A man with a game plan

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This article was published 04/10/2014 (3997 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

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REGINA — It’s just minutes before Labour Day kickoff and Wade Miller is knee-deep in a mob of Blue Bombers fans, many of whom are just 24 hours away from a massive hangover. And about four hours away from a loss.

But the future seems of little consequence to the throng of Bombers faithful who have made their annual pilgrimage to Saskatchewan. One bald man in a toga has painted himself from head to toe in blue. Another fan, naturally, is dressed and painted as the Golden Boy, holding a sheath of wheat.

I’ve learned never to underestimate Wade and striving for what he wants. I can’t stress this enough: When he puts his mind to it, he’ll go after it.

— Bob Cameron

It’s that kind of day.

So there is Miller, wading into the boozy crowd that has formed in a backyard just a Dieter Brock long-bomb away from Mosaic Stadium, home to the dreaded, gopher-loving — and also defending Grey Cup champion — Saskatchewan Roughriders.

The Winnipeg Blue Bombers CEO is in heaven, or close. He’s glad-handing and high-fiving and at last grabs a microphone for a brief pep talk.

The crowd begins to chant, “MIL-LER! MIL-LER! MIL-LER!”

To someone familiar with the 11-year football career of Wade Miller, the scene reeks of irony. After all, as an undersized, overachieving product of the University of Manitoba Bisons, Miller was never the guy fans paid to watch. Ever. His name was not commonly adorned across the backs of jerseys.

What Miller was, in fact, was a calculated, mischievous, unrelenting ball of perpetual energy. As a player, he was part Tony Soprano, part Rudy, part Dennis the Menace.

So as Miller walked out under the stands of Mosaic, before taking the field, a reporter innocently asked, “So what is it like to hear the fans chant your name? You know, since they never did when you were a player.”

Miller doesn’t hesitate or break his choppy stride. He just flashes that smart-ass grin.

“They did all the time,” he said. “You just didn’t hear it.”

Even now, the CEO of the Blue Bombers sometimes can’t help himself.

As the game officials filed onto the field that glorious summer day in Regina, the shortest of the bunch came last.

Miller cast a sideways glance at the zebra and muttered, “Good to see you’re getting taller.”

Dennis the Menace still lives here. He just wears a nicer suit now.

On Aug. 9, 2013, in what was described in a Winnipeg Free Press account as a “surprise twist,” Miller was named CEO and general manger of the Winnipeg Blue Bombers. Miller’s first act, just prior to his opening press conference, was to fire beleaguered former GM Joe Mack.

With that, Miller was the Boss of Everything.

Bombers board chairman Brock Bulbuck lauded Miller as “a strong, progressive leader with the right combination of football and business experience to succeed.” Bulbuck described the new CEO as “a decisive, solution-oriented leader who wasn’t afraid to roll up his sleeves and get down to the hard work of turning the club around.”

Interesting. Because it was 18 years earlier, in the summer of 1995, that Miller, a fourth-round pick of the Bombers (37th overall), was en route to his first training camp with the CFL club in Brandon. Apparently he was in a hurry, since he was pulled over by the RCMP just west of Portage la Prairie.

We know this because, just as Miller was getting his ticket, two other veteran Bombers — placekicker Troy Westwood and punter Bob Cameron — drove past.

That’s when Cameron, a future CFL Hall of Famer who would play 23 seasons in blue and gold, turned to Westwood and uttered: “That little s— should just get back into his car and drive back to Winnipeg. He’s got no chance. A little guy like that? Come on.”

It’s worth noting here, that “little s—” — all 5-9 of him — went on to play 11 CFL seasons, all with the Bombers. He was twice named to the CFL East all-star team, in 1997 and 1999. By the time he retired in 2006, Wade Miller would (and still does) hold the CFL’s all-time lead for special-teams tackles, with 184. He was inducted into the Bombers Hall of Fame in 2011.

In fact, it was that first camp in 1995 when Miller, a standout linebacker at the University of Manitoba Bisons after graduating from Sturgeon Creek High School, had an epiphany of sorts.

