Informationen zum Autor Don Cherry Klappentext You thought you'd read them all, did you? Well, you haven't. Simultaneously loved and loathed, Don Cherry is one of the most talkative and talked-about personalities in hockey today. His more than twenty-five years as a player and coach have informed his popular Hockey Night in Canada commentary segment, "Coach's Corner." And now he's got more stories to share. In Don Cherry's Hockey Stories, Part 2 , Grapes tells us about the 2010 Stanley Cup, relays the lessons he's learned both on and off the ice, and takes us inside hockey's mythical players' "code." You'll encounter familiar names from the game and find out who this idol looks up to. You'll travel back in time to Cherry's days playing in the minor leagues. You'll share his experiences of being named Coach of the Year in the NHL and in the AHL. And you'll hear from his kids about what it was like growing up with a dad like Don.. Don Cherry tells it like it is, for better or for worse. You won't be disappointed. P.S. Don wants you to know it's a book the whole family can enjoy. Leseprobe It's June 2010the Stanley Cup finals between the Chicago Blackhawks and Philadelphia Flyers. Ron MacLean and I have been goin' since April 8, every other night for two months. It's not bad. The first two series we do out of the CBC studio in Toronto. For the semifinals and finals, we are on the road. Our first night on the road, we're in Philadelphia. Ron and I have a few too many pops, kind of deliberately. The playoffs remind me of when I played: you come to camp in good shape, but you all get together the first night and have a session. You'd be good all summer, and then just before camp, you ruin it. So about ten the next morning, Ron and I are in this cab and we're bakin', it's so hot. We're in our shirts and ties because we always travel that way in the States. (People at airports think we're detectives, as there's usually an older cop and a young cop.) I always think my shirts look good, but they're murder in the summer. The cab, as usual, is so small my legs are jammed up against the front seat. Why is every American cab dirty and small, with no air-conditioning and windows that don't roll down? And, of course, I'm on the side where the sun shines through. And the extra pops don't help. When will we ever learn? Folks, this is not the glamorous life everybody thinks it is. There are ticket lines at the airport. And security lines. The customs guys always seem to be ticked off about something. You get to the hotel and the rooms aren't ready. Eventually, you unpack (I've got tons to unpack and Ron seems to have nothing). So here I am, sittin' in this hot cab, thinkin' all these things and feelin' sorry for myself. I look at Ron and he says, Never mind. Just think of the twelve cold ones we'll have on ice for after the game tonight. I do. Everything is right with the world. * * * Still in the finals. Now we're into Chicago, and we land. We're walking through the tunnel between O'Hare Airport and the airport hotel. As we walk along the tunneland we're the only ones in itwe come to a guy with a little organ, and he's singin'. He really sounds great. Ron says, Isn't that guy a wonderful singer? and before I can say anything, he has dropped a fiver into the guy's hat. I say, You jerk. That guy's not singing. It's a record. That's Sam Cooke singing. The guy is only lip-synching. Ron says, You know, you're too cynical. You should wake up to the world. There aren't people like that. You couldn't be more wrong. So about four days later, we're on our way back. Same tunnel. Same guy. Now the guy is letting on he's playing a violin. He sounds like Stratovarigus, or whatever his name is. I drop a fiver into his hat as a reward for being such a good con ...

Autorentext

Don Cherry

Klappentext

You thought you'd read them all, did you? Well, you haven't.

Simultaneously loved and loathed, Don Cherry is one of the most talkative and talked-about personalities in hockey today. His more than twenty-five years as a player and coach have informed his popular Hockey Night in Canada commentary segment, "Coach's Corner." And now he's got more stories to share.

In Don Cherry's Hockey Stories, Part 2, Grapes tells us about the 2010 Stanley Cup, relays the lessons he's learned both on and off the ice, and takes us inside hockey's mythical players' "code." You'll encounter familiar names from the game and find out who this idol looks up to. You'll travel back in time to Cherry's days playing in the minor leagues. You'll share his experiences of being named Coach of the Year in the NHL and in the AHL. And you'll hear from his kids about what it was like growing up with a dad like Don..

Don Cherry tells it like it is, for better or for worse. You won't be disappointed.

P.S. Don wants you to know it's a book the whole family can enjoy.

Leseprobe
It’s June 2010—the Stanley Cup finals between the Chicago Blackhawks and Philadelphia Flyers. Ron MacLean and I have been goin’ since April 8, every other night for two months.
 
It’s not bad. The first two series we do out of the CBC studio in Toronto. For the semifinals and finals, we are on the road.
 
Our first night on the road, we’re in Philadelphia. Ron and I have a few too many pops, kind of deliberately. The playoffs remind me of when I played: you come to camp in good shape, but you all get together the first night and have a session. You’d be good all summer, and then just before camp, you ruin it.
 
So about ten the next morning, Ron and I are in this cab and we’re bakin’, it’s so hot. We’re in our shirts and ties because we always travel that way in the States. (People at airports think we’re detectives, as there’s usually an older cop and a young cop.) I always think my shirts look good, but they’re murder in the summer. The cab, as usual, is so small my legs are jammed up against the front seat. Why is every American cab dirty and small, with no air-conditioning and windows that don’t roll down? And, of course, I’m on the side where the sun shines through.
 
And the extra pops don’t help. When will we ever learn?
 
Folks, this is not the glamorous life everybody thinks it is. There are ticket lines at the airport. And security lines. The customs guys always seem to be ticked off about something. You get to the hotel and the rooms aren’t ready. Eventually, you unpack (I’ve got tons to unpack and Ron seems to have nothing).
 
So here I am, sittin’ in this hot cab, thinkin’ all these things and feelin’ sorry for myself. I look at Ron and he says, “Never mind. Just think of the twelve cold ones we’ll have on ice for after the game tonight.”
 
I do. Everything is right with the world.
 

 
Still in the finals. Now we’re into Chicago, and we land. We’re walking through the tunnel between O’Hare Airport and the airport hotel. As we walk along the tunnel—and we’re the only ones in it—we come to a guy with a little organ, and he’s singin’. He really sounds great.
 
Ron says, “Isn’t that guy a wonderful singer?” and before I can say anything, he has dropped a fiver into the guy’s hat.
 
I say, “You jerk. That guy’s not singing. It’s a record. That’s Sam Cooke singing. The guy is only lip-synching.”
 
Ron says, “You know, you’re too cynical. You should wake up to the world. There aren’t people like that. You couldn’t be more wrong.”
 
So about four days later, we’re on our way back. Same tunnel. Same guy. Now the guy is letting on he’s playing a violin. He sounds like Stratovarigu…