Number Two (22 page)

A
few days after the launch of
Fox Sports Live
in August 2013, our entire crew gathered at the San Francisco Saloon on Pico Boulevard in Los Angeles for some post-show drinks and chit-chat. I sat at a table with three young production assistants, all about half my age, sipping beers and casually chatting about what had gone right so far (not much) and what had gone wrong (pretty much everything). At some point in the conversation, one of the guys, Oliver, who up to then hadn't said much, mentioned that he'd grown up in Los Angeles—in the Pacific Palisades neighbourhood, one of the nicest and most affluent areas of town—but that his dad was from Hamilton, Ontario.

Wow!
I thought to myself.
Sounds like his parents have done pretty well for themselves down here. A real Canadian success story!

I asked Oliver what his father did for a living. Unexpectedly, he
looked down at his unfinished nachos and went silent.

Instantly, I felt bad, like I'd somehow crossed an invisible line. I had just met this kid and obviously I had absolutely no right to ask about his family's business.

“Just tell him,” said Matt, one of the other young employees at the table.

Oliver stayed quiet.

“His dad is Martin Short,” explained Matt.

Right.
I guess “Canadian success story” was a bit of an understatement, then.

It's difficult to put into words exactly what the actor and comedian Martin Short means to me—to my entire family, really. We're
huge
fans. For the Onrait tribe, Martin Short is a Canadian national treasure.

We first encountered Martin and his incredible range of characters on
SCTV.
Later, we rooted for him when Hollywood beckoned with
¡Three Amigos!
and
Innerspace
. We hoped for a comeback with his sitcom
The Martin Short Show
,
then hoped for another with his daytime talk show
The Martin Short Show
.
We loved him as Franck the manic wedding planner in
Father of the Bride
, and we were brought to tears laughing at the “interviews” of bumbling Hollywood gossip-monger Jiminy Glick. We even saw him slay audiences with his one-man show
If I'd Saved, I Wouldn't Be Here
.
But perhaps most of all, we lived for his appearances as a talk-show guest.

Back in the day, Martin Short appeared regularly as a guest on the
Late Show with David Letterman
, regaling audiences with hilarious stories about his family time at the cottage in Ontario, his road trips to Las Vegas with bandleader Paul Shaffer, and his encounters
with the old Hollywood celebrities he loved and admired so much. If you were lucky, he'd even sing a song or two. Whatever he chose to do, Martin Short was as captivating a chat show guest as his generation had ever seen. Flipping on a talk show and finding out that Martin was one of the guests that evening was like winning a little personal entertainment lottery.

So when I discovered that his son worked for
Fox Sports Live
, I tried to play it cool, but I couldn't help but dream that someday he might be convinced to appear on our show.

Sure enough, following the release of his highly entertaining memoir
I Must Say: My Life as a Humble Comedy Legend
in the fall of 2014, Mr. Short agreed to appear as a guest on “The Jay and Dan Podcast” and
Fox Sports Live
to promote his book and new Fox sitcom,
Mulaney
.
I tried to pretend the news didn't completely freak me out, but let's face it, I was a wreck.

When Martin arrived at the Fox studio he was accompanied by an assistant and wearing a bespoke black suit. He honestly looked twenty-five years younger than he actually was—without appearing to have undergone any cosmetic surgeries. Dan and I were blown away. The man could not have been more gracious and kind as we sat in the tiny audio booth where we record our podcast, discussing his career and laughing at the fact that one of our listeners had pointed out that my laugh sounded exactly like one of his SCTV characters, Bradley Allen, in a sketch called “Artisans and Their Art.” The whole experience went swimmingly, and I was incredibly grateful and more than a little relieved because I had something else planned for him to do that afternoon that kept me distracted throughout the interview. And to be honest, despite Martin's reputation for being a good sport, I wasn't entirely sure how he'd react to my idea.

