Our History Will Be What We Make Of It
Chapter Six
January 23, 2014
Losing Semin last season left a hole in the Caps roster that Montana had found herself filling from time to time but usually taken over by Mike Ribeiro. Ribsy is on an extended injury leave, though, when the Caps make a ridiculous deal with the ‘Nucks, trading their second and third round draft picks for 2015 for fucking Alexandre Burrows.
The first week the guy is there he makes enough disparaging comments about Montana, usually in relation to her on and off ice activities with Lapierre, that he finds himself the unfortunate victim of a series of pranks she had nothing to do with.
The first involves the replacement of all of his clothing on the road with articles that are almost identical but are actually women’s. She’s trying to drag herself into full awareness on the morning of an away game in Montreal when Burrows appears in the doorway of the dining room, looking restricted.
It’s Beagle and Alzie giggling that gives away the goat and draw her attention to the extremely irate French Canadian currently glaring daggers at her. She takes in the tailored pants, actually quite flattering on his ass, and the black silk shirt. He looks ridiculous.
He lets out a string of French curses that make her ears burn. No one else seems to care because the guys are howling with laughter. He glares at the rest of the team too before turning and almost waddling away which just makes the guys laugh more.
The second prank is tame by most standards and certainly for some of the shit she knows teams get up to. No one knows, though, that Burrows is allergic to anise. The few drops someone had added to his water bottle had set off a reaction that had sent Burrows to the hospital (he was fine in the end, really) and put him out of commission for three days. Oates bag skates her for it, not believing that she had nothing to do with it.
When Burrows rejoins them during their circus trip across the West coast, he ramps up his mockery of her, giving her more shit and generally making everything so severely unpleasant that she thinks she’s back in Detroit, circa 2011, having silent fights with Helm all the time.
It comes to a head in Vancouver when someone has the brilliant idea to replace all of his Caps gear with his old stuff from the ‘Nucks. Montana walks into a dressing room that’s about to be a no-holes-barred fist fight between Hendy and Burrows. Burrows’s voice is breaking when he yells, something about never being accepted and Hendy yelling back about not acting like a teammate.
What startles her, really, is how sad and upset Burrows looks when he turns his accusing stare her way. “Tabarnak! T’est une viarge, une pute a cinq cennes. C'est tout ton défaut.” He stalks over to her, one finger pointing accusingly and the other hand still gripping his old jersey. Montana backs up, all the way into the hall, both hands held in front of her.
“Alex!” Burrows pulls up short when Ryan yells at him. Montana turns and sighs in relief because Ryan is right there, Bieksa, Lappy, and Mason at his back. Burrows deflates visibly when he catches sight of them. Montana hedges towards Ryan as Lapierre pulls Burrows away.
“What the fuck is going on, Montana?”
She sighs and rubs absently at her forehead. “I don’t know why, but Burrows has been a complete dick to me, ever since he got traded. The guys have been giving him shit, pranking him all the time. Tonight, well-“ she gestures over at the two French Canadians. Burrows is waving the jersey around violently while Lappy tries to calm him down.
She can’t hear what Lappy says but Burrows settles almost instantly, as soon as he’s got the jersey away. Ryan sighs next to her, crossing his arms. “He really didn’t want to get traded. He’d been here so long . . . totally unexpected.”
Montana can understand that, she really can. “But why’d he take that out on me? I never even had a conversation with that guy before he was sent to us.”
They watch as Burrows hugs Lappy, tight. “When word came down that he was getting shipped off, the rumor was that you weren’t satisfied with the way the second line was producing; that you weren’t getting enough chances. Supposedly you got Bur traded because you liked his style.”
Montana’s jaw drops and she stares at Ryan for a good long while. How could anyone believe that she’d have that kind of sway? And furthermore, why the fuck would she be concerned about points totals? As long as her team is winning, as long as they’re playing well, she’s happy. Ryan would know this. “That’s all bull shit. All of it. I had nothing to do with the trade. I don’t even hang out with the forwards that much. Why would- you know what, never mind.”