You see, the rookie’s competition at that camp included former and future NFL players such as K.D. Williams, Greg Clark, Reggie Givens and Charlie Clemons. The offensive linemen Miller lined up against in one-on-one drills included the likes of all-stars Chris Walby, David Black and Miles Gorrell.

Meanwhile, the head coach and GM, Cal Murphy, was a legendary hard-ass who was to football executives what Scrooge was to Christmas.

Yet Miller stuck.

“After getting through those 2 1/2 weeks in Brandon,” Miller recalled, “that was life-changing for me. I thought I could do anything I put my mind to after that. Ever again in my life.”

If you learn one thing in lengthy talks with Miller — and his business associates, his former teammates, his friends and, yes, his mother — it’s this: While all the football world pegged him as a scrappy underdog, he never did. Not as a rookie, not as an aging veteran, not ever.

When Miller was a Bison, he was also a member of the university’s wrestling team, then coached by former Bombers offensive lineman Bob Molle, the only athlete to win both a Grey Cup (1988, 1990) and an Olympic medal (silver in heavyweight wrestling at the Los Angeles Games in 1984).

Today, Molle is a motivational speaker residing in Victoria, where he also coaches the Mount Douglas High School football team, the defending provincial champions. Four graduates from Mount Douglas are playing this season with the U of M Bisons.

But in the early 1990s, Molle’s prize student was Miller.

“The engine never stopped,” Molle said. “He was like a sponge. To me, the potential was unlimited. There were no borders. Most people have a fear of failure. There was no fear in him.”

Remember, Molle was 6-4, 275 pounds. So were many of Miller’s opponents. It didn’t matter.

“I could stick him out there against anybody,” Molle said. “It was like a David-and-Goliath scenario all the time. He should have gotten his ass kicked. (But) the most important ingredient he had was the will to do it.”

Ever heard the theory about why the little dog refuses to back down from the big dog? Because the little dog doesn’t know it’s smaller.

“Exactly,” Molle said. “Whoever said that is bang on.”

Of course, no one knew Miller, when he was just three years old, had to overcome Perthes disease, a childhood disorder that restricts blood flow in the hip joint, which meant reduced activity for the next few years of his life. Doctor’s orders.

“He couldn’t run like a little kid runs,” said Miller’s mother, Jeanne. “He couldn’t play the sports he wanted to. He couldn’t go to the zoo and walk, he had to go in a stroller.”

The end result?

“Once he was able to do things,” Jeanne said, “he went at it with a vengeance. He didn’t quit. I think it made a big difference to how he approached things.”

And no one knew that Miller, at age 11, vowed to play for the Bombers. Not just in the CFL, mind you, but with the Bombers.

Recalled Mom: “He was adamant he was going to play for the Blue Bombers. You couldn’t tell him anything different. You’d say, ‘Well, hopefully, someday.’ And he would say, ‘No, I am.’ He was determined. As years progressed, he just kept saying it.”

Still, the perceptions Miller had to overcome since that first training camp in 1995 never ebbed. When former head coach Jeff Reinebold was hired in 1997, he infamously asked another coach, upon seeing Miller on the practice field, if he had won a Bomber for a Day contest. When Brendan Taman joined the Bombers as assistant GM in 1999, his first reaction, after being informed Miller was the Bombers’ top Canadian nominee, was, “Holy (bad word). We’re (worse word).”

But perhaps Westwood, whose 18-year stretch as a Bomber overlapped Miller’s career, summed his old teammate the best. Or, at least, the funniest.

“He was such a massive underdog,” Westwood said. “He would always out-think or outwork. That was the only road to success he had. Everybody had the same reaction when they lined up against Wade Miller: Whatever that is in front of me, it’s impossible.”

*  *  *

Miller retired as a Bomber in 2006 at age 33. His farewell press conference was held at the company he co-founded, the Pinnacle Staffing Agency.