I had written a sketch for Martin to appear in on our show. Can
you imagine the balls I had even thinking to do something like that? This was a man who
pioneered
the art of sketch comedy on
SCTV
—which I still consider to be the greatest show to come out of Canada . . .
ever
. He then went on to save
Saturday Night Live
, appearing in the famous all-star cast alongside other comedy heavyweights like Billy Crystal and Christopher Guest. The guy was born to be a sketch comedian. I, on the other hand, was definitely not. Still, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to write something under the small hope that he might actually consider performing it.

Thankfully, Martin's gracious nature shone through that day, and after listening to us pitch a small “walk-on” for the show, he agreed to participate in the sketch. We finished up the podcast interview, then walked the few steps to Studio B with Martin's assistant and a bunch of other Fox PR people in tow. Dan and I got set up behind our desk and explained the premise to Martin. I handed him a copy of my two-page comedic opus, and he went off to a corner to read it over. About two minutes later he returned ready to go.
Two minutes!
That couldn't possibly be enough time to absorb all the genius lines I'd written for him, could it?

It was. We did two takes. The first one was pretty much perfect, but we all agreed another would be a good idea just for safety. The sketch went something like this:

JAY: Before we get to “The 1,” our top play of the day . . .

[Martin Short suddenly appears out of nowhere.]

DAN: Martin Short? What are
you
doing here?

MARTIN: Well, I was just, uh, looking for my son Oliver. He works on this show and I was just . . . [Martin looks around] You call this a show, right?

JAY: Oh yeah! I gotta say, Oliver is doing a terrific job, by the way.

MARTIN: Oh, thank you. Although he tells me you guys call him Alan.

DAN: Alan's . . . short for Oliver in our world, so . . .

JAY [interrupting]: Hey, congratulations on getting your face on a Canadian stamp! That is quite an honour, sir.

MARTIN: Yeah, well . . . you know . . .

JAY [sheepishly]: Mr. Short, do you think maybe we might get our faces on a Canadian stamp one day?

MARTIN [laughing]: Oh, no. No, no, no. Don't hold your breath on that one. You see, because getting your face on a Canadian stamp is something reserved for real Canadian celebrities. Jim Carrey. Catherine O'Hara. And of course, myself. I mean, if they put you two on a stamp, who's next? Pierre Trudeau?

DAN: Well, he was the prime minister of Canada.

MARTIN: Exactly . . . Well, I've got to return now. We're presently shooting my new show
Mulaney
, which airs on Fox every Sunday.

DAN: Wow! You're filming the show right now?

MARTIN: Yeah. Well, actually no. But I'm Canadian. We're too polite to just walk away. I can't say “I'm bored. This has been really bad. Neither one of you flosses.” I'm not going to say that.

JAY: Right.

MARTIN: But Jan, Dean, it is such a thrill to see you guys. And really, just keep it up because . . . someone's gonna watch.

JAY: Yeah, someday.

DAN: We hope so.

MARTIN: Anyway, break a leg.

[Martin Short exits.]

JAY: Thank you very much, Mr. Short. What a terrific person!

DAN: Yeah.

JAY: He seemed nice.

And . . .
scene
.

He really was. He was really a terrific guy. He bid us all goodbye, snapped a few pictures with the crew, and just as quickly as he'd arrived, he was gone. Heading back home to the Pacific Palisades.

How does one judge success in the entertainment industry in this day and age? Or more accurately, how does a guy like me—who decided to leave a comfy and successful situation in Canada for a terrifying and unsure one in the United States— judge success?

Ratings? Yeah, that's definitely part of it. Money? That is undeniably a factor. Happiness? I'm not sure most people know what that means.

But the second Martin Short started reading and performing words that I'd written, I sat back and realized that this was as good a measuring stick for success as I was likely to ever find. Having someone you admire so much not only turn out to be a terrific person but also grant you a huge favour when he really had no reason to . . . it's sort of inspiring! Maybe I'm just getting older and more reflective. Or maybe I just can't believe how nice someone like Martin Short could be to a couple of relative nobodies after years and years of success. But if it all ended tomorrow and Fox decided not to renew our contracts and the U.S. Customs and Immigration people showed up at our doors with strict instructions to leave the country immediately or be jailed, I would be happy knowing that I got to perform—
on television
—with one of my greatest comedy heroes.