She turns on her heel and stalks back to the dressing room. The rest of the guys have been staring out through the door, waiting for the whole thing to blow up and they look a little disappointed when she returns. “All right dick bags. Leave the asshole alone. For serious.” She appreciates the effort, but for the love of all that’s holy this whole mess needs to go away.
“If we’re gonna win, again, we need to keep our heads in this. All our heads. Especially the one that’s been trying to center the second line for the last three weeks. We’re a fucking team, ass holes. And what do teams do? They support their teammates, even if those teammates are slightly misinformed and acting a fool. Is that clear?”
The guys are quiet but she sees the D-line nodding. Mikey gives her a reassuring smile. Ovie looks rather determined when he meets his eye. She doesn’t usually speak up like this in the locker room.
Burrows returns as she’s taping up her socks. He stops in front of her and she looks up at him. He’s clutching the jersey again and before he can open his mouth she rips it out of his hand and throws it behind her. “You don’t need that anymore.” She tries to sound kind and helpful. She thinks she sounds a little sour but he gives her a small smile.
“I am sorry.” She gives him a nod and then holds out her fist. It takes him a long moment but he bumps her fist back.
Late May to Early June, 2014
Game One against the Blackhawks. Game One of the Finals.
This is either the greatest test of Montana’s resolve or the beginning of her dissolution. She isn’t sure which. The strangest thing, she thinks, is that she can’t even call Kaner to bitch about how weird this is because all three of them, her and him and Jonny, had agreed to radio silence during the series.
They’re playing the first two games in Chicago, DC’s record only marginally landing them in the playoffs at all. She shifts during the national anthem and she feels like she’s about to crawl out of her skin. The Caps have only played the Hawks twice with her on the team. She’d missed both of them because of injury.
Beside her, Mikey bumps her shoulder and mutters, “No fear, Sneak. We’re gonna roll this.” She snorts softly and shakes her head.
They don’t roll anything. They drop the first two games and head back to DC with their heads hanging, the unfortunate recipients of a 7 to 1 loss and a fucking 1 to 0 shutout that had left Ovie visibly quaking with anger. Game three picks up, as does four but they’re down 3 to 2 in the series when they come back to DC for the last time for Game Six.
In a game where Montana produces eight points, she finally figures out that she can let this whole thing with Helmer defeat her or she can win another fucking Stanley Cup.
She thinks her whole team is relieved when she chooses to win. Montana always chooses to win.
It’s no one’s fault really. Keith hits her at a really strange angle; not even hard enough to knock her down. It twists something, though, in her right knee. She hears a terrifying pop and the pain that explodes makes her want to cry. She doesn’t cry, even as she looks at the jumbo-tron, sees the score and the time.
Game Seven in Chicago. Hawks up 4-2 with less than 15 in the 3rd. They get her doped up quick and her head is lolling around when someone comes to fetch her for the last minute of play. She blinks in confusion when she sees all the fans out of their seats, everyone screaming for murder and the scoreboard reads Caps up, 4-5.
And then it’s over. Time runs out and the Capitals win. Again. The drugs make her feel really slow to react but Alzie and Nicky carry her out to the pile on the ice, throwing her at Mikey who holds her up and hugs her so fucking tight.
They did it. THEY DID IT AGAIN.
They put her in a wheelchair for the handshake line. She gives some opiate induced shit to every guy she really knows on the Hawks. Jonny can’t smile about this, yet, but he hugs her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Kaner can smile and he almost picks her up out of the chair. He promises that she gets three days off her feet before he comes to DC and gets her ‘drunk as fuck’. Helmer holds her hand for an extended amount of time and looks her right in the eyes. She mouths ‘I’m sorry’. His shoulders relax when he says, “I’m sorry, too.”
When Mikey skates over to hand her the Cup, once more, she gets to her feet shakily. She’s in sandals, and track pants but Mikey knows what she wants. She hoists it and screams because this is the best thing she’s ever going to do, balanced precariously on one leg while Mikey holds her upright from behind. She can’t circle the rink, but she can do this.
