Companions in Courage (18 page)

Golf day came and brought perfect weather with it. The lone absentee was Igor Larionov. “The morning was sunny and warm, the
best day yet, and my girls wanted to go swimming. How could I refuse?” Larionov said. “So I missed the golf outing.”

Igor missed the tournament and more. Leaving the course, a limo, carrying three friends and teammates, headed home. The driver
may have dozed off while traveling at high speed. The resulting crash left Konstantinov and team masseur Sergei Mnatsakanov
in comas, Konstantinov for nearly six weeks. Their buddy, Fetisov, suffered serious chest injuries. It happened quickly, brutally,
tragically. Of course it would never make sense, but we would all ask the same questions: How could this be? How do you explain
it? Are there any answers?

For some, like Yzerman, the Stanley Cup victory suddenly didn’t look so important next to life and death. “At the time, we
were all thinking this is the most significant thing that could happen to us. Six days later, we realized it wasn’t. It was
definitely a strong reminder that playing hockey is not the most significant thing that can happen in your life.”

For Slava Fetisov, history seemed to be repeating itself. Back when he was a star in Moscow, his younger brother, Anatoly,
had been killed in an auto accident. For Slava Kozlov, the pain also raged intensely. When he was eighteen, he and a teammate
had gone through the windshield of a car that crashed into a bus. His teammate died.

The Sunday afternoon following the accident, Father’s Day, the Red Wings were in a hospital room, rallying around their friend.
They filled the room with talk, Russian music, and familiar voices. They made sure to play “We Are the Champions” by Queen,
the rock-and-roll anthem Vladdie had played over and over during the playoffs. That song filled Joe Louis Arena the night
they won the Cup. The music, prayer, and friendship provided a springboard for a long year of hope made bearable by support
from all over the world.

A Texas senator sent an authentic U.S. flag that had once flown over the capital in Austin. From the U.S.S.
Clark
came the captain’s hat and picture of the crew. Irina was overwhelmed. “I cannot believe how much people send us— toys, teddy
bears. But you know what brings the most tears in my eyes? The little kids who sent drawings from their heart, who write and
say they pray every day for Vladdie. Those are the most amazing,” she said.

After a winter of rehabilitation in Florida, Vladdie returned home in May 1998. His recovery time was spent playing chess,
watching cartoons with his daughter, Anastasia, and playing tic-tac-toe with the kids in the neighborhood. On his better days
he sat in a wheelchair, put a hockey stick in his stronger arm, and played in the driveway. And how touching is this? Anastasia
would often ask her dad how to spell a word for her homework. She knew how to spell. She was just trying to help him recover
his memory. Children are incredible. I myself remember how my kids helped me through my struggles and what wonderful and bright-eyed
cheerleaders they can be.

The Konstantinovs’ positive attitude does not leave room for bitterness. When asked about the limo driver, Irina says, “He
is justice’s business. A lot of people laugh at me, but I believe in justice in this country.” They have balanced faith, hope,
and the gratifying support and love from Vladdie’s fans.

The driver, Rich Gnida, was sentenced to nine months in jail, fifteen months of probation, and two hundred hours of community
service for driving with a suspended license. He later got hit with a ninety-day sentence for violating probation. But let’s
not talk about this part of the story anymore. Let me take you to Joe Louis Arena for the start of the 1997–98 season. It’s
October and time to celebrate the Stanley Cup victory one last time.

The opening ceremonies included the lowering of seven banners, slowly falling from the rafters. Each represented a Stanley
Cup won by the Red Wings in their long and distinguished history. The crowd went wild. An eighth banner was in a box at center
ice with the winged wheel emblem. The players were introduced one by one. Next, the names of the two men not present, Vladimir
Konstantinov and Sergei Mnatsakanov, were flashed on the scoreboard. Former winger Mickey Redmond announced, “We know that
Vladdie and Sergei are watching tonight. From all of us to all of you, come back soon. We love you. We believe.”

Irina Konstantinov and Yelena Mnatsakanov took the ice to represent their husbands. The box was opened, and Steve Yzerman
skated away with the Stanley Cup as the eighth Stanley Cup banner sailed toward the rafters. The seeds of a repeat were planted.

