When NHL & RBC come a-callin'

The Toopy & Binoo cartoon is playing a bit too loudly in the background, my little girl Quinn is burping up a storm after finishing her morning bottle of milk ... and I’ m explaining on the phone to Montreal Canadien Rene Bourque why I gruffly answered the phone thinking the Lac La Biche man who will be playing in Game 6 of the Stanley Cup semifinals in less than eight hours was an annoying RBC Financial telemarketer looking for my wife.
In the 36 hours since Rene and I had arranged this interview, I picked up my house phone three times excitedly expecting the Quebec-based number on our house phone display to be the Montreal left-winger. Each time it’ s the RBC with a great deal for my wife.
I wasn’ t going to fall for it a fourth time when it rang Thursday morning showing an out-of-province area code.
“Uhm... Rob? It’ s Rene.” says the voice on the other end of the line after I snap up the phone, pause and say, “Yup. Hello,” very tersely and very sharply in a monotone voice.
He forgives me after I explain.

He forgives me after I explain.
He laughs and tells me my call display is right - his out-of-province area code is from Illinois. He’ s just never switched it over, apparently since his days as a Chicago Blackhawk when he entered the NHL 10 years ago.
As he talks, and I frantically dash around the house looking for a piece of paper that doesn’ t have massive, circular Crayola crayon doodles all over it, I’ m reminded that Rene doesn’ t have a gruff hockey voice like many of the NHL vets we see each week on TV during hockey season. Then I realize I might be gushing a little bit.
But c’ mon. This is the guy who just scored a hat-trick in Game 5 of the NHL playoffs - one of them while sailing through the air, Henderson-esque, after releasing a left-handed wrister past the Rangers’ netminder. He’ s Rene Bourque (we say it like Ren-ee Burk, because we know how it should sound), whose name (Ren-ee or Ren-ay) received more and more notice from hockey aficionados as this year’ s playoffs rolled along. And with just hours to go before half the world will see him on television, I’ m talking to him on the phone in my house. I’ m not going to lie, there was a little bit of star-struck-ed-ness on my part.
He apologizes for not getting back to me the day before when we’ d arranged a phone interview. He got tied up, and then watched the other NHL semi-final match-up between last year’ s champs, and his freshman NHL squad the Blackhawks as they forced a game 6 with the LA Kings in double overtime.

I forgave him after he explains.
My disgruntled, jerk-voice tones are now replaced with my regular phone conversation voice, as my brain constantly reminds me not to roll towards the fast-talking, high-pitched OMG! OMG! OMG! range I could easily lapse into. I compose myself ... and tell him we should do the interview after the upcoming game. What??? Did I really do that?
I had the Lac La Biche-raised hockey hero on the phone. Toopy was jumping up and down on his bed while Binoo played with a cartoon blue ball, my little girl was giggling, I’ d given up on finding a piece of paper and was wondering how much of the wall I could write on with erasable markers - if I could find one that wasn’ t all dried out because the kids forget to put the caps back on them ... and I was turning down the interview.
He’ s on TV in a couple of hours. He’ s a hockey pro about to go into the most important game of this season for his team. What if I ask him a question that bounces around in his head all night and distracts him from tapping in the open-net game winner? What if I let it slip that I’ m not really a Habs fan, but my little girl looks too cute in her Montreal jersey to not let her wear it? What if this isn’ t really an erasable marker?
But the real reason is the timing. I tell him the community is once again hosting a Big Screen TV hockey party at the Bold Center that, and it would be great to talk to him about it after Montreal wins the game.

Almost composed, and almost accepting what I was saying to the hockey player I’ ve respected and followed since his junior days, I tell him to have a good game, score more than three goals and to wave lots to the camera because his hometown will be watching. I realize I’ m waving with the hand that isn’ t holding the phone, apparently because my nerves are still not yet locked down in the ‘cool-as-a-cucumber-even-though-holy-smokes-I’ m-talking-to-Rene’ mode.
My daughter is waving back at me with her head tilted and a quizzical look on her face as I say my good-byes and Rene tells me we’ ll speak again in the next few days.
“Who’ s that?” she asks as I hit ‘end’ and toss the phone onto a folded laundry pile of kids’ clothes.
“It was your uncle Rene,” I joke in a squeaky voice reserved only for kids under the age of 3 ... and then quickly spin and grab the phone to make sure - even though I didn’ t slam it shut with as much conviction as the other times - that this out-of-province phone call, even though it too had an RBC connection (Rene Bourque Canadien), was truly broken.