She bursts into tears when her team, the whole team, replaces Mikey. She’s lifted to their shoulders and skated around the ice, cradling the Cup in her lap but able to make a lap.
It is the only time Montana has cried on the ice in her entire career. It feels like a fitting ending as any, she thinks.
*.*.*
July 10, 2014
Sneaky, Cunning, or Pretty: She Just Rocked
My interview with the player known as ‘The Great Defector’ to Detroit fans, ‘Sneaky’ to those blessed enough to see her play in Washington, and as ‘Pretty’ to her friends in the League starts like most do. We meet up on neutral ground, a coffee shop not far from her DC apartment.
She’s still on crutches, only a few weeks off her latest knee surgery, but she’s in good spirits as she pushes through the doors. She’s glowing from the off-season, happy with her second consecutive Stanley Cup win. She doesn’t have any of the bluster or grandeur that she’s known for on ice.
Instead she orders a latte and relaxes in an easy chair. She could be anyone, really. A student, a fresh-faced office worker; perhaps even a young mother given a free afternoon while the husband takes care of the kids. Anyone who’s been paying attention to hockey at all in the last five years knows better though.
From a rags-to-riches start with the now defunct IHL in Michigan, playing for the Port Huron IceHawks for only thirty four games, Montana Cunning appeared out of nowhere, breaking the sex barrier in professional hockey with an astounding record. She led her team in assists during just half a season and set league records for plus/minus with a +74. Her career was almost cut short after the IceHawks folded in 2009, but Cunning was destined for greater things.
“I have a lot of guardian angels,” she quips over her drink. “First Darren McCarty and Kris Draper, picking me up after the Great Lakes Invitational [where she played for the Michigan Tech team and took home second place]. Not only did they get me a try-out of sorts with the IceHawks but they also got me into a couple of practices with the Wings.”
The decision by GM Ken Holland and Wings’ owner Mike Illitch shocked the sport. There were a lot of really uncomfortable questions that many weren’t ready to answer about the suitability of women on and off the ice. While Cunning had made a splash in Collegiate and the Minors, how could that possibly translate into the highest level of play?
“The early days were rough. There was almost always one guy on every team that had it out for me while I was playing. The first month I played with the Wings our PIM jumped, almost tripled. It was crazy. It evened out though; it had to. The League said it was cool for me to play. Those guys had to deal with it or deal with the League.”
Questions about off ice issues give Cunning pause. She takes her time answering, clearly deep in memory. “I never had my own dressing room. I usually changed into my base layer in a bathroom stall; took showers after everyone else. It worked out really well and my teammates didn’t have to change their habits at all.”
She laughs at that one but doesn’t elaborate. With a smile and a quirk of her lips, she toasts the memory and it’s easy to see why she’s gotten on so well with her co-workers. “The worst part, I think, was the fans. There were people who’d call me all sorts of terrible things. W---re was about the worst, which I never really care too much for. It was rough in Michigan, for a while, after I signed in DC.”
She may have her detractors but she’s certainly got a solid and vocal following. A Google search of her name finds page after page of devotional praise from men and women. She likes the letters she gets from young girls the most. “I get a dozen letters a week, telling me that this girl or that is finally playing with the boys.” Her grin is infectious. “I certainly never meant to reorder the hockey world when I got into the minors but it makes me happy that there’re now four women playing at that level. There’s rumors that Crosby’s little sister is going to be drafted next year. Oh man, how crazy would that be? Little Crosby backing up Fleury. Just awesome.”
Since she brought it up, I ask her about the rumors that she’s starting an NHL dynasty with Crosby. She laughs again. “Crosby is really an exemplary player. He’s at the top of his game and it was excellent to play against him. But, really, he’s way too nice for me. Most hockey players are, actually.”
