Phil Strasmore's Autobiography

[Phil 5,119]

Phil Strasmore's Autobiography

 

 

If I had truly looked back on my life to this point when I decided to do an Auto Biography, I probably would have made the decision for someone else to write it for me. I keep telling myself that pain is an essential part of any success story, but I think that's just a way for us to cover up the hurt. Now I don't have the most tragic story and I've been blessed in many ways, but I was handed some pretty bad luck early on and it's my hope that telling me story can be used as a cautionary tale, if not an inspirational one. Now, let's begin. 

 

My parents died young. I only remember glimpses of memories - a smile from my mother, my father telling me to be strong, the smell of scotch on his breath and my mother's perfume - but as they are all I have, I cherish everything I can remember. I was raised mostly by my grandmother and looked up to my older brother. We both loved football and played it every chance we got. I always tried to get in on scrimmages with my brother's friends. Sometimes they would let me, other's not. When they did it would be punishing physically. When they didn't it would be equally punishing mentally. I would sit and watch, dejected and feeling alone.

 

Other kids my age called me a freak. I was big, but it didn't mean I was invincible. That's why I wanted to play with my Brother and his friends. Despite them being two and a half years older, at least we were the same size. Well, my brother was bigger, but not his friends. 

 

So it went on like this throughout my schooling. The only "friends" I made wanted one thing - protection from bullies. I tried to stay out of it. I'm a player by nature, not a referee. I was glad to see the back of elementary and middle school and get into high school, where I could actually play football.

 

And so the first day of Grade 9, I sought out the Phys-Ed teacher and asked about the football team. He couldn't really believe I was only in Grade 9. I looked 18. He took me by the shoulder into his office and walked me through some of his playbooks. He didn't even know I could run yet, but he had this unfounded faith in what I could be on the football team. I remember him asking me a few football questions and nodding along to my answers. He wanted me on the field the next week - 2 weeks before tryouts even started. He wanted to run an individualized combine for me. And so it was. 

 

I hate writing about the "heroics" of the story. So suffice to say that I crushed every challenge that he put in front of me - the sprint, the vertical jump, the agility ladder, the dummy push, absolutely everything. He told me to meet him in his classroom after school the next day. Upon my arrival, he hit play on the old fashioned TV and asked me to explain what the offense was doing. I remember it was an NFL game - a playoff game, the Pats versus the Giants. I explained the play the Giants were making and why it was always going to fail. He should me other clips he compiled, I just explained what the team was doing wrong, if anything. The coach practically bounced up and down with excited. He said he had found his new Football Captain. (I should point out that my brother did not go to High School at that point and was making his way to the NFL - that's another parallel story)

 

Before I was in Grade 11, I was scouted and offered a position in a semi-professional team for 2 seasons, until I could declare for the NFL. I played, I won awards and trophies, I dominated. 2 years after that I was drafted to the Miami Dolphins. It was a dream come true. I could support my Grandmother, and finally, my brothers couldn't stop me from playing football with him. He was in New York and I in Miami. Things were finally looking up. 

 

But then, the next year, 5 seasons after him playing in the league, my Brother committed suicide. He jumped off a fucking bridge. I know what caused him to do it - it was all the concussions and the lack of medical attention he got. It crushed me. Every time I stepped on the field, I was thinking about it in the aftermath. I was distracted... and I forgot to look up. I got creamed. I knew something was irreparably broken, but I'm no quitter. I soldiered on. I channeled my frustrated and rage at my brother's death, and rocketed into an opposing player. To this day, he's never played again. As soon as it happened, I knew my life in football was over. My body wouldn't allow me to take the punishment football players receive. I didn't want to hurt another player - end his career and livelihood. I couldn't do it. So I retired and took care of myself. 

 

 

This is where Phil Knight enters the story. Mr. Knight called my agent and set up a meeting to come visit me in my Grandmother's home. I didn't even know about. I would have been thrown into a rage, but Mr. Knight had a very calming, reassuring presence and I did not feel accosted at all. He told me he knew of my struggles and my abrupt end to my career. He asked if I knew what was next, knowing already that I had nothing. He asked me if I knew how to skate, or ever have played hockey. I had not. He asked if I would consider it.

 

How it happened, I am not sure. He fully managed to convince me that I am best suited not for football but actually for hockey. Sports are very transferable, he had said. Something about Sports IQ. He had told me that hockey is relatively safe, especially the VHL - where no one has ever missed a game due to injury - and that I am best suited for the sport.

 

So I worked with his team - Phil Gerrard flew in from London to coach me on the basics, Phil Rafter came over to work on my skills with the stick, Phil Hamilton swung by to teach me about defensive coverage and play. It was incredible. I felt motivated for the first time in a long while. My grandmother smiled for the first time in a while.

 

Them I declared for the VHLm, when Mr. Knight said I was ready. I'd be older than everyone, but also much bigger. I was picked up by the Hounds, then drafted 4th overall by Houston and subsequently traded back to the Hounds. I played 83 games and got 85 points, with 171 hits and 134 blocked shots. I am told that was great. Calgary drafted me 3rd overall in Season 85 draft and it's been my home. I love it here. My grandmother loves it here. 

 

I still think of my brother every time I step out onto the ice. But I know he's at peace and that brings me peace. There's a lot that's wrong about football and I will fight for better healthcare for the player, but for now, I am focused on the VHL. It's funny to think that I could have been completely lost. Really, the moral of the story is that you only need one or two people to believe in you to fully motivate you. For me, it was Mr. Knight and my grandmother... and I love them both for it. 

 

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