No Pain; No gain!

In early February of 2006, a friend asked me if I’d go downtown with him to party. Never one to decline such an offer, I instantly agreed. After having a few drinks at my apartment, we head to a wing bar to watch the Maple Leafs game.

As expected, the Leafs lost. We decided that drinking more beer was in order so we continued further downtown. We decided to go to a trendy and expensive bar called the Pouge Fado. We waited briefly in the line up to get the streamlined straight to the bar for some beer.

There was a band playing that night. They were called “Shaydid” and their singer was a smoking hot blonde who I was completely infatuated with. The second I saw her I moved to the very front of the stage, drank my beer, and stared at her in awe (along with every other guy at the bar).

I was completely taken by this woman. She rocked. She was beautiful. She had soul. She could shred. She winked and smiled at me. Nothing could have taken me away from my spot at the stage.

However, every once in a while in life you’re dealt a trump card which over-rules any situation.

“Hey!” said my friend.
“Not now!” I replied.
“Dude. Doug Gilmour is over at the bar,” he said matter-of-factly.

Usually this would not have caught my attention. But in this case, I was aware that Doug Gilmour was in Halifax for a sports celebrity charity event. I turned around and there he was. Doug Gilmour. My boyhood idol. The man whose face is still plastered all over my walls in my bedroom back home. The man whose name and number I have placed on any hockey jersey I own. Doug Gilmour.

I stood in awe for about 5 seconds, then decided that I have to go say hi. I walked over to the bar where he was standing practically alone.

“Hey Doug!”
“Hey man,” he says back like we’re good friends.
“Hows it goin’?”
“Good man! How about you?”
“Great. I was just up at the stage listening to the band,” I replied.
“Yea man, they’re not bad,” he says back.



I grew tired of the small talk.

“Listen. I was a very big fan of yours growing up. It’s a fucking pleasure to meet you.”
“Thanks a lot man. That means a lot to me. It’s nice to meet you too, “ he says back as if he’s never heard anyone say that to him before.
“Can I buy you a beer?”
“No thanks, I’m fine for now.”

All of a sudden, Toronto Blue Jay legend Joe Carter comes out of nowhere and joins our conversation. Before I get the opportunity to introduce myself, Joe beats me to it.

“How ya doin? I’m Joe!”
“Nice to meet you Joe, I’m Rowland.”

There I am. Standing beside my all time favourite hockey player and all time favourite baseball player at a bar I hate on a rainy February night in Halifax.

By now, people have started to notice Joe and Doug. Women swarm our spot in the bar. One of the women is Alex Gundy. I met her at a party a few weeks earlier. She had a camera. I asked her if she could take a picture. She agreed.

The conversation with Doug was interrupted, but Joe and I still continued talking. We spoke about the new look Blue Jays and the additions they made in the off-season. I asked Joe what he’s been up to. It turns out, Joe has been doing some broadcasting and coaching his oldest son’s high school baseball team.

Out of nowhere, I feel a searing pinch on the back of my thigh. I turn around and Doug Gilmour has his hand on my leg. With a drunken smile, surrounded by about 6 or 7 beautiful college co-eds, he looks at me and says: “C’mon man! No pain; no gain!”

Soon thereafter, a crowd had gathered. After about 30 more minutes, the celebrity sports crew (which also featured broadcaster Rod Black famed for his drunken antics mentioned on the Zany Zany World) left the bar. For the next three months, Alex Gundy, the girl who took the pictures, disappeared off the face of the map. After months of border-line stalking I finally got the pictures from her.

Alex Gundy, Joe Carter, Rowland Douglas, Doug Gilmour.