Turns out, Miller’s under-the-radar playing career was only matched by his under-the-radar business enterprises, which also include co-owning three Booster Juice franchises and founding Elite Performance with former Bombers trainer Jeff Fisher.

After all, it was only after playing two CFL seasons, at age 24, that Miller got himself a job working for a local staffing company on a full-time basis.

“My holidays were my training camp,” he explained. “Never took football as a job. Never. It was an opportunity and a privilege to play.”

During the off-season, Miller worked at least 40-hour weeks in a cubicle, cold-calling potential clients to sell them on the benefits of hiring temporary employees. During the season, the work week would range between 15-25 hours.

Miller went out of his way to downplay his day job around Bombers headquarters. In fact, under former head coach Dave Ritchie, Miller would get up at dawn, put on his suit and tie, then go to work at the temp agency. At lunch, he’d leave for practice at Winnipeg Stadium — but not before a quick pit stop at home to ditch the suit for a rumpled track suit.

“So I’d come into (Bombers headquarters) looking like I rolled out of bed,” Miller said. “I didn’t figure it was good for me to show up in a suit and tie.”

Miller was concerned the notoriously old-school Ritchie would look with suspicion at any player dividing his time between football and work during the season.

Miller’s motivation was real: His father, Al, was also a professional football player (also a linebacker) who played three seasons with the Bombers (1965-1967) after a stint with the NFL’s Washington Redskins. Miller’s parents split up when their boys — Wade and younger brother Ritchie — were kids. Wade and Ritchie spent time with their father, but were essentially raised by their mother, who worked in hotel management, and their maternal grandparents.

After Al Miller retired, he remained in Winnipeg and went from job to job. He dabbled in real estate and eventually set up a hobby farm outside the city.

“He never really found what to do after football,” Miller said. “He bounced around doing different stuff. That wasn’t going to be me.”

Miller was also aware of how many of his former teammates, from also-rans to all-stars, struggled to find their place and purpose in life after retirement. And he saw his single mother work tirelessly to keep her two boys from wanting.

“You don’t realize how lucky you are to play until you start putting a suit and tie on every day and going to work,” Miller said. “Once you do that, you realize how lucky you are. So I played more years than I probably would have otherwise. But I knew what the real world was like. I probably enjoyed football more than most because I knew what it was like to sit in a cubicle and make sales calls every day.”

Miller added: “There’s a lot of business lessons I learned in those 11 years (as a Bomber). There’s many different types of leaders. How people react under pressure. How do people react when a mistake is made? How do you work as a team? Just the character of people.”

This is also what you learn on a professional football field: Crush or be crushed. All weaknesses will be exploited by your opponents. And never forget who didn’t have your back in battle.

In 1999, the staffing company Miller had worked for five years gave him an ultimatum: Quit football or else.

“I won’t quit,” Miller replied. “I never quit. You’ll have to fire me.”

They fired him.

Cameron clearly recalls the aftermath of the termination, which Miller considered a betrayal. Miller stormed into the locker-room and vowed to Cameron: “Someday, I’m going to start my own company and put them out of business.”

“That’s the kind of ruthless businessman Wade was,” Cameron remembered. “He had a bit of Cal Murphy in him.”

Miller found another job immediately with a rival staffing firm, Drake International. At Drake, Miller’s boss was Terry Cyr, who soon concluded Miller took his job seriously. He landed a handful of large contracts immediately that had “nothing to do with football.”

And after the Bombers lost the 2000 East semifinal in Montreal, Cyr, a football fan, “dragged his ass” to work on Monday. It was 8 a.m.

Miller was already sitting at his desk.

“You tell me how many Bombers would have been at a desk the next day,” said Cyr, now with Pinnacle, “and not rolling over out of bed with a hangover?

“He had no clock.”

As it happened, Miller’s parking spot was adjacent to Dale Driedger’s, the former president of the Bisons alumni who was working with a security firm. They were acquaintances, not friends. They occasionally bumped into each other at Bisons functions or the parking lot. But in November 2001, Driedger travelled to Toronto and sat with Miller as they watched the Bisons lose the Vanier Cup to the St. Mary’s Huskies. The previous week, the heavily favoured Bombers lost the Grey Cup to the Calgary Stampeders in Montreal.

