Power Play: My Life Inside the Red Wings Locker Room

By Cynthia Lambert and Bob Wojnowski

“Who do you think you are, coming in here? No one wants you here!” These words were screamed by Dave “Tiger” Williams as he stood inches from cub reporter Cynthia Lambert. It was one of the first things said by a professional athlete to the twenty-two-year-old college student as she entered the Detroit Red Wings locker room at Joe Louis Arena after the team suffered a tough loss. Shaken by the verbal assault, Cynthia had to make a decision on the spot—and in front of the watchful eyes of other players and media members. Did she have it in her to weather the prejudicial storms that likely lay ahead, or should she turn tail and run? She didn’t run. Instead, she stood her ground and blazed an enviable career path after landing the job of a lifetime—covering the NHL’s Detroit Red Wings as the beat writer for The Detroit News.

This is the autobiographical story of Cynthia Lambert’s fourteen-year career in the locker room, in the press box, and all points in between, calling out pitfalls and her all-too-numerous embarrassing pratfalls. Cynthia’s self-deprecating style engages you from the first page as you learn about the business of sports reporting and about the world-class athletes she covered. Get ready to feel what it is like to work inside a locker room . . . from this woman’s perspective.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Nov 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781504388535

Cynthia Lambert

Cynthia Lambert entered the field of sports reporting at a time when it was still new and novel for women to have access to the interior of a locker room. Fresh out of college and driven by an internal force, she overcame biases and hurdles to become one of the Detroit area’s first female “beat” writers, covering the Detroit Red Wings for 12 seasons, from 1986-98.

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Copyright © 2017 Cynthia Lambert.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-8852-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-8854-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-8853-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017914826

Balboa Press rev. date: 11/07/2017

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book began as a pet project, one where I could write about cool stories of my life as a sports reporter then print off and distribute the finished product to friends and family members. But as I wrote, and wrote, and wrote it evolved into what you are holding (or viewing) right now: a real book.

I couldn’t have done this without the encouragement and input from a team of wonderful people. I am humbled that they took the time to offer suggestions and support for this endeavor. From Tim Reinman and Bob Montgomery who first planted the idea seed to Barbara Fatima Clark who had a clear vision for this book many years ago. I need to thank my team of unofficial editors: Dianne Pegg, John Niyo, Ron Bernas, Kate DeSmet, Corrine Auty, Bret Lambert, Gretchen Schock and Mary Kachnowski.

I am indebted to Elizabeth Wagenschutz, my editor extraordinaire, who found time – somehow, someway – to read my words and offer refinement to them. Likewise, Cammy Clark, my intrepid alternate universe sister who loves sports, Maui, coffee and laughing just as much as I do. Thank you for seeing the truth in the words and asking for more. I am so incredibly grateful to Colin Campbell, Kevin Allen, Keith Primeau, Jennifer Hammond and Bob Wojo Wojnowski for taking an interest in my story and offering words and support to make it that much better. The final touch came from a chance meeting with another former colleague of sorts, Sal Giacona, who jumped in to help me see the opportunities for getting this book in the hands of readers like you.

The universe worked its perfect magic for the cover photo on this book by prompting longtime friend Paul Fayad to offer the use of East Side Hockey’s brand new locker room as the perfect backdrop. What would a cover photo be without the person behind the camera? Dale Pegg, an incredible photographer who seemed more excited about taking the cover photo than I was of being in it, thank you for your expertise and for offering guidance along the way! Many of the photographs you see in the center of this book are the result of the kindness and searching by The Detroit News photo editor Pam Shermeyer and staff photographer Dale Young. A huge thank you to them for caring enough about this book to locate some of my favorite photos; and thank you to my former employer, The Detroit News, for allowing them to be reprinted here.

I am grateful to friend and Grosse Pointe Theatre colleague Kevin Fitzhenry for refining some of my older photos so that they could be included.

Thank you also to my brothers – Jerry, John and Steve – for searching our family archives to find a good mix of family photos. Furthermore, if it weren’t for you teaching me with great kindness, and sometimes unforgettable pranks, how to navigate the world of boys (and then men), I’d have been lost and, possibly, may have given up on my dream. You all mean so much to me and I love you dearly.

I wish with all my heart that my mom and dad could be here to hold this book in their hands. Still, I felt their presence around me as I wrote these stories, sometimes tickling me with long-forgotten memories that begged for inclusion. You raised me to be independent, fostered (and tolerated) my strength and fed me a steady diet of humor and love. I am who I am because of you.

Finally, to my son, Quinn. Your ever-present kindness, awesome sense of humor and unyielding belief in your dreams are all inspirations to me. You are the brightest light I have ever known.

DEDICATION

To Quinn … my light.