With the Wings deep in the 1998 playoffs and leading Dallas two games to one, Vladdie made his first appearance in Joe Louis
Arena. Before the game, Irina recalled, “He shook everybody’s hand in the locker room. I don’t think he had any trouble recognizing
everyone.” The 20,000-plus fans greeted him with an overwhelming ovation. Just a few days later, on June 17, 1998, the Red
Wings won the Cup again. As soon as possible they brought the Cup to Konstantinov. Kris Draper poured some bubbly in it and
said to Vladdie, “Do you want a sip?” Konstantinov glowed with pride and appreciation. Draper and Chris Osgood went to his
wheelchair and tipped the Cup to share the victory. A few seconds later Igor Larionov broke out with “We are the champions,
we are the champions.” Two days later, more than a million fans celebrated with a victory parade down Woodward Avenue. Konstantinov
and Mnatsakanov rode together. The cheers were so loud and inspirational that Konstantinov, with the help of Fetisov and trainer
John Wharton, left his wheelchair and walked a few feet across the platform, the first public view of his determined recovery.

Wharton spoke to the fans. “I don’t think anyone has to be reminded where this group of guys was one year ago today. A team
that’s used to sharing a dressing room and sharing good times was sharing a waiting room at Beaumont Hospital. And while we
shared that waiting room, we shared with you the belief, the faith, and hope that our two friends Sergei and Vladdie would
recover. And because of you and your faith and your belief, this team found the strength to do the same.”

Vladimir Konstantinov can walk with assistance but uses a wheelchair frequently. He pops in a few times a year to see the
Red Wings and remembers the older players. He still has problems with short-term memory. Sergei Mnatsakanov recovered full
use of his mental faculties, but his legs and one arm are paralyzed. He gets around in a wheel-chair. He had hoped to return
to his career but has been unable to do so. He too takes in a few Red Wings games each season. When the two men show up, they
provide a tremendous lift because of their dignity and commitment to healing their bodies and minds, but they try not to call
attention to themselves.

Sergei, Vladdie, all of the Red Wings, and their great fans proved something to me. We’re not in this alone, no matter how
great the struggle. We all have fans to cheer us on, if only we make ourselves able to hear them. We are not forgotten in
our times of despair or suffering.

Strength, support, and love are all around. That’s what ennobles us and enables us to reach for the stars.

I
first heard of Mario Lemieux in 1982, at the start of my first and only season in junior hockey. He and Sylvain Turgeon were
the two names that kept coming up as I ventured from the United States into Canada to play for Verdun, just five minutes from
Montreal.

Mario played for Laval, and we engaged in quite a duel for the scoring title, a duel I would ultimately win. My club went
on to win the championship (played at the Montreal Forum, no less) and I was named Junior Player of the Year.

Mario became the first player selected in the draft and went on to a brilliant career with the Pittsburgh Penguins. Ten years
after we went head-to-head for the scoring title in juniors, we matched up again in the NHL, and Mario topped me. If all we
had to consider were his achievements on the ice, I would still admire him.

But Mario succeeded because he did not let injuries drive him out of the game and because he had the guts to conquer Hodgkin’s
disease. When he beat me out for that NHL scoring title, he had just returned from an absence caused by cancer. Now what kind
of strength does something like that take?

Mario’s abilities helped save hockey in Pittsburgh, and his business savvy saved it again. My old friend and competitor owns
the Penguins, having stepped in to buy a money-losing franchise and keep it from moving to another city. Mario did not grow
up in Pittsburgh, but I’d call him a hometown hero. He combines heart, brains, and dedication. He was never a fighter on the
ice, but he’s a warrior in life.

To me, that’s uplifting on every level. We set our goals and dream our dreams, but we cannot know how treacherous a path we
must navigate. We never know how much strength we will need or where we will find it until we really look inside. That’s what
makes Mario Lemieux a Companion in Courage. Here is a professional athlete who is to be admired for the way he performed in
his sport and how he conducted himself and triumphed over ill health.