Sure, I would probably be a tad upset about the jail part, but this is Martin Short we're talking about here—the jail part would be worth it.

A
few years ago, I was in Regina to speak at a fundraising dinner for the University of Regina Rams. It was a wonderful time. Afterwards, a bunch of people on the organizing committee took me out, and we had a bit of a late night. I ended up crashing around 4:30 a.m. Unfortunately, I had a 9:00 a.m. flight. I dragged myself out of bed a few hours later and hopped into my rental car to drive to the airport. I don't drive in Regina much, so someone drew me a map on a napkin at Earl's the night before. It was a surprisingly good map considering it was drawn by a drunk.

So I got on the road, and I was doing pretty well considering I was fifty percent asleep and one hundred percent hungover, but then I realized I'd missed a turn. I'd have to turn around and go back. So, I pulled off the main road onto a residential street, and I made what seemed to me like a simple U-turn. Unfortunately, I took it just a bit too wide and managed to drive right into a pile of
snow that had been pushed up on the curb. No problem. I thought. I was in an SUV, after all. So I threw that bad boy into reverse and prepared to rip out of there. But I didn't move. The wheels spun and spun. I was stuck. At 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning in the middle of a deserted residential street in Regina. With absolutely no one around to help me push.

To sum up: I had managed to get the rental car stuck and my flight was leaving in an hour and a half. The Regina transit system leaves much to be desired, and getting a cab that early on a Sunday in Regina was going to be a bit of a stretch.

I tried not to panic. I got out of the SUV, walked back to the main road, and at that very moment, a police car drove by. I waved it down. He pulled over with a look on his face that said, “This guy must be from Ontario.”

I told the officer I had gotten my rental car stuck in the snow, and now he gave me a look that said: “No, this guy isn't from Ontario. Judging by the way he drives, he clearly grew up in Alberta.”

I asked him if there was any possible way he might consider giving me a ride to the airport—because I knew all the flights back to Toronto would be booked solid by Ontario politicians who had flown out to Saskatchewan to beg for money.

“If I drive you to the airport, what are you going to do with the rental car?” he asked.

“I'm . . . going to leave it here,” I said.

The cop thought about that for a second and said, “Okay, I'll drive you to the airport, but only because your network shows Rider games.”

Finally, my D-list celebrity status had gotten me out of a jam.

I happily jumped into the back of the cop car—the “cage” if you will—and tried to look menacing as I peered out the window. I imagined that I was a famous bank robber, and I had finally been
caught after cleaning out vaults across the prairies. “The Bad Driving Bandit,” they'd call me.

Soon, we arrived at the airport and I bid the cop goodbye, promising him that I would send someone out for the rental car. I immediately walked up to the Enterprise Rent-A-Car stand and was greeted by a nice young man named Andy.

“Hi, Andy,” I said.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Onrait,” said Andy cheerfully. “How was the car?”

“Well, Andy . . . it
was
good. It
was
very good. Unfortunately, at this very moment, it's not good at all. Because it's not moving.”

“Oh, no,” said Andy in a tone that didn't give away anything, even if he had suddenly come to the (correct) conclusion that renting a car to me had been a horrible, horrible mistake.

“Yes, Andy, as it turns out, I am not a very good driver. I managed to drive your beautiful, shiny rental car into a snowbank. Not even a snowbank, really, probably a small pile of snow that an old lady pushed off her driveway. Nevertheless, I am here, but the truck is not.”

“You left it there?” asked Andy.

“I'm afraid I did,” I replied sheepishly.

For a split second I imagined how embarrassing this was about to become once Andy realized what I'd done. Surely Andy would fly into a rage, shouting and swearing at me in the middle of the airport while sleepy-eyed passengers stared with mouths agape. I grimaced and waited for my reprimand. Andy spoke:

“Don't worry about it!”

“I'm sorry?”

“Happens all the time! Oh, yeah, people are always getting these things stuck. I'm sure it's fine.”

“But it's stuck in the middle of a residential neighbourhood. It's just sitting there. And now that I stop to think about it, I'm pretty sure the door is unlocked!”