CONTENTS

Foreword

Introduction

1 In the Beginning

Separation Anxiety

2 Entry Point

Think Before you Speak

3 Don’t Scream!

Frozen Senses

4 No One Wants You Here

Support Within

5 I Made It

Did I Actually Write That?

6 Cutting My Teeth

Where Am I?

7 Finding My Voice

Brutally Tough

8 Eric, What’s That On Your Tie?

Fight Club

9 Understanding Jacques

Comic Relief

10 Kirk Gibson Isn’t So Tough

Life on the Road – the Good, the Bad and the Scary

11 The Day That Wouldn’t End

Hold the Coffey

12 No Bill, Just You

I’m So Confused

13 Celebrity Encounters

Fedorov Gets the Assist

14 Taking Advantage of Access

The Best and the Worst

15 The Ever-expanding Job

The Most Inappropriate Question

16 Unforgettable Kindness

Gone Too Soon

17 The Final Push

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Reporters

18 Winning … and Loss

Feeling Welcomed

19 Breakaway

Post Script

FOREWORD

Her smile and prank-pulling ways could fool you, but Cyndy Lambert was as tough as a reporter could be. And during my years covering the Red Wings alongside her, I understood why.

She faced unique challenges as a female sports writer, but just as daunting, she covered a team of strong characters and big-time stars as it began its climb to legendary status. Talk about pressure. Gordie Howe and Ted Lindsay roamed the halls, Steve Yzerman ruled the locker room and Scotty Bowman hovered over all of it. Cyndy handled it all and stood up to slights when necessary, but also understood the dynamics of covering a team. She could be laidback and passionate, funny and stern, and she displays her wit and insight in this enjoyable recounting of her career.

The perfect encapsulation occurred on the celebrated night of March 26, 1997, when Darren McCarty exacted revenge and pummeled Colorado’s Claude Lemieux. It was a long-awaited act of retribution, and naturally, we’d covered the buildup extensively. We knew what the Wings knew – they couldn’t move forward until they removed the Lemieux shadow with force. On the morning of the game, The Detroit News wrote plenty about it. And sure enough, late in the first period the gloves were dropped and Lemieux was felled, and Joe Louis Arena erupted as I’ve never heard it. When the mayhem settled, there was a commotion in the press box, as Avalanche GM Pierre Lacroix barged past us, loud and agitated. He purposely bumped into me and delivered a little shove, snarling, Get out of my way you (expletive) (expletive)!

Cyndy’s professional instincts kicked in and she whirled and demanded to know what happened. She suggested we should file a complaint, because a team official had caused a disturbance in our work space. We didn’t do it, but I respected her prevailing sentiment over the years – protective of the profession, determined to get the job done. You’ll enjoy reading her tales and witnessing her evolution from intrepid youngster entering a scary realm, into a feisty reporter who loved her work and cherished the competition. In the presence of powerful sports figures, she was pretty darn fearless. In the pages of her recollections – some very poignant, some very funny – you’ll see it and feel it.

By the end, I guarantee you’ll appreciate her journey and respect her work even more.

Bob Wojnowski

Sports Columnist, The Detroit News

INTRODUCTION

While enjoying a casual dinner at the local National Coney Island restaurant with my family and a long tableful of friends, I told a quick story about how funny I found former Detroit Red Wings defenseman Vladimir Konstantinov. I followed that up with a short tale about former Red Wings coach Jacques Demers. My friends laughed … and they wanted more. Until that time I had forgotten how unique and cool my first career (right out of college) actually was, and I was delighted to see their enjoyment from the few accounts I could remember off the top of my head.

After retelling a few more snippets and stories from my career as The Detroit News beat writer for the National Hockey League and the Detroit Red Wings, my friend Tim Reinman uttered the request.

You need to write a book about all of the things you saw, he ordered. Our mutual friend, Bob Montgomery, nodded in agreement.

All the things I saw. Hmm. As I let that thought bounce around in my mind I noticed that I was starting to smile. I had some pretty phenomenal times as a reporter and experienced situations that could bear some telling. It was, after all, a unique time for women in sports reporting – and for the Red Wings hockey team.

While I understood that hearing insightful and never-before-told stories about famous athletes certainly has a market, I wondered if I could recall enough – with sufficient detail – to create an entire book. Truth be told, my mind can be like a sieve, with facts and information pouring in, straight through, and out … forever forgotten.

But I thought I should at least make the effort. I began to jot down my memories on a legal-sized notepad. I began to fill page after page. Before I knew it, my notebook was filled with recollections that made me laugh and cringe, feel sad and elated and, ultimately, hopeful that I could create a memoir of sorts that would be both informative and entertaining.

