to training camp.
[Reply]
SabresKings3623 12:17 AM 09-16-2008
Great update Bhurst, this is a very strong and interesting storyline, and pretty enjoyable.
[Reply]
I have been Chicago Blackhawks property for a week and I have to admit I'm already a little concerned.
I found out almost by accident yesterday that I have been assigned directly to the Rockford, Illinois IceHogs of the American Hockey League. Even though I know I had no chance of making the Blackhawks, I hoped I could get an invite to the Blackhawks training camp because it would have been a great experience. I would have loved to meet Patrick Kane and Jonathan Toews.
But apparently that's not going to happen. I'm not surprised because I wasn't drafted until the eighth round.
What did shock me was that no one phoned me after the initial phone call telling me I had been drafted. No one contacted me to tell me where I was going. It was like they drafted me and then forgot about me a week later.
I'll be honest: I know nothing about Rockford. I've never even been to Illinois.
There's only one thing I know less about than Rockford and that's an IceHog. What in the world is an Icehog? Why is it one word and not two words?
I did some reseach on the internet about the city and the team since that's where I expected I would be headed, That's when I saw my name on their roster.
It's only Rockford's second season in the league. The IceHogs was one of the better teams in the league last season with 44 wins, 26 losses and 98 points. They lost in the second round of the AHL playoffs in seven games to the Chicago Wolves.
When I saw that I was assigned there, I decided to play it cool and see if someone was going to phone me. I figured maybe they posted the information on the web site quickly and we're going to follow it up that day.
But the day passed and no one phoned. Dad suggested I contact the Rockport public relations department. That sound like a pretty good idea so I phoned them.
"Hello, IceHogs!" said a cheery voice.
"Hi, my name is Bryan Hurst." I waited to see if she would recognize the name.
"How can I help you?"
"Well, er, I am on your roster that appears on the internet.
The woman on the other end laughed. "I think you want to speak with the IceHogs general manager Tom Rowe. I'll put you through."
I waited for about 30 seconds and listened to some recorded information about the IceHogs season ticket packages.
"Bryan, it's Tom Rowe. We would have contacted you earlier but we have been waiting for your agent to contact us."
"Well, see, I don't have an agent yet, Mr. Rowe," I said. "I wasn't even sure I was going to be drafted."
"That's a good one," he laughed. "No agent! Bill Wirtz would have loved you."
I didn't realize it until my dad told me later but Bill Wirtz was the Blackhawks' notoriously tight-fisted owner before he died last year.
"We expect rookies to report on Aug. 1 to sit down with our strength and conditioning coach. You should come down here in July and start looking at apartments. We can help you with that. In the meantime, you should probably get some independent legal advice about the contact we're going to offer you."
"Before you get too excited, Bryan. Don't expect too much more than the minimum AHL salary of $30,000. I gotta run. Let us know who is representing you."
It was clear I wasn't exactly a priority for this organization.
good job Bhurst, I really like this BAP alot
[Reply]
BIG CAROLINA 04:37 PM 09-18-2008
This is one of the best that I had followed here and you have not even played a game yet. Can't wait to see your videos and recaps like in your F1 Dynasty.
[Reply]
bhurst99 01:05 AM 09-19-2008
July 18, 2008
How is it I am sitting here seriously thinking about putting my future in the hands of a man I thought I was an idiot less than three weeks ago?
Since I was drafted at the end of June by the Chicago Blackhawks in the eighth round, Pete Satt, an agent, has phoned me every second day, offering advice on what I can expect as a minor leaguer with the American Hockey League's Rockford IceHogs.
That's the same Pete Satt who seemed to have trouble remembering my name on the
day I was drafted.
But if Satt is one thing, it is that he is persistent. I also haven't forgotten that in the days leading up to the draft he was the only agent who called me and the only agent who was willing to provide me with information.
My dad wanted to make sure someone looked over the contract that was being offered by Chicago. It was what is called a two-way contract offering the NHL minimum of $500,000 if I played in the NHL and $35,000 -- just above the $30,000 American Hockey League minimum -- playing for the IceHogs.
I mentioned it to Satt during one of his phone calls and he asked if he could give a presentation at my house with my family present. I figured I didn't need an agent to negotiate the deal since I was willing to sign the contact but what did I have to lose if I listened to Satt? I figured I might learn something before we kicked Satt out of the house.
Satt arrived the next day and it turns out I have seriously underestimated him.
