As former Ottawa Senator Mike Fisher retires I’m reminded of the time I stalked him around Ottawa and utterly failed to uncover anything on him or his girlfriend American Idol winner Carrie Underwood.
It was around Christmas in 2009 and I got a call from a tabloid in New York looking for a freelancer.
I took the call in the bathroom because that is the only relatively silent place in the house with young kids and I was looking at all the toothpaste smeared on the counter while the editor (a quick peruse of Twitter & Facebook revealed her to be a glittery dress wearer with a mighty crew of similar gals at her side) laid out rates and hockey tickets to follow Underwood around.
Miss Lucy would cheerfully tell people “Mummy went to the bathroom and came out with a job” which I could only dearly hope wouldn’t be misunderstood.
Sources said Underwood was going to be in Ottawa over the break and they wanted to do a Home for the Holidays piece. I imagine if I could have got hold of shots of them throwing snowballs at each other after building snowmen and hosting parties in matching jumpers that would have been applauded.
The editor called this “Investigative Journalism” which I’m sure will be news to Marketplace.
I was to “back report” on places they have been seen. Back Report means I had to go out to dinner at swanky restaurants and then “chat up” the servers and somehow become such fast friends with them that they would tell me everything Fisher and Underwood ate and text me next time they were in to eat that stuff again.
I did have a lot of meals out and I met a lot of five foot three inch perky blondes named Kayla who would happily tell you everything about every celebrity they have ever seen. But only up until your third question when it appears to dawn on them that they are engaged in some kind of deeply creepy conversation. Then the Kaylas back away and eye you with suspicion for the rest of your meal from behind the bar.
I also learned that there is a suburban cowboy bar in Kanata where the staff all wear Bonanza clothes and ride a mechanical bull every Wednesday Night.
This establishment was supposed to be frequented by Sens players but not, it turned out, Underwood.
I went to hockey games high up in the 300s complete with my mother in law’s bird watching binoculars and wrote stuff like:
7:23 p.m. CU leans forward in her seat to say something to the girl with the stripey top sitting next to her
7:27 CU gets up and does a little “I have to go to the bathroom” walk across the suite,
7:48 CU locks her gaze on mine across the arena with a diamond hard glare and begins screaming obscenities..okay not really
I did miss her entirely a few times despite the fact I walked in a kilometre wide circle scanning every seat. Apparently she kept moving to different spots.
I think at this point I crossed the decency line and became smutty tabloid type when I gave my eight year old a little notebook and pen. I had her walk around this big long corridor/landing thing with the mandate of getting an autograph and encouraging her to prompt some kind of comment from Underwood about getting married or enjoying herself in Ottawa.
Now Miss Lucy wasn’t known for her ability to keep a secret so I half expected to see her led back with a bunch of men in black happily pointing in my direction. Instead she came back and asked what exactly the number 111 looked like. I wrote it down and went back to skulking and honestly hoped I wouldn’t have to explain to police what I was doing when my eight year old disappeared.
She came back and informed me that a man with a striped tie and a big black suit was standing outside that suite. So that meant Underwood was still in the building.
Then as I was looking around Lucy kept tugging at my sleeve in a 1970s Disney Movie helpful imp way and when I (acting entirely according to script) failed to notice she said “Mummy, was she wearing skinny jeans and high boots and a checkered shirt?” I said yes and Lucy pointed to the side door Underwood had just left by.
Miss Lucy also got to go to her first bar. We walked into a place on Merivale that unreliable information in NY had directed me to check out. I had Miss Ruby stashed at a school friend’s house but Miss Lucy was enlisted.
The first thing Lucy said was “This place is creepy, I wanna go home.” It wasn’t even that bad, just the normal blacked out windows during the day bar during daytime set. She said “It smells like beer and … and people wishing for things that haven’t happened.”
We got a takeaway meal but not before Miss Lucy spilled her chocolate milk all over the floor.
This whole time New York would be peppering me with sightings on Twitter. I have no idea how anyone ever filled supermarket tabloids before the god of truth that is Twitter.
“Go to Loblaws, she was seen buying blue label bread, go to Chapters in Centrum, they were seen buying $500 worth of wedding magazines there, check out the rumour she was seen in a maternity store in Nepean.”
Unfortunately Carrie was down to earth and didn’t like going out or drinking or dancing in the Byward Market. Hence my attending the Rennaisance Church and various Christian bookstores.
Did you know there is a computer game called Dance Dance Revelation? Thought not.
The hottest lead was a Greco Lean ‘n’ Fit session which involved four gym leaders shouting at us with loud music that 40 year olds only ever hear in exercise situations. Apparently she had been seen there earlier.
Underwood managed to completely elude me that Christmas holiday and their combined clean living left me with no salacious details for the tabloids and a build up of lactic acid.
I did eventually get a face to face at a charity soirée and the two of them were as lovely as could be. I did look more like a housewife with a decades old digital camera than a tabloid hack so that may have been why.
So the former hockey player hangs up his skates and leaves the public eye I have to say Goodbye and thanks for all the Fish…er.
oonawoods 
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