I ask her about other rumors. Jonathan Toews, Blackhawk Captain and longtime friend. Denied. Kris Letang, All-Star game. She shakes her head and mentions that Letang’s wife has just given birth to a boy they named Maxim. Patrick Kane, also longtime friend and cohort back in the pee wee leagues. She giggles and shakes her head even harder. Mike Green. Defense partner for two seasons. “Look, Mikey and I are closer than I am with some of my relatives. He is like a brother to me. All of my teammates have been like brothers to me. I’ve never, ever had a relationship with a member of my team.” She’s emphatic.
Her on-ice record is exemplary for someone with her experience and her age but her off-ice record has landed her on Dead Spin more than any other NHL player. Pictures appeared a few years ago, allegedly showing her and former teammate Patrick Eaves, married, in a bed, in the nude. There are also convincing snap shots of her and Penguins’ defenseman Kris Letang enjoying a heated kiss at the All-Star game in 2011. She laughs at a lot of these pictures, she says. “There’s an entire series where it’s supposed to be New Years’ and I’m doing body shots off another girl down in Orlando. Mike (Green) has those framed, hanging over a picture of the two of us right after the first cup win, when he kissed me on-ice.”
“The problem [is] that I’ve never been to Orlando. Most of the pictures of me on Dead Spin aren’t real. Bad photoshop jobs or just plain old look-alikes. I’ve got a lot of tattoos that only a very select group of people have seen that never show up in those photos.”
I point at the ‘52’ she’s got inked on her arm and ask her about that one. Her hand comes up to run over the skin and she grins. “Way more than this old thing. This is one of my favorites, though. I think Mike’s is nicer but it’s good times.” There are two dates with the ‘52’, both times she’s won the Cup.
She frowns when I ask her about going back to Detroit to win a Cup with them. “It would have been the greatest honor, to bring that back to Hockey Town. My greatest regret, actually, will be that I’ll never have the chance to take a trip down Woodward as a member of a winning Wings team but I can’t ever regret the time and opportunity I had with DC. Those guys deserved the Cup, both this year and last. I think they’d have won if I was there or not.”
For that, this author has to laugh. Although their seven game series against Chicago this year had been filled with tension and some poor gameplay during the early games, Cunning took home the MVP award after leading her team through three straight sweeps. She also took home the Ted Lindsay and the Norris at the NHL awards in Vegas last month. She’s humble though, when I point this out. “I had a good team.”
She shifts uncomfortably late in the interview and I get the feeling that she’s still got residual soreness from her latest round under the knife. “This is my third ACL replacement. It’ll have to be my last too. My doctor refuses to replace the whole knee, at my age, so I need to take care of what I’ve got left going on. That’s why I’m retiring.”
You heard it folks. The enigmatic #23 of the Wings and the Caps, the woman who made hockey history, is hanging up her skates at the tender age of 28.
“I’ve had a really good run. I’ve played for two of the best teams in the NHL. I’ve got two Cup rings. I’ve made so many friends. It’s time to think about myself, for now, and the future.”
And what does the future hold for Montana Cunning?
“I’ve always wanted to travel. I’ve been all over the continent but I’ve never been overseas. I think it’s time to fix that.”
As soon as she can walk again, of course.
She lets me ask one more question before she has to head to a physical therapy session. She’s been known as Pretty from her very early beginnings with Honeybaked in Detroit. She laughs and grins. “The first team of guys I played with, ever, was in Detroit. Our first year together the TV show Firefly came out and there’s a line in one of the last episodes where a character, a man they called Jayne-“ she effects a western accent. “Jayne got a hat from his momma and when he put it on he said, ‘Pretty cunning, don’t you think?’ and ever since then, I’ve been Pretty. I’ve even got that hat tattooed on my ribs.”
And that’s all she’s got time for. She pays for our coffee, claiming that the residual politeness of her Canadian friends has rubbed off on her, and disappears into the hot afternoon. Montana Cunning might be done with professional play but this writer believes she’ll be back, someway and somehow. Nothing will ever slow this woman down.
