By Donnovan Bennett - Sportsnet TV Personality
Follow Donnovan on Twitter: @donnovanbennett
I remember it vividly. I was a senior in high school and I got a call from a 519 area code. Since it was long before the days of call display I remember questioning whether I should pick it up or let it go to voicemail. On the other end was a man with a twang in his voice that I’d never heard before and couldn’t pinpoint geographically. That’s because it was a former Prairie boy calling from London, Ontario.
On the other end was the leader of the Western Mustangs, Larry Haylor. Neither of us knew at the time that the man calling me was a future Canadian football hall-of-famer and this was the first of many life altering conversations I’d have with him. This Saturday the conversation rightfully turns to honour him along with fellow CIS stalwart Neil Lumsden, and CFL standouts Wally Buono, Charles Roberts, Ben Cahoon, Uzooma Okeke, and Maurice Racine.
Western was relatively late in the recruiting process as I had only received an aggressive push from them after I was OFSAA bowl co-MVP with my St. Andrew’s teammate, Michael Faulds. Because of that, I was jaded and wasn’t initially buying what Haylor was selling. He seemed too smooth, almost like a used car salesman. Could anybody truly be that rosy or unflappable? I eventually got over my skepticism and added Western to the list of schools I’d consider because it checked all my proverbial boxes and just so happened to have a coach that seemed like a politician. It was, however, my relationship with that coach that swung the pendulum in Western’s favour.
Other coaches talked about denigrating Western. All Haylor did was speak to what his program offered. Playing defence against the competition wasn’t part of his spiel, critics weren’t on his radar and talking about what other schools were lacking wasn’t part of what he did. All of that was why it was hard to tell Haylor that although Western was my top choice in the CIS, I was taking my talents south to the NCAA. He was cordial and congratulatory. He vowed to keep in touch and wished me well. Less than a year later it was my 416 number calling him, telling him I was ready to come back to Canada, and this time no recruitment was needed.
Now if that sounds like normal behaviour for a coach who has lost a teenaged recruit, I can assure you it isn’t. Recruiting is a highly competitive marketplace and Haylor was self assured enough not to take it personally. A coach I won’t name once refused to shake my hand post-game the first time I played his school after not committing. I soon learned this was typical behaviour for him – treating all players who didn’t commit to his program the same way.
Though it may seem like I worship Haylor, it wasn’t always smooth sailing. He was an incredibly hard man to play for. He was demanding and confrontational. He was a perfectionist and unrelenting. He would bark in your face, smack you on the butt. Simply put, playing for him is not for everyone. You have to be a certain breed, but if you are, you will come out the other end, tougher and more durable.
Early in my tenure as a Mustang I found myself in his office often, asking him in great detail what I needed to do to get higher on the depth chart. I didn’t always get the answer I wanted and I didn’t always agree with his methodology, but I always respected him because winning was his chief priority. No hidden agenda, no ambiguity. His loyalty was to the scoreboard alone.
That’s not to say he put his morals on pause to field the best possible team he could. Disciplinary actions were dealt with swiftly. During his tenure, there were very few legal or ethical transgressions. No cheating or testing scandals. No academic fraud. In comparison to the void of leadership we’ve seen in the press of late, his ability to steward players from all different backgrounds into productive citizens in the greater community without compromising his team’s competitiveness might be his greatest accomplishment.
There are so many fond memories I have of playing for the man my
class affectionately dubbed “L-Doggie”. The moniker was
clearly ironic. Haylor was not a hip-hop man.
I think of his hand written ready sheets and cursive penmanship,
his lambasting of sideline officials, the Gatorade dunk we gave him
when he became the all-time winningest coach in 2006, the liquid
messing up his hair just in time for the photo-ops.
Despite being a bitter rival,
Haylor was revered by his peers. At East West Bowls, there was
always a flock of other coaches around him, soaking up his football
knowledge. During his final season, his tour of the league rivalled
Derek Jeter’s. The tour de force of appreciation may have
been respect or it may have been the appreciation that they’d
know longer have to play against him. Likely both.
Later that same year, after Haylor’s last ever game - a semi-final loss to Laurier, Duane Forde interviewed him on The Score and was nearly brought to tears on air. This from a man I didn’t even know had tear ducts. That’s how the toughest of men feel about the toughest of coaches. It’s moments like that which truly illustrate what Haylor meant to his players.
It’s not the film sessions or the on field instruction that sticks with me. Not the relaying of his play calls with which often changed three times before I reached the huddle. It’s his habit, his character and two quotes in particular.
The first quote he loved to put on our game-day itinerary and recite by memory in his final address to the team Friday night after walk-through.
“It's not the critic who counts. It's not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled. Credit belongs to the man who really was in the arena, his face marred by dust, sweat, and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs to come short and short again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming. It is the man who actually strives to do the deeds, who knows the great enthusiasm and knows the great devotion, who spends himself on a worthy cause, who at best, knows in the end the triumph of great achievement. And, who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and cruel souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”
Nothing like Theodore Roosevelt to get you fired up for a football game. I doubt it made an impact on how any of us played that weekend but I can certainly say it impacted how we view life. Football wasn’t the only game Haylor was concerned with us winning.
The other was very simply, “Dare to be great”. It was on the sign that every Mustang player touches as he leaves the locker room.
Haylor wasn’t concerned with public perception. He wasn’t concerned with his outward image. He didn’t care what referees thought of him. He didn’t care what other programs were doing. He didn’t bother to make baseless claims to recruits. He cared about striving to be great and was willing to do what he thought was right in his pursuit.
It’s a sentiment I reference often in my post-playing career and keep in mind in my interpersonal relationships and professional career. Haylor is among the Mount Rushmore of men that have left a lasting impression on me.
Haylor always joked with me when I left his office, saying, “DJ, you should be an investment banker and just sit back and watch your money grow.” I laughed because I knew that wasn’t in the cards - math was my Achilles Heel. But I can do simple math and it’s obvious to me what Haylor’s legacy adds up to. It’s not the eight Yates Cups or two Vanier titles. Not the 178 wins and seven OUA Coach of the Year awards. It’s the investment he’s made in the game of football and how well into retirement he can take solace in seeing that grow. He can turn on a CFL game any given night and see a player or coach he’s impacted - broadcasters Duane Forde or Pierre Vercheval and current players, Andy Fantuz and Jeff Keeping.
He has impacted the chain of CIS coaches, too, including Greg Marshall and Michael Faulds. Both Haylor facsimiles in their own ways. Watching Faulds pace the sidelines back and forth evokes memories of Haylor. Seeing Marshall play good cop, bad cop with his quarterback is familiar. Marshall once told me that, after following Haylor, his job was to pick up the flag and continue to carry it up the hill.
Haylor dared to be great. Even at the end of his run, he still showed great energy and ingenuity in all he did. After all those years his passion burned brighter than ever.
What makes him a hall of fame contributor to the game of football in Canada is his ability to pass on that spirit to so many people he’s touched in the game. He’s a groundbreaker as the first modern-day CIS coach elected to the hall, trailblazing the path for others, likely to include Brian Towriss, Glen Constantin, Gary Jeffries, Stef Ptaszek – the list goes on.
My fondness for Haylor is more the rule than the exception in the CIS. There are, across the nation, great coaches shaping great men. Haylor dared to create exceptional people and exceptional winners. That’s what the CIS mantra is all about. This Saturday I raise a glass to you, Larry Haylor. And whenever you call on me, I’m answering the phone.