So on the Monday morning following the Vanier loss, a dejected Miller and Driedger were in the Hamilton airport, waiting to catch their flight back to Winnipeg.

As their sat by the luggage carousel, Driedger, who understood the staffing industry through his work in security, turned to Miller and made a pitch for starting their own firm.

Recalled Driedger: “I needed to find someone who was in the staffing business who I knew was highly motivated. And he (Miller) said two words I’ll never forget: ‘I’m in.’ ”

“When I started (in football), I saw what it was like to be under someone’s control,” Miller explained. “You could have a good game, but if you ever got into it with a coach, you were cut. I didn’t want to live my life like that. I wanted to be able to take control of my own fate in life.”

Pinnacle opened in 2002 with one recruiter. Today, they have over two dozen working three divisions: executive, staffing and human relations consulting. The firm sets up temporary employment for 300 to 500 people a day, ranging from office work (accounting) to industrial trades (spot welding).

Pinnacle has a total staff of over 35 and gross revenue of about $13 million annually.

The firm that fired Miller and incurred his wrath? It no longer has any recruits based in Winnipeg. Asked if Pinnacle had taken any of their business, Miller just grinned and replied, “Yep.”

The first thing Miller did after taking control of the Bombers as CEO was fire somebody. It was just the beginning.

He canned Mack. He fired offensive co-ordinator Gary Crowton. He fired head coach Tim Burke. There was plenty of turnover in the front office, too, what Miller called “a series of transitions.”

Recently, longtime employees such as former marketing vice-president Jerry Maslowsky left. Former Bombers Store manager Jeffrey Bannon left. Former vice-president Jim Bell was phased out.

All three were respected, blue-to-the-bone staff. The exodus prompted more than one Bombers board member to be asked, “What the hell is Miller doing?”

The short answer for now: Whatever Miller believes is right.

“I wasn’t brought in to be popular,” he said. “I was brought in to run a business. And I’m responsible to every fan, to every player and coach and staff member to give us a chance to win.”

The Bombers haven’t won a Grey Cup since 1990. Their front-office and business operations have been characterized over the years as amateurish, at least until the arrival of then CEO Lyle Bauer in 2000.

But even Bauer left the Bombers after handing the club’s coaching reins over to Mike Kelly, which proved an unmitigated disaster and lead to a downward spiral that hasn’t abated since. Hence the extraordinary pressure, with a newly minted $210-million Investors Group Field and accompanying debt payments, for the club’s board not to err in hiring Miller.

And for now, at least, the board’s obvious plan is to allow Miller the latitude, no matter how tumultuous, to make change.

“Wade’s putting his fingerprints on that place,” said Taman, now the GM of the arch-rival Roughriders. “If you’re not his guy, you’re not going to be there. It’s Wade’s show. I also know he’s a bear cat in a business room. And if he’s not on your side, he’s gunning for you. You’re either with him or against him.

“I think he runs a business just how he played,” added Taman, who was with the Bombers from 1999-2008. “He’s a bulldog who’s going to do whatever it takes to win. That’s good, but there’s going to be some carnage.”

Even Cameron, a board member who supported Miller, acknowledges Miller’s personality is not designed for the timid.

“I like people who are entrepreneurs and go after it,” Cameron said. “I respect people who take risks and chances and speak their minds. (But) a lot of people who are very successful, if you ask a lot of people about them, as many people would hate them as loved them.

“I’d be the first to say a lot of players were rubbed the wrong way (by Miller). No question. He wasn’t universally liked. Listen, people don’t like to be told what to do.”

Cameron is referring in general to Miller’s approach in the locker-room, but specifically to the 1998 season, when during the dying days of Jeff Reinebold’s disastrous reign, the fourth-year player was named interim special-teams coach — a practically unheard of move in professional football.