He came to the house with a DVD that started with highlights of my junior career and morphed into a presentation of the NHL collective bargaining agreement and off-ice things I had to be aware of it.
Satt said he thought that he could get me a small increase in the AHL salary the Blackhawks were offering if he was my agent. He said as my agent he would charge five per cent as his fee and seven per cent if I wanted him to manage all my financial affairs.
I figured any agent could probably get me a slight increase in salary.
But Satt had more. He sat at our kitchen table and told us he put on a series of seminars for his clients during the course of the year. These were seminars that little to do with the game of hockey.
There were seminars on avoiding drug and alcohol abuse. He started telling stories about how many players careers had been derailed by alcohol. I had seen that problem first hand in the Ontario Hockey League but I wasn't concerned.
My dad, however, was listening attentively like a patient in a doctor's office. He thought it was a terrific idea.
There were seminars on women. I laughed at that one; I knew all about puck bunnies. But Satt insisted there were women out there who I had to be very wary about it. That there were players out there who were financially destroyed from paying child support.
"That's a great idea," said my sister. "You've got to be very careful." Where did that come from I wondered as my sister, pointed her finger in my direction. What kind of girls did my sister know?
There were seminars on preparing for a life after hockey.
"I just want to play hockey," I told Satt. "Everything else will take care of itself."
That's when mom spoke.
"You need to think about your future if hockey doesn't work out," she said. "I don't want you destitute."
Satt had done it. He had won over my family and I have to say even I was impressed by the detail in his presentation.
Satt said I only had to have him as an agent as long as I wanted. That he would take his fee from the bonus he would negotiate and that I could fire him at any point before my next contract. It sounded like a no-lose situation.
Satt left an agency agreement at my home and encouraged me to have a lawyer look over it before I left for Rockford in two days. I said I would but it was clear when he left our home that Satt, the same man I wanted to kill three weeks ago, was going to be my agent.
[Reply]
I don't know whether I should be amazed or alarmed.
I met today with Rockford IceHogs general manager Tom Rowe. He invited me into his office to discuss his goals for the upcoming season.
I went into his office this morning at 8:30 am, still a little sleepy. It has been a long two weeks of finding an apartment, moving and meetings with assistant coaches.
The office is not much to look at. Above Rowe's desk there's a picture taken inside the sold-out MetroCentre arena of opening night last season -- Rockford's first in the American Hockey League. It sits above a desk that is cluttered with newspapers, hockey magazines and hand-written notes. There is a plant in the corner that looks like it hasn't been watered since the spring. The branches are leaning over the faded green pot, looking like they want to escape.
I sit in one of the two metal chairs in front of the desk and I brush my hand and feel something soft beneath the arm rest. I feel it's texture and realize it's somebody's discarded gum stuck there.
"You have potential," Rowe starts. "But you've got to work hard. This isn't the Ontario Hockey League. You can't take shifts off. You have to know your defensive responsibilities. You can play hard or you cannot play at all."
I was wide awake now. I thought we were going to talk about the team's goals but this was more personal.
"Your value to this organization will be as a playmaker. We've got guys who can put the puck in the net. You're job is to get them that puck."
"I'll do whatever I can to help this --" I started.
"Bryan, shut up and listen. I don't want any of that team raw-raw bull right now."
I froze in my chair.
"Here's our goals for you this year." He reached into the chaos that was his desk and pulled out a three-ring binder. He flipped it open and read.
"We expect you to score 60 assists."
My mouth dropped to the floor. Sixty assists! I only scored 20 goals and 65 assists in my final year of junior hockey and this man was expecting 60 assists in my first season of professional hockey.
"We expect you to score 10 goals."
Okay, that was more realistic.
"We expect you to score 70 points."
Thanks. I knew 10 goals and 60 assists equaled 70 points.
"We expect you to take 157 shots."
That was a bit of curious goal but it was certainly attainable.
"Now get out there and remember to always give us maximum effort. I won't except anything less."
I left the room without saying a word. Frankly, I didn't know what to say to him that wouldn't be misinterpreted.
Seventy points! Who expects 70 points out of an eighth-round pick?
Should I be amazed that they think enough of me that they think I can score that many points? Or maybe this is why the Blackhawks haven't made the playoffs since dinosaurs roamed the Earth: The entire organization has its head in the sky.
[Reply]
LinkBack URL
About LinkBacks