Andy didn't even skip a beat. “People are friendly in this town. It'll be fine there. It's probably safer there than in the airport parking lot! I'll just call a couple of guys right now and send them over to pick it up.”

“You're going to call a couple of guys at eight in the morning? On a Sunday? I don't think they're going to like that call.”

“They're used to it,” explained Andy. “Remember what I said, Jay? This happens
all
the time!” After some more feeble protesting, I handed Andy the keys and got on my way.

As it turns out, this kind of thing
does not
happen all the time. The two guys that Andy called had to return to the car
three
times, each time with bigger shovels, before they managed to get it free. I feel pretty bad about that, but I sent them some Rider tickets, so I figure that means we're more or less even.

On another trip to Saskatchewan, when my dad and I were visiting my eighty-nine-year-old grandfather in Balcarres, my father's hometown, we were met at the Regina airport by his “driver” and longtime best buddy, Ivan (who is comparably youthful at just seventy-five years old). So there's me, my dad, Grandpa, and Ivan, all piled into Ivan's minivan for the drive to Balcarres, and my grandfather asked me if we would be interested in making a stop at the Balgonie Hotel Bar. And let me tell you, when someone asks if you want to stop at the Balgonie Hotel Bar, just say yes. Don't ask questions.

Balgonie is a town of about 600 people, and the bar is fairly easy to find. As we pulled into the lot, I made to get out of the van, but Grandpa stopped me, saying, “Stay here. I'll go in.” I quickly realized that this wasn't your regular bar stop—this was a stop to pick up beer that we would then proceed to drink on the drive
back to my grandfather's house. Now, I want to make it clear that I definitely do not condone drinking and driving, but when your eighty-nine-year-old grandfather decides he wants to share a case of road beers with you on the drive home, it's best to play it cool, start cracking open those bottles, and try to make sure the driver keeps it between the lines.

About two years later, Dan and I were hosting a “Jay and Dan Podcast” and commenting on the fact that comedian Brent Butt had recently announced that the cast of his hit Canadian sitcom
Corner Gas
was reuniting to make a movie. I always loved the show because it was funny and I completely understood the world in which it existed. The fictional small Saskatchewan town of Dog River could have been any small Saskatchewan town, including my parents' home town of Balcarres. That's why people from Saskatchewan loved the show so much. If anyone other than Brent, himself a native of Tisdale, Saskatchewan, had tried to write and produce the show, there would have been cries of inauthenticity, but like all great writers, Brent was simply writing about what he knew. This was the life he probably would have led had he never left Tisdale, population 2,000.

When Twitter blew up with the news that the cast of
Corner Gas
was reuniting, we were excited about it and happy for Brent. As I mentioned in
Anchorboy
, just when things were at their worst for my show
The Week That Was
,
Brent stepped up and helped me by contributing his voice for a sketch we had hastily put together, free of charge. I never forgot how gracious he was with his time and talent. So when Brent and his producers announced the
Corner Gas
movie, I thought it was appropriate that we got the word out to our podcast listeners, most of whom are Canadian after all.

But being the fame whores we are, Dan and I refused to simply leave it at that. We also implored our podcast listeners to tweet at Brent, encouraging him to actually put us in the movie as extras. “We could be sitting in the background drinking Pilsner beer at the town bar,” we said, “or drinking Vico at the Ruby.
”
When I explain Vico to people outside of the province, I usually tell them it's what Saskatchewanites of a certain age call chocolate milk. As my parents explained it to me, Vico was a brand of chocolate milk that was available in the province when they grew up—the only brand, apparently, as years went by before anyone in the 306 area code referred to chocolate milk as anything else but Vico. It even appeared on most restaurant menus in the province, confusing the hell out of tourists.

We didn't give the whole thing much thought after the podcast was over, but lo and behold the power of the “Jay and Dan Podcast” fan is a wonderful thing. The producers of the movie, and Brent himself, were suddenly aware of the little shitstorm we were causing. About three days after the podcast aired I felt bad about bugging Brent and sent him a direct message:

“Apologies for our obnoxiousness but we are genuinely thrilled for all your success. Love the fact that you're doing a
Corner Gas
film . . . And would genuinely love to be associated with it in any way possible.”