Losing Semin last season left a hole in the Caps roster that Montana had found herself filling from time to time but usually taken over by Mike Ribeiro. Ribsy is on an extended injury leave, though, when the Caps make a ridiculous deal with the ‘Nucks, trading their second and third round draft picks for 2015 for fucking Alexandre Burrows.
The first week the guy is there he makes enough disparaging comments about Montana, usually in relation to her on and off ice activities with Lapierre, that he finds himself the unfortunate victim of a series of pranks she had nothing to do with.
The first involves the replacement of all of his clothing on the road with articles that are almost identical but are actually women’s. She’s trying to drag herself into full awareness on the morning of an away game in Montreal when Burrows appears in the doorway of the dining room, looking restricted.
It’s Beagle and Alzie giggling that gives away the goat and draw her attention to the extremely irate French Canadian currently glaring daggers at her. She takes in the tailored pants, actually quite flattering on his ass, and the black silk shirt. He looks ridiculous.
He lets out a string of French curses that make her ears burn. No one else seems to care because the guys are howling with laughter. He glares at the rest of the team too before turning and almost waddling away which just makes the guys laugh more.
The second prank is tame by most standards and certainly for some of the shit she knows teams get up to. No one knows, though, that Burrows is allergic to anise. The few drops someone had added to his water bottle had set off a reaction that had sent Burrows to the hospital (he was fine in the end, really) and put him out of commission for three days. Oates bag skates her for it, not believing that she had nothing to do with it.
When Burrows rejoins them during their circus trip across the West coast, he ramps up his mockery of her, giving her more shit and generally making everything so severely unpleasant that she thinks she’s back in Detroit, circa 2011, having silent fights with Helm all the time.
It comes to a head in Vancouver when someone has the brilliant idea to replace all of his Caps gear with his old stuff from the ‘Nucks. Montana walks into a dressing room that’s about to be a no-holes-barred fist fight between Hendy and Burrows. Burrows’s voice is breaking when he yells, something about never being accepted and Hendy yelling back about not acting like a teammate.
What startles her, really, is how sad and upset Burrows looks when he turns his accusing stare her way. “Tabarnak! T’est une viarge, une pute a cinq cennes. C'est tout ton défaut.” He stalks over to her, one finger pointing accusingly and the other hand still gripping his old jersey. Montana backs up, all the way into the hall, both hands held in front of her.
“Alex!” Burrows pulls up short when Ryan yells at him. Montana turns and sighs in relief because Ryan is right there, Bieksa, Lappy, and Mason at his back. Burrows deflates visibly when he catches sight of them. Montana hedges towards Ryan as Lapierre pulls Burrows away.
“What the fuck is going on, Montana?”
She sighs and rubs absently at her forehead. “I don’t know why, but Burrows has been a complete dick to me, ever since he got traded. The guys have been giving him shit, pranking him all the time. Tonight, well-“ she gestures over at the two French Canadians. Burrows is waving the jersey around violently while Lappy tries to calm him down.
She can’t hear what Lappy says but Burrows settles almost instantly, as soon as he’s got the jersey away. Ryan sighs next to her, crossing his arms. “He really didn’t want to get traded. He’d been here so long . . . totally unexpected.”
Montana can understand that, she really can. “But why’d he take that out on me? I never even had a conversation with that guy before he was sent to us.”
They watch as Burrows hugs Lappy, tight. “When word came down that he was getting shipped off, the rumor was that you weren’t satisfied with the way the second line was producing; that you weren’t getting enough chances. Supposedly you got Bur traded because you liked his style.”
Montana’s jaw drops and she stares at Ryan for a good long while. How could anyone believe that she’d have that kind of sway? And furthermore, why the fuck would she be concerned about points totals? As long as her team is winning, as long as they’re playing well, she’s happy. Ryan would know this. “That’s all bull shit. All of it. I had nothing to do with the trade. I don’t even hang out with the forwards that much. Why would- you know what, never mind.”
She turns on her heel and stalks back to the dressing room. The rest of the guys have been staring out through the door, waiting for the whole thing to blow up and they look a little disappointed when she returns. “All right dick bags. Leave the asshole alone. For serious.” She appreciates the effort, but for the love of all that’s holy this whole mess needs to go away.
