540 Days, 3,000 Nights: How living with a Maple Leaf gave Rod Black a lifetime of stories — and nearly killed his liver

As glamorous as the job was, CTV clearly had me by the balls. I should have done a better job with (CTV Sports executive Peter) Sisam and the negotiations — in fact, the agency I was working with even tried to play hardball — but I really didn’t have much leverage, and the network obviously knew that I would take anything to make the move. The fact that they hired two of us (Tracy Wilson was also hired and we were to be the faces of all the network’s properties) to do the job likely changed their budgetary strategy as well.

I’m not saying CTV cheaped out, but they definitely got a two-for-one Costco deal. I wish I could disclose the discrepancy in numbers, but unfortunately, I can’t. That just wouldn’t be right …

Ah, screw it.

In Winnipeg, at the local station, doing two jobs and accruing overtime, I was pulling in over $85,000 per year. Great money back then for a young buck. In Toronto, a network job, I was signed to a contract that paid me $65,000 per year. That same job in the U.S.? Add a zero or two.

But the truth was, it wasn’t about the money. Even though management at CTV were tight with their money, I didn’t want to tell them that I would probably have done the job for nothing.

Then again, considering the cost of living in Toronto, it certainly felt like I was working for free.

I didn’t have to tell Toto that this wasn’t Kansas — er, Winnipeg anymore. The “Big Smoke,” as Toronto is often called, is an expensive place to live — and really expensive when you don’t have a place to live.

That’s when my buddy Roy rode to the rescue.

Felix, Oscar and the Odd Couple on Charles Street

Roy was the nickname of NHL defenceman Dave Ellett; he’d earned that moniker from the Roy Hobbs character in the baseball movie “The Natural.” Roy had become a good pal while I was covering the Jets. That was during the era when you could get close to the players. I was around Wayne Gretzky during his peak, and I was never intimidated by it. When you were in the media, and you were covering the team, you were a part of the team. Nobody carved anybody, and you mainly told positive stories about the team. If you told a negative story, it was generally because that person was not on the team anymore. There was a great trust there between the players and the media in Winnipeg. I didn’t put myself in their shoes, but we developed a mutual respect for each other during those years.

In November 1990, I was at the arena, hosting a Jets game, when I found out Ellett had been traded to the Toronto Maple Leafs. Coincidentally, it was the same day I got promoted to work at CTV.

When I first arrived in Toronto, I was living at the Westin Hotel while I looked for a permanent place to live. Ellett was staying at another hotel. Not long afterwards, he called me up: “Blackie, I got a place. It is so close to Maple Leaf Gardens, and it is close to CTV.” At the time, CTV was based on Charles Street in downtown Toronto. “It is perfect,” he added. “It is two blocks from CTV and three blocks from Maple Leaf Gardens. Real nice place, if you wanna be roomies.”

Roomies?

A pro hockey player and a network broadcaster? Living together? That’s a new one, I thought. Something I’m certain that never happened before, especially considering the obvious conflict of interest. But then again, as I always told myself: Why say why?

Hell. Why not?

That is how we became roommates. Kind of like a sequel to the TV series “The Odd Couple.” Dave was naturally Felix, the neat, quiet guy. I was Oscar, the loud slob/sports reporter.

Despite our differences, we had an ideal living arrangement in a beautiful four-storey downtown condo. Our schedules meshed impeccably.

Blackie and Roy’s: Open late, no cover

For the most part, when Dave was home, I was on the road. When I was home, he was playing somewhere else. Perfect pairing. When it got ugly was when we were both home, and suddenly our place became a “palace” — as in “party palace.” Almost every night of the week, especially after Leaf home games, hockey guy and sports guy became the “shaker” guys, the hosts with the “most.” The most beer, the most pizza, the most noise, the most guests staying over and, of course, the most hangovers. We might as well have put up a neon sign in our window that said “Blackie and Roy’s — Open Late.” You can just imagine how crazy things got. And the many stories that came out of all of those late nights and early mornings. We somehow survived and thrived. A couple of single guys who worked hard and played harder.

Dave Ellett and I didn’t live together too long. We often joked that we were roommates for 540 days and 3,000 nights! It was an insane time to be around the Leafs in Toronto.

One of our key running mates was Wendel Clark, the legendary Leaf captain and one of the best people I have ever met. Dave and I hung out with Clarkie a lot, and if we weren’t ripping it up at our condo we were at Wendel’s house, which he had decided to renovate, removing all his furniture and installing much more important fixtures — a pool table, a hot tub, and a beer fridge.