Brent wrote back a few hours later: “We'd love to have you guys! Not sure doing what, but SOMETHING dammit! I've already had a chat with production about it. Talk next week.”

I figured this meant we would inevitably get our wish and be extras in the background of a scene. I couldn't wait. But Brent surprised me with something better. A week later an email arrived in my inbox, saying: “I have written you each a line in the movie.”

This was followed by an email from the film's executive producer,
Virginia Thompson: “We are thrilled to have you in the movie. We will fly you up on Sunday, June 29th, and film your scene on Monday, June 30th, then fly you back to L.A. on Tuesday, July 1st.”

Back to L.A. on Canada Day—how appropriate.

And so on Sunday, June 29th, I dragged myself out of bed at 4:30 a.m. and drove to LAX to catch a flight to Minneapolis. There we connected on a flight to Regina, and after a few twists and turns that included running into Wawota, Saskatchewan native and Washington Capitals forward Brooks Laich—which resulted in us nearly missing our connecting flight—we eventually made it to a rainy, soggy Regina where we were supposed to be Brent's guests at the Saskatchewan Roughriders CFL home opener against Hamilton.

The rain was Biblically bad that day, literally flooding the streets of the city, and like the pampered Hollywood denizens we are, the team quickly moved the cast of the movie—including me and Dan and our former TSN cohort Darren Dutchyshen, who was also in the film—into the Pilsner Place, an enclosed bar and viewing area where we stayed warm and dry while the poor diehards got soaked in the stands outside.
Sports Illustrated
senior football writer Peter King was at the game as part of a week-long series he was writing about the Canadian Football League, and I felt bad that he wasn't getting the “proper” Roughriders game experience. Later, King told our mutual friend Peter Schrager that he received multiple tweets the following day from Roughrider fans apologizing for the bad weather that had occurred—so Canadian to apologize for bad weather they had absolutely no control over.

The next day my uncle Kim—my dad's brother—and my cousin Morgan picked me up at the Hotel Saskatchewan at 8:00 a.m. I was still a little groggy from the night before—am I ever not groggy from the night before? (
Groggy from the Night Before
was an alternate title
for this book.) We had ventured out to popular Regina pub O'Hanlon's, and one of our old friends from the Kraft Celebration Tour, Tracy Westgard, had shown up to pour the tequila. Nonetheless, we braved the soggy weather for the drive northeast to Balcarres to visit my grandfather, now ninety-one years old and living in a seniors' home. Past Balgonie, where we had stopped at the bar; past Fort Qu'Appelle, where we used to get Kentucky Fried Chicken; past the Mission Ridge Winter Park on Katepwa Lake, where Olympic bronze medallist Mark McMorris and his brother Craig first learned to snowboard on one of the smallest “ski hills” imaginable; past power line after power line and soggy field after soggy field; past old combines lined up in a row like sculptures; and past brand-new metal grain elevators that didn't have half the personality of the old, worn-down, sun-damaged wooden ones, until finally we reached the outskirts of Balcarres. It was here that my parents had grown up and my great grandfather, Gaston Onrait, had arrived from France over one hundred years before to claim his plot of land like every other immigrant who dreamed of the vast space and opportunities this young country offered. Gaston and his young bride, Emerence, weren't the world's greatest farmers, but they raised nine children on that farm and made a life for themselves in their new country. For years, Balcarres was a thriving prairie town with a booming agriculture industry and a bustling main street—it even had a movie theatre. Now it resembles the fictional town that Brent created in
Corner Gas
. Most of the stores on Main Street have closed up, and although there's still a hospital, still a drugstore, and still a school, frankly the only thing keeping the school open is the neighbouring First Nations reserves.

We drove past the Balcarres Hotel and Bar. In recent years I had spent many a night there while visiting Grandpa, and now the current owners had put it up for sale, asking an astonishing $300,000 for the
place. “I wouldn't give them $300,” said my uncle, who had also grown up in this town and had since moved on to a life in the city.