“If we’re gonna win, again, we need to keep our heads in this. All our heads. Especially the one that’s been trying to center the second line for the last three weeks. We’re a fucking team, ass holes. And what do teams do? They support their teammates, even if those teammates are slightly misinformed and acting a fool. Is that clear?”
The guys are quiet but she sees the D-line nodding. Mikey gives her a reassuring smile. Ovie looks rather determined when he meets his eye. She doesn’t usually speak up like this in the locker room.
Burrows returns as she’s taping up her socks. He stops in front of her and she looks up at him. He’s clutching the jersey again and before he can open his mouth she rips it out of his hand and throws it behind her. “You don’t need that anymore.” She tries to sound kind and helpful. She thinks she sounds a little sour but he gives her a small smile.
“I am sorry.” She gives him a nod and then holds out her fist. It takes him a long moment but he bumps her fist back.
Late May to Early June, 2014
Game One against the Blackhawks. Game One of the Finals.
This is either the greatest test of Montana’s resolve or the beginning of her dissolution. She isn’t sure which. The strangest thing, she thinks, is that she can’t even call Kaner to bitch about how weird this is because all three of them, her and him and Jonny, had agreed to radio silence during the series.
They’re playing the first two games in Chicago, DC’s record only marginally landing them in the playoffs at all. She shifts during the national anthem and she feels like she’s about to crawl out of her skin. The Caps have only played the Hawks twice with her on the team. She’d missed both of them because of injury.
Beside her, Mikey bumps her shoulder and mutters, “No fear, Sneak. We’re gonna roll this.” She snorts softly and shakes her head.
They don’t roll anything. They drop the first two games and head back to DC with their heads hanging, the unfortunate recipients of a 7 to 1 loss and a fucking 1 to 0 shutout that had left Ovie visibly quaking with anger. Game three picks up, as does four but they’re down 3 to 2 in the series when they come back to DC for the last time for Game Six.
In a game where Montana produces eight points, she finally figures out that she can let this whole thing with Helmer defeat her or she can win another fucking Stanley Cup.
She thinks her whole team is relieved when she chooses to win. Montana always chooses to win.
It’s no one’s fault really. Keith hits her at a really strange angle; not even hard enough to knock her down. It twists something, though, in her right knee. She hears a terrifying pop and the pain that explodes makes her want to cry. She doesn’t cry, even as she looks at the jumbo-tron, sees the score and the time.
Game Seven in Chicago. Hawks up 4-2 with less than 15 in the 3rd. They get her doped up quick and her head is lolling around when someone comes to fetch her for the last minute of play. She blinks in confusion when she sees all the fans out of their seats, everyone screaming for murder and the scoreboard reads Caps up, 4-5.
And then it’s over. Time runs out and the Capitals win. Again. The drugs make her feel really slow to react but Alzie and Nicky carry her out to the pile on the ice, throwing her at Mikey who holds her up and hugs her so fucking tight.
They did it. THEY DID IT AGAIN.
They put her in a wheelchair for the handshake line. She gives some opiate induced shit to every guy she really knows on the Hawks. Jonny can’t smile about this, yet, but he hugs her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Kaner can smile and he almost picks her up out of the chair. He promises that she gets three days off her feet before he comes to DC and gets her ‘drunk as fuck’. Helmer holds her hand for an extended amount of time and looks her right in the eyes. She mouths ‘I’m sorry’. His shoulders relax when he says, “I’m sorry, too.”
When Mikey skates over to hand her the Cup, once more, she gets to her feet shakily. She’s in sandals, and track pants but Mikey knows what she wants. She hoists it and screams because this is the best thing she’s ever going to do, balanced precariously on one leg while Mikey holds her upright from behind. She can’t circle the rink, but she can do this.
She bursts into tears when her team, the whole team, replaces Mikey. She’s lifted to their shoulders and skated around the ice, cradling the Cup in her lap but able to make a lap.