Again, good thing there were no camera phones back then. It’s also a good thing that the Maple Leafs’ head coach, Pat Burns, had a good sense of humour.

Like Ellett and Clark, I had become pretty close to Burnsie, a former cop. Not just any cop: Burns had once worked in the biker gang division and on other demanding assignments. To some people, Burns seemed to give off the impression of being a grumpy grizzly bear. Not even close. As much as he was a man who demanded respect from his players and media, anyone who got to know Pat personally would soon find out that he was a big, mustachioed teddy bear with a compassionate, tender heart.

I was fortunate to hang around with the real Burnsie when I hosted the 1991 Canada Cup hockey tournament. He was part of the coaching staff under another guy who gave off those strict disciplinarian vibes, Iron Mike Keenan. I got to know what Pat Burns was really all about, and I discovered that he was a great man. I also became friends with Brian Sutter. The whole experience was magical.

This was the tournament where Wayne Gretzky got hurt in Game 1 of the final after he was hit by Gary Suter of Team USA. But as much as I remember Gretzky being hit, I also remember Eric Lindros. That was Eric’s coming-out party. I will never forget Lindros, on his very first shift, absolutely wallpapering Sweden’s Ulf Samuelsson with a huge hit.

I thought: Oh, I like this kid! He’d just been drafted by the Quebec Nordiques, but made it clear he wouldn’t sign. Even though I hated the idea, one of our producers wanted to portray him as public enemy No. 1 in Quebec City, where Team Canada played the Soviet Union. As intimidating as Eric could be, he is one of the most misunderstood athletes ever. The media tried to portray him as something other than what he was. Eric was a phenom. Nobody had ever seen a player that big and that talented before. He was really nice off the ice, and so quiet, so well spoken, and very smart.

Gus Badali was helpful for me during this time. Not only did he connect me with agent Elliott Kerr, who would help guide my career, he helped me get to know all the big stars of the game who were part of the tournament. Spending time with Burns and developing a friendship with him meant a lot. You could never do that now; people might accuse you of being a “jock sniffer.” I was never a jock sniffer; I was covering and interviewing people I considered friends. Because of that, they trusted me when I spoke to them. They respected me, and I respected them.

I was so blessed that I got to know the other side of the coach, although I do remember one occasion when he wasn’t exactly pleased with my living arrangement with one of his best defencemen. It was early in the 1992–93 season, when the Leafs made an unforgettable run to the NHL’s final four. The team looked so good, so confident, and everything seemed to be falling into place. Being the reporter that I was, and also the roommate that I was, I was naturally getting some good intel on the direction of the team. My roomie, Roy, was playing some of the best hockey in his career, Clarkie was the perfect captain, and all-star Doug Gilmour was living up to his nickname, Killer.

Eight expletives and a beep

There was just something special about this team, and I was getting a unique inside, close-up view.

Since I was hanging out with the guys, probably more than any media member should, I could always tell if something was askew, if someone had a beef with someone else, or if someone was unhappy with his ice time. But as hard as I looked, I couldn’t find any trouble spots and couldn’t help but notice that these players really seemed to like one another. They were like a band of brothers believing that the team that played together stayed together.

And these guys played hard — scoring on and off the ice. Burnsie thought they might have been playing too hard. As much as he loved this team and his players, he knew that nothing good ever happens after midnight.

That’s when I got another phone call. This time, a message was left on my answering machine.

“Hey, Blackie,” huffed the recognizable voice on the machine. “Burnsie here. Listen, I don’t give a f——-g s—t that you and f——-g Ellett are f——-g roommates. Just do me a f——-g favour: Make sure my f——-g defenceman gets some f——-g sleep at f——-g night.”

BEEEEEEP.

Word for word. Spoken like a true hockey coach.

Message sent. Message delivered, and a message that I saved for years.

Later, I would tell Pat how much I appreciated his F-bomb intervention, how it helped me realize that maybe I was getting too close to some of the players, and how it was probably a career enhancer to tone down my late nights with the Leafs.

My “shaker” days with Roy did eventually come to an end, not because of Burns, but because my former roomie was traded to New Jersey. I was sad to see a great friend go, but honestly, my liver was very relieved. Ellett and I remain great friends to this day and often joke about how the Odd Couple had a great run in Toronto, full of cups — just not Stanley’s.