While my experiences and unique perspective may be engaging for hockey fans to read about, I thought they might also provide a roadmap, albeit sometimes sloppy, for other women (or men) who want to tackle this job as a career … or any job that journeys into uncharted waters. I am saddened that I cannot reach out to four of my favorite Red Wings players – Bob Probert, Shawn Burr, Steve Chiasson and Brad McCrimmon – to help me fill in some blanks or provide happy endings. But at the same time, I am glad that I can bring memories of these men back to life and share what they were like from my perspective.

This book isn’t necessarily about me, but about all of the personalities and situations I had the pleasure – or disdain – to encounter. I loved my job as a sportswriter. I loved being the first one to find out about something and then tell the world. From the time I was a little girl growing up with three brothers, I was known as the informer in the family. Some would have called me a tattletale, which I guess was the truth on a number of occasions, but I also liked to tell the good news, too; the fun things I witnessed. I loved to see the reactions my reports created. It was powerful! Long distance runners get their highs logging miles one step at a time. I got mine telling people things that would make them say things like, Really? or That can’t be true! or Yep, I thought so.

This book is meant to give you a glimpse into what it is like to work in a world with some of the most amazing and gritty athletes to ever play the sport of ice hockey (and other sports). It’s also intended to make you privy to the trials and rewards of being a beat writer at a major metro daily newspaper. Finally, and potentially the most redeeming part of this whole venture, is to shine the light on my experiences working in a male-dominated world of testosterone-driven warriors, editors and other media members. I say this because, though I have never considered myself a feminist, there are still many prejudices against women – even by other women – performing work that actually does not require male hormones or body parts to do well. You may be surprised to find out what it really was like for me – someone who started in the field of sports reporting, professionally, at the age of 23.

If you are hoping to find salacious stories of married players canoodling with groupies or tales of how I snuck around or hid in corners trying to overhear private conversations for the scoop, you will be monumentally disappointed. While my career as a sports reporter came at a time when women were breaking new ground in the breadth of what they were allowed to cover and in the acceptance of them doing so, I am happy to say that I remained true to my ethics and beliefs. I never went looking to expose a player for misconduct off the ice. I never waged a hate campaign – using my power as a member of the press as payback – on an athlete or coach who I thought had done me wrong. On the occasion when I had to report on a player’s off-ice antics or issues, it was generally with disappointment, frustration and sadness … certainly not with delight, thirst and satisfaction. I believe, because of this, I have very few stories of being treated nastily by players, coaches or anyone else involved in the world of sports, professional or otherwise. My guiding mantra was, Don’t imagine a slight when none was intended. And other than a few isolated incidents, I don’t believe I was treated differently just because of my sex.

I truly hope you enjoy reading through my memories and experiences. If there are parts of stories that have minor errors, then I sincerely apologize in advance (please refer to the aforementioned sieve comment). Keep in mind that these stories are told from my perspective, with my eyes and ears and, of course, with my reactions and conclusions. Working as a sports reporter for 14 years was a wild and unique ride, one that I hope you enjoy reading about.

1

In the Beginning

I can’t ever remember not liking hockey. That’s actually kind of a strange thing, too, considering I never played it. That is, unless you count the ice rink my three brothers and I had in our backyard for half of one winter. There, for a few winter weeks, we re-created the glories – albeit, not the grace – of Gordie Howe, Marcel Dionne, Guy Charron and all of our other NHL favorites with rudimentary moves on the bumpy ice on Rossiter in our east side Detroit neighborhood.

I must have been about seven or eight years old when the incident that led to the deconstruction of our rink happened. My brothers and I were hosting about a dozen kids from the neighborhood on the small backyard rink, playing a heated game of hockey. I, being the ever-cautious one, opted not to wear my skates and instead donned my boots with the smooth rubber bottoms. My warped reasoning was that they would offer me more mobility and stability. I believe I was on the ice for only a few minutes before I was checked into the boards (actually, the cyclone fencing) by a neighborhood boy. As could be expected with smooth-bottomed rubber boots, I lost my footing. My feet went out from under me and back I went, smacking my head hard onto the ice. And I wasn’t wearing a helmet. No one wore helmets then, not even the NHL players. These were the late 1960s, the days of old time hockey.

The next thing I remembered was my parents leading me into our Ford Galaxy 500 parked in front of our house. After pausing to vomit into the snow, I crawled into the backseat, where I laid down for the short drive to St. John Hospital where I stayed for three days in a ward with adult women. The diagnosis was a bad concussion. I’m not exactly sure why I wasn’t in a pediatric ward – maybe no room – so instead, I was flanked by women just under the geriatric cutoff. The food was horrible – Cream of Wheat for breakfast with a glass of cranberry juice to wash it down. Every morning I would give the mush to the large woman in the bed next to me and sip my juice. Lunch and dinner went about the same, drinking only cranberry juice and nibbling on crackers. I couldn’t wait to get back home to my mom’s cooking, my own bed and my brothers’ teasing. When I finally arrived home three days later, the backyard rink was chipped and bumpy.