It is the only time Montana has cried on the ice in her entire career. It feels like a fitting ending as any, she thinks.
*.*.*
July 10, 2014
Sneaky, Cunning, or Pretty: She Just Rocked
My interview with the player known as ‘The Great Defector’ to Detroit fans, ‘Sneaky’ to those blessed enough to see her play in Washington, and as ‘Pretty’ to her friends in the League starts like most do. We meet up on neutral ground, a coffee shop not far from her DC apartment.
She’s still on crutches, only a few weeks off her latest knee surgery, but she’s in good spirits as she pushes through the doors. She’s glowing from the off-season, happy with her second consecutive Stanley Cup win. She doesn’t have any of the bluster or grandeur that she’s known for on ice.
Instead she orders a latte and relaxes in an easy chair. She could be anyone, really. A student, a fresh-faced office worker; perhaps even a young mother given a free afternoon while the husband takes care of the kids. Anyone who’s been paying attention to hockey at all in the last five years knows better though.
From a rags-to-riches start with the now defunct IHL in Michigan, playing for the Port Huron IceHawks for only thirty four games, Montana Cunning appeared out of nowhere, breaking the sex barrier in professional hockey with an astounding record. She led her team in assists during just half a season and set league records for plus/minus with a +74. Her career was almost cut short after the IceHawks folded in 2009, but Cunning was destined for greater things.
“I have a lot of guardian angels,” she quips over her drink. “First Darren McCarty and Kris Draper, picking me up after the Great Lakes Invitational [where she played for the Michigan Tech team and took home second place]. Not only did they get me a try-out of sorts with the IceHawks but they also got me into a couple of practices with the Wings.”
The decision by GM Ken Holland and Wings’ owner Mike Illitch shocked the sport. There were a lot of really uncomfortable questions that many weren’t ready to answer about the suitability of women on and off the ice. While Cunning had made a splash in Collegiate and the Minors, how could that possibly translate into the highest level of play?
“The early days were rough. There was almost always one guy on every team that had it out for me while I was playing. The first month I played with the Wings our PIM jumped, almost tripled. It was crazy. It evened out though; it had to. The League said it was cool for me to play. Those guys had to deal with it or deal with the League.”
Questions about off ice issues give Cunning pause. She takes her time answering, clearly deep in memory. “I never had my own dressing room. I usually changed into my base layer in a bathroom stall; took showers after everyone else. It worked out really well and my teammates didn’t have to change their habits at all.”
She laughs at that one but doesn’t elaborate. With a smile and a quirk of her lips, she toasts the memory and it’s easy to see why she’s gotten on so well with her co-workers. “The worst part, I think, was the fans. There were people who’d call me all sorts of terrible things. W---re was about the worst, which I never really care too much for. It was rough in Michigan, for a while, after I signed in DC.”
She may have her detractors but she’s certainly got a solid and vocal following. A Google search of her name finds page after page of devotional praise from men and women. She likes the letters she gets from young girls the most. “I get a dozen letters a week, telling me that this girl or that is finally playing with the boys.” Her grin is infectious. “I certainly never meant to reorder the hockey world when I got into the minors but it makes me happy that there’re now four women playing at that level. There’s rumors that Crosby’s little sister is going to be drafted next year. Oh man, how crazy would that be? Little Crosby backing up Fleury. Just awesome.”
Since she brought it up, I ask her about the rumors that she’s starting an NHL dynasty with Crosby. She laughs again. “Crosby is really an exemplary player. He’s at the top of his game and it was excellent to play against him. But, really, he’s way too nice for me. Most hockey players are, actually.”
I ask her about other rumors. Jonathan Toews, Blackhawk Captain and longtime friend. Denied. Kris Letang, All-Star game. She shakes her head and mentions that Letang’s wife has just given birth to a boy they named Maxim. Patrick Kane, also longtime friend and cohort back in the pee wee leagues. She giggles and shakes her head even harder. Mike Green. Defense partner for two seasons. “Look, Mikey and I are closer than I am with some of my relatives. He is like a brother to me. All of my teammates have been like brothers to me. I’ve never, ever had a relationship with a member of my team.” She’s emphatic.