So many fine athletes achieve similar greatness away from their particular game and leave me moved by their grace, their determination,
their dignity. I’m awed by the way they marshal their inner forces and refuse to bow to pain or disease. Even though I’m sharing
the stories of less well-known people with you, I do want to take a moment to acknowledge some of the great names in sports.
They too are Companions in Courage. You probably already know about their struggles, but I want to salute them just the same.

I’m thinking of folks like Andres Galarraga. The Atlanta Braves missed him as he sought to recover from cancer, but he came
back in 2000 with that same old smile. He swung the bat just like he had never been away, and you could see that the joy in
him had never left.

I’m thinking of Ernie Irvan. Here is a man who nearly died in an auto racing accident at the Michigan Speedway in 1994 and
yet returned to win again. He closed out his thirteen-year career on that very same track in 1997, winning in his final race.
After spending most of his forty years around racing, Ernie really didn’t want to quit. But he knew the time had come. “I
have two kids and a wife that mean a lot to me. The doctors told me that if I was able to drive my daughter to school that
it was going to be a very pleasurable moment,” he said. “This is something that I treasure.”

I tip my cap to Alberto Salazar, the fine distance runner. Eight years after a disappointing fifteenth-place finish in the
marathon in the 1984 Olympics, he came back to compete again for a place on the 1992 U.S. team. He changed his running style
and his personal style, welcoming God and spirituality into his life while chasing out bitterness and frustration.

Maybe you don’t know about Kevin Glover, the longtime center for the Detroit Lions and Seattle Seahawks. Back surgery could
have ended his career, but he saved it by dedicating himself to, of all things, swimming. Fifteen NFL seasons, more than two
hundred games, three trips to the Pro Bowl. And yet his teammates found more to respect in the bravery and intensity of Kevin
Glover’s efforts to return. All they had to do was watch him walk. “It’s incredible that he’s come back from that kind of
injury,” said Seahawks guard Pete Kendall. “You look at the scar and you just shake your head.”

Scars? Monica Seles bears scars. As if defeating an opponent on the tennis court doesn’t take enough concentration and energy,
she had to overcome the stab wounds inflicted during a match by a knife-wielding “fan.” Imagine the courage it took just to
get back on the court. Flesh wounds close. Psychic wounds often require a greater strength, and I’m a Monica Seles fan because
of her inner toughness. Same for Jennifer Capriati, who lost her way but managed to deal with her personal problems and make
it back to the tennis tour. I’m also very moved by the plight of Chinese gymnast Sang Lan, paralyzed below the middle of her
chest at the age of seventeen in 1998 after a fall during warmups for the Goodwill Games in New York. The attending physician,
Dr. Vincent Leone, had himself been a high school gymnast. In comforting his young patient, he mentioned he had injured his
back in his pursuit of excelling in the sport and decided to become a doctor. She told him, “Then I’ll be a doctor too.”

I could go on forever. Lance Armstrong beat testicular cancer, then defeated the best cyclists in the world to win the Tour
de France—twice. He observed, “If I never had cancer, I never would have won the Tour de France. I wouldn’t want to go through
that again. But I wouldn’t change what happened to me.” Lance emerged stronger and showed us all that a killer disease can
be turned inside out. Scott Hamilton also survived testicular cancer. The gold medal winner in figure skating at the 1984
Olympics, he now runs a program called CARES (Cancer Alliance for Research, Education and Survivorship). “My dream in my lifetime
is that cancer no longer exists,” he said.

I remember Houston Astros manager Larry Dierker suffering a seizure on the field in 1999. I had my TV on and watched in disbelief
as his athletic body flailed uncontrollably in front of a shocked, silent crowd of 39,773. It took twenty minutes to bring
him under control. Finally he lay quietly enough to be strapped onto a stretcher and rolled into a waiting ambulance. The
crowd and Larry’s players watched as he was taken from the field. He had a blood clot in his brain. Surgeons did their job
well, and Larry Dierker returned to do his well too—in a month. “Having received so many cards and letters, knowing that people
all over the world were praying for me, making donations in my name to charities, such a massive show of support made me realize
how important what we do is to others,” he observed. “I have a new appreciation for the precious things in life. This is the
most important thing that has ever happened to me in life. I am blessed.”