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Of the hundreds of players I’ve met over the years, including dozens of Hockey Hall of Famers, none has impressed me as much as Bobby Ryan. And I suspect that only a very unlucky few have had to endure the kinds of challenges Ryan has.
I first met Bobby when he was playing for the Owen Sound Attack in 2005. That was his NHL draft year. Incidentally, Sidney Crosby’s, too. Scouts had told me they were very high on Ryan’s playing ability but that they’d heard rumbles about “a complicated family situation,” a red flag for teams looking to throw around a few million on a first-round pick.
Other players in the OHL had also heard things second-hand, namely that he was “a different kid,” a description that does everything but rhyme with “problem child.” I came away with the impression that Ryan undoubtedly grew up in deeply troubled circumstances, yet managed to emerge from them amazingly intact.
Bobby Ryan came into this world as Robert Shane Stevenson on St. Patrick’s Day in 1987. He remained Bobby Stevenson for the first 10 years of his life and drew attention in and around Cherry Hill, N.J., as a gifted player in atom hockey tournaments. Then, one night after his father took him to a Philadelphia Flyers game, Bobby’s life was turned inside out. The next morning, he’d wake up in a neighbour’s home, his mother in hospital and his father in jail. Soon after, he’d cross the country with his mother and be living under an assumed name in California, Bobby Ryan. He would live his formative years as the youngest member of a fugitive family. “Complicated” doesn’t start to cover it.
He still goes by Bobby Ryan. That was a decision he made “when I was starting to make a name for myself in tournaments.” He’s impressively well-spoken and as self-possessed a 26-year-old as you’re likely to find. Nonetheless his father says: “There have to be scars and they’re still healing.” It has taken a certain type of courage for Bobby Ryan to survive a life and trials that no kid should have to endure. It is taking another type of courage for him to come forward and talk openly to Sportsnet magazine’s readers about his childhood. He calls hockey “his saving grace” through the toughest of times. It might have been that. It might still be that.
Too many times we read about victims and casualties in sport — too many, not because they’re contrived, only because of the awful human cost. Bobby Ryan’s story might be the most unlikely to find all involved emerge only wounded. After reading about him, though, I suspect that you will never pull harder for a young man to live happily ever after.
I first met Bobby when he was playing for the Owen Sound Attack in 2005. That was his NHL draft year. Incidentally, Sidney Crosby’s, too. Scouts had told me they were very high on Ryan’s playing ability but that they’d heard rumbles about “a complicated family situation,” a red flag for teams looking to throw around a few million on a first-round pick.
Other players in the OHL had also heard things second-hand, namely that he was “a different kid,” a description that does everything but rhyme with “problem child.” I came away with the impression that Ryan undoubtedly grew up in deeply troubled circumstances, yet managed to emerge from them amazingly intact.
Bobby Ryan came into this world as Robert Shane Stevenson on St. Patrick’s Day in 1987. He remained Bobby Stevenson for the first 10 years of his life and drew attention in and around Cherry Hill, N.J., as a gifted player in atom hockey tournaments. Then, one night after his father took him to a Philadelphia Flyers game, Bobby’s life was turned inside out. The next morning, he’d wake up in a neighbour’s home, his mother in hospital and his father in jail. Soon after, he’d cross the country with his mother and be living under an assumed name in California, Bobby Ryan. He would live his formative years as the youngest member of a fugitive family. “Complicated” doesn’t start to cover it.
He still goes by Bobby Ryan. That was a decision he made “when I was starting to make a name for myself in tournaments.” He’s impressively well-spoken and as self-possessed a 26-year-old as you’re likely to find. Nonetheless his father says: “There have to be scars and they’re still healing.” It has taken a certain type of courage for Bobby Ryan to survive a life and trials that no kid should have to endure. It is taking another type of courage for him to come forward and talk openly to Sportsnet magazine’s readers about his childhood. He calls hockey “his saving grace” through the toughest of times. It might have been that. It might still be that.
Too many times we read about victims and casualties in sport — too many, not because they’re contrived, only because of the awful human cost. Bobby Ryan’s story might be the most unlikely to find all involved emerge only wounded. After reading about him, though, I suspect that you will never pull harder for a young man to live happily ever after.
Here is a more detailed version of the story.
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