Her on-ice record is exemplary for someone with her experience and her age but her off-ice record has landed her on Dead Spin more than any other NHL player. Pictures appeared a few years ago, allegedly showing her and former teammate Patrick Eaves, married, in a bed, in the nude. There are also convincing snap shots of her and Penguins’ defenseman Kris Letang enjoying a heated kiss at the All-Star game in 2011. She laughs at a lot of these pictures, she says. “There’s an entire series where it’s supposed to be New Years’ and I’m doing body shots off another girl down in Orlando. Mike (Green) has those framed, hanging over a picture of the two of us right after the first cup win, when he kissed me on-ice.”
“The problem [is] that I’ve never been to Orlando. Most of the pictures of me on Dead Spin aren’t real. Bad photoshop jobs or just plain old look-alikes. I’ve got a lot of tattoos that only a very select group of people have seen that never show up in those photos.”
I point at the ‘52’ she’s got inked on her arm and ask her about that one. Her hand comes up to run over the skin and she grins. “Way more than this old thing. This is one of my favorites, though. I think Mike’s is nicer but it’s good times.” There are two dates with the ‘52’, both times she’s won the Cup.
She frowns when I ask her about going back to Detroit to win a Cup with them. “It would have been the greatest honor, to bring that back to Hockey Town. My greatest regret, actually, will be that I’ll never have the chance to take a trip down Woodward as a member of a winning Wings team but I can’t ever regret the time and opportunity I had with DC. Those guys deserved the Cup, both this year and last. I think they’d have won if I was there or not.”
For that, this author has to laugh. Although their seven game series against Chicago this year had been filled with tension and some poor gameplay during the early games, Cunning took home the MVP award after leading her team through three straight sweeps. She also took home the Ted Lindsay and the Norris at the NHL awards in Vegas last month. She’s humble though, when I point this out. “I had a good team.”
She shifts uncomfortably late in the interview and I get the feeling that she’s still got residual soreness from her latest round under the knife. “This is my third ACL replacement. It’ll have to be my last too. My doctor refuses to replace the whole knee, at my age, so I need to take care of what I’ve got left going on. That’s why I’m retiring.”
You heard it folks. The enigmatic #23 of the Wings and the Caps, the woman who made hockey history, is hanging up her skates at the tender age of 28.
“I’ve had a really good run. I’ve played for two of the best teams in the NHL. I’ve got two Cup rings. I’ve made so many friends. It’s time to think about myself, for now, and the future.”
And what does the future hold for Montana Cunning?
“I’ve always wanted to travel. I’ve been all over the continent but I’ve never been overseas. I think it’s time to fix that.”
As soon as she can walk again, of course.
She lets me ask one more question before she has to head to a physical therapy session. She’s been known as Pretty from her very early beginnings with Honeybaked in Detroit. She laughs and grins. “The first team of guys I played with, ever, was in Detroit. Our first year together the TV show Firefly came out and there’s a line in one of the last episodes where a character, a man they called Jayne-“ she effects a western accent. “Jayne got a hat from his momma and when he put it on he said, ‘Pretty cunning, don’t you think?’ and ever since then, I’ve been Pretty. I’ve even got that hat tattooed on my ribs.”
And that’s all she’s got time for. She pays for our coffee, claiming that the residual politeness of her Canadian friends has rubbed off on her, and disappears into the hot afternoon. Montana Cunning might be done with professional play but this writer believes she’ll be back, someway and somehow. Nothing will ever slow this woman down.
Notes
And that's that. True story, all of the hockey related playing stuff occured during gameplay of NHL 13 including trades. I have no idea why Helmer would end up with the Hawks, or Burrows with the Caps. But, whatever.I would also like to reiterate that this isn't real. And it's looking pretty unlikely that the Caps are even making the playoffs this year.
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2/9/13