The hockey world lost two giants over the past week.
Bob Cole, the voice for so many of us on Hockey Night in Canada broadcasts for so many years passed away Wednesday and people from all across hockey came together with stories and memories of the legend.
His calls play in my head sometimes when I don’t even realize it; the slow, methodical, yet melodic voice narrates events in my life through my subconscious. He was appointment viewing on Saturday nights.
As a kid playing road hockey, Bob Cole was the voice you heard when you pretended you were scoring a Game 7 overtime winner in the Stanley Cup Final.
I can still hear it.
“Ohhhhhh baby, what a goal,” he would say, even if I barely got the tennis ball off the pavement.
I was never very good at play-by-play, but Cole’s ability made me think of it as a career path for a time. The way he called game 23 with the same cadence he called the Stanley Cup Final was brilliant—it made you feel like you were on top of the action, even if you were falling asleep because it was way past your bedtime.
I wasn’t even close to being alive when Cole uttered the now iconic phrase, “They’re going home,” when the Soviets left the ice in a game against the Philadelphia Flyers in 1976. As a hockey nut, I came across the phrase somewhere along the line and still find myself inserting into conversations, doubtful that anyone even knows what I’m talking about.
His flow and grace in calling the game drew you in like very few play-by-play voices can. He and Vin Scully, the legendary Dodgers play-by-play man, are the Mount Rushmore of sports play-by-play men. They just had a way of capturing the emotion of the moment when it was necessary, but taking you by the hand to get there. They didn’t pull you or use over-the-top phrases to get you there. They took you along, as if a parent was walking you to school. Not ahead, not behind but beside, sharing the experience with you as much as telling you what was happening.
It was an art.
Speaking of art, I’ve nearly gone too far without mentioning the loss of one of our own. Red Deer sports icon Greg Meachem passed away last Thursday, a loss that still makes my stomach curl.
This is hard to write, because I considered Greg a friend first and foremost as well as a mentor.
There were so many nights when I first started as the sports reporter at the Red Deer Advocate eight years ago, when I would read his story and curse under my breath.
“Why didn’t I think of that,” I would mutter, scrolling through Meach’s recap of a Rebels game. One that we both watching from high above the ice, yet he was able to capture with more natural flow than I could ever imagine.
He had a way describing the action that made me feel like I was there.
After those first few times, I knew I would never measure up or surpass such talent, I only hoped that I could come close to what he was able to do.
I never told Greg how much he meant to me in that way. I worked my butt off when I started here because I wanted to be even half the writer he was. He was a mentor without even knowing it.
The details he would pull out from feature stories were another thing that would leave me cursing. I would interview a player, write a story, then read one he wrote the next day. He would always find ways to pull you in, make you feel like you know that player as more than a player, like he was sitting down at your dinner table to share a few stories.
Meach had a way of disarming people, I guess. He was as relaxed a guy as I ever met. As I stressed over the deadline, Meach just laughed. He likely remembers the old times when Danny Rode and him used to write late into the night, with the deadline not coming until the morning.
Away from the rink, Meach was that same guy.
For a few years, Meach, Danny and I had a golf foursome on Monday afternoons.
He was that same laid-back guy there, likely watching me lose my mind over a few errant shots and, again, probably laughing. We shared a laugh when we rolled in the same cart, and frustration boiled over for somebody else, so it was only fair.
You could always find Meach and Danny in the food court at Bower Mall having lunch, that was the other place I really learned about Meach. Danny would get under my skin with some opinion he had, Meach would just lean back and laugh at the two of us butting heads.
If nothing else, he taught me to try and take life a little less seriously from time to time and I’m grateful for that.
Meach would often tell the story about how the Advocate needed someone to write about curling and so he took the job, not expecting much else. My oh my how much it changed over the years, but how blessed we all our that we got to read his words about so many other things over all those years.
Meach’s funeral was held Friday afternoon, standing room only. He touched so many people with his words, his compassion and dedication.
Count me as one of those. He was much more than just a sports writer, but he made sports more than just sports for many people.
As I sit writing this, I can’t believe he’s gone.
In some ways, I think he’s looking down laughing at all the tributes, thinking the fuss is all a bit much. He wasn’t one for fussing over honours or awards.
I hope I did him one last honour, even if he would have hated it.
His words, thankfully, will live on forever.
Miss ya, Meach.
Byron Hackett is the Managing Editor of the Red Deer Advocate and a Regional Editor for Black Press Media.