It was not unexpected, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
On Friday, the Toronto Argonauts lost a beloved family member when Peter Martin lost his battle with cancer at the age of 83.
A linebacker, broadcaster, alumni association president, teacher, coach, co-founder of the Mississauga Minor Football Association, member of the media wing of the Canadian Football Hall of Fame, member of the CFHOF selection committee, and a recently inducted All-Time Argo Builder.
So many accolades, but they don’t even begin to describe what he meant to the Argos, and what they meant to him.
In the spring of 2000, I received the honour of becoming the play-by-play voice of the team. The broadcast rights were acquired by the radio station I worked for at the time, the Fan 590. The Fan wanted me to call the games and the Argos wanted Pete to remain in the booth as the colour commentator, a job he had held for the most part since 1977.
Being told I’d be partnered with the former linebacker was uncomfortable at first. Before we were paired up, we never had a lengthy conversation. I almost felt like there was some animosity on his end and I could never figure out why. The feeling certainly wasn’t reciprocated. Even when we got to know each other exceptionally well and become good friends, it was a subject I never broached.
Some things are better left unheard.
If there were any problems, they were smoothed over during our first road trip, a pre-season game in Winnipeg. As players lined up in the hotel lobby to get their room keys, the new broadcast duo adjourned to the bar. Four hours later (Five? Six? Seven?) a comfort level had been reached, in more ways than one. The 37-year-old rookie and the 59-year-old veteran had eased any apprehensions that may have been there – for reasons that would likely seem laughable later.
To paraphrase Rick Blaine from “Casablanca”, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
It was my first experience travelling with a pro team and I latched onto the veteran like a remora to a shark. If you were willing to listen and learn, Peter Martin was a godsend.
He knew where the best spots were to grab a bite and a beer, and which places would have a CFL game on the big screen. Better yet, at least to this rookie, he talked football all the time.
On the plane he’d tell a Leo Cahill story. Before a game in Regina, he’d talk about how tough George Reed was to play against, ditto Mack Herron when in Winnipeg. His old Argo roommate Tom Wilkinson would show up in the broadcast booth at Commonwealth Stadium in Edmonton hours before kickoff and the pair would trade stories.
It was like that in every city.
If I had a question about a play or a concept, Pete would grab a piece of paper and a pen and break it down for me, much like he’d do vocally during a broadcast, or would have done as a long-time football coach at Port Credit Secondary.
It was a chance to learn from one hell of a great teacher.
Perhaps his best verbal sparring partner in that era was CFL legend Russ Jackson, who was the Tiger-Cats colour commentator at the time. Before every Toronto/Hamilton game the duo turned into Statler and Waldorf, figuring out a point spread, then placing a friendly five-dollar wager.
The money meant nothing; the bragging rights meant everything. These pre-game discussions would always leave me laughing, a perfect way to get in the proper mindset to do a fun broadcast.
Pete also would occasionally have a five-dollar bet in another city, but it was with someone he didn’t know.
The visiting team’s radio booth at Percival Molson Stadium in Montreal is close enough to the fans that people in the top row would often start talking trash to us before the game (Pete, they know we don’t work for the team, don’t they?). To make sure that the fans didn’t become too unruly, Pete would often make a wager with one of the fans before the game and the interactions became playful instead of mean spirited.
But that was Peter Martin. He would talk to anyone, any place, any time. Cabbies, servers, stadium workers; none were safe from Pete’s inquisitive nature.
I wear as a badge of honour the one time I literally left him speechless. We were in Montreal, cabbing up the hill to Molson stadium for the game. We did not have breakfast together that Sunday morning, so on the ride I asked him where he went and what he had to eat. After his answer I said that I wanted bacon and two eggs, but the restaurant would only serve me one egg.
He looked totally confused. When he asked me why I could only order one egg, I said, “Because in Quebec, they say that one egg is un ouef.” I will never, ever forget the look on his face. He’d usually burst out laughing at a good joke, but he didn’t want to give me the pleasure of getting a laugh for such a lame line. He kept a dumbfounded look on his face when I know he wanted to laugh.
I’m also certain he was mad at himself for taking the bait.
When I learned about the severity of Pete’s illness, I wanted to make sure he knew how the organization felt about him. I had a conversation with the team’s then-president Bill Manning, who was incredibly supportive of the initiatives taken during the team’s 150th anniversary season in 2023.
I wanted to make sure that we didn’t stop honouring the past simply because the calendar had flipped. I spoke with Bill about creating something to honour builders, which was addressed in June when Pete, Lew Hayman, and Bob O’Billovich were named the first “All-Time Argo Builders,” recognizing them for their major contributions to the team.
I presented Bill, then Stacey Coray, Dan Ferrone, and Bob Bronk from the Argos Alumni Association, a list of roughly 20 names of people I thought warranted consideration to be a part of the initial group of honourees. After the five of us met for lunch one day in April, the three selections Bill and I made were quickly agreed to by the three members of the Alumni Association’s executive committee.
Everyone at the table was particularly happy about Pete’s inclusion.
There was no way I wasn’t going to break the news to Pete face to face, though I knew he physically wasn’t his old self. Dan, Stacey, and I met at Pete’s house to deliver the news.
You always knew it was Pete’s house because there was an Argo logo on the front door.
Pete could usually see things coming from a mile away – aside from the egg joke – so I wanted to present the news to him when he didn’t see it coming. With the three of us visiting he’d know something was up.
I told him about the builder’s initiative, and that I didn’t feel we should proceed without running the names of our initial inductees by him first. I explained that because of his passion and his long history with the team, I wanted his blessing, and to make sure we weren’t overlooking an obvious choice for the group.
It lowered his guard. I was sitting opposite him when I gave him the news. His head was slightly tilted down, his eyes staring at the floor as he concentrated on his task.
“We’ve decided on an initial group of three,” I said. “A small group that has been so important to the organization that we wanted to honour them first. We’ve chosen Lew Hayman (Pete nodded), Bob O’Billovich (another nod and a smile. I then paused a bit before announcing the third name) …and Peter Martin.”
I was thrilled that he didn’t see it coming. He was left speechless. Again, something easier said than done.
He paused, exhaled deeply, then looked up at me. His eyes were moist, as were mine. It was obvious it meant even more to him than it did to us, and it meant everything to us.
The ensuing conversation was great. Pete was his old self, asking about this year’s team and entertaining the three of us with stories from days gone by; for me, the last time I’d be lucky enough to be his attentive audience.
On the way out, Pete remained seated. His brain was strong, but his voice and body had weakened. I leaned over and told him I loved him and thanked him. I didn’t say for what specifically, but I didn’t have to. He knew. He was always a step or two ahead of me.
Pete was a friend, a spectacular mentor, and one hell of an amazing broadcast partner.
It’s impossible to accurately describe how great a loss this is to the Argonaut family. We are not Double Blue today, we’re just blue.