It was not uncommon for Miller to confront any teammate, no matter their background or stature, if the job wasn’t getting done to his liking.

“It wouldn’t phase him,” Cameron said. “Most guys wanted to be universally liked. Wade’s mantra was, ‘Do the right thing.’ He would call people out. And if people aren’t going to work as hard as he works, they’re probably not going to be around long.”

Added business partner Driedger: “It doesn’t mean you don’t have empathy. We’re business people. Those tough decisions are the ones that need to be made to be successful.”

*  *  *

Miller, meanwhile, said his take-no-prisoners perception is overblown. Now.

“If you said that of me five years ago, I would say you’re correct,” he allowed. “I’ve grown and matured and slowed down that mindset a little bit. Five years ago I would have gone in and charged my head through a wall.”

Still, he added, “I’ll be the bad guy. I’ve got no problem with that. My job as a leader is to give everyone else everything they need to do their jobs effectively. To give them every tool and every ounce of energy I have. That’s all I care about.”

That’s one side of Miller. There’s also the father who dotes on his eight-year-old son, Branson. “He’s a little version of myself,” Miller said.

Branson, upon gentle coaxing, will recite by rote a mantra taught by his father.

“Who is the best boy in the world? I am.”

“How do you succeed in life? By hard work.”

“What do you do it with? Passion.”

“Who loves you? Dad.”

“What does it mean to be a leader? Set the example and do it right.”

Then there’s the Miller who playfully spars with his partner, Melissa Malden, a corporate and estate lawyer with Thompson Dorfman Sweatman.

Oh, and she’s a Riders fan, born and raised in Melfort, Sask. Her grandparents had Riders season tickets. Malden and Miller met a few years back when she heard Miller speaking at a business conference.

Malden’s football allegiances have since been revised.

“That was really weird for me,” she said. “It was a huge change. But this year I shockingly find myself cheering for the Bombers.”

Interjected Miller: “When I took the (Bombers) job, she had to give up her colours.”

The other side of Miller, rarely seen, is him proudly showing you his wine collection, now encased and cooled behind glass in the basement of his St. Vital home. Or the artwork, mostly framed Peter Lik photos adorning the walls.

But you know what’s not in Miller’s house? Not one single item, photo, jersey or scrap of paper from his football career.

Miller shrugs. “It’s something I did in life. It was great. But there’s a lot more things to do.”

The other side of Miller is the guy who, along with his brother, Ritchie, a Winnipeg police officer, went to their mother a couple of years ago and told her she didn’t have to work anymore. It was their turn to take care of Jeanne.

At least, that’s her interpretation. It was payback.

“We’re a family of few words,” Jeanne said. “But that was the feeling.”

The other side of Miller is the guy who, if you ask about his biggest failing ,will reply, “Right now? My personal fitness.”

Two years ago, Miller was involved in sprint triathlons, but his “ideal weight” of 215 has ballooned to 290. Miller is, and always has been, a stress eater.

After Miller took the CEO job, he was sleeping four hours a night. All the rest of the time was immersing in the task at hand.

“All day, every day, it was football,” Malden said. “Even when he was relaxing.”

“I’m not working out,” Miller said. “I have nobody to blame for that but myself.”

That’s the thing about Miller, he’ll endeavour to be honest, even with himself. Like it or not.

“If you ever wanted to know anything you could ask him and he would always tell the truth,” mom Jeanne said, “even if it wasn’t something he shouldn’t have been doing. I guess he always thought he was doing the right thing.”

*  *  *

Once, Troy Westwood made Miller a bet.

It was about two years before Miller retired as a player, and the two teammates were leaving Bombers headquarters at the old stadium, standing in a parking lot riddled with potholes.

“I bet him $10,000 that he would one day be the CEO of the Bombers,” Westwood recalled. Why? “He just knew too much, man.”

Then there’s Cameron, who told Miller a few years ago he would make a good candidate to be on the board of governors.

“No,” Miller replied. “I’m going to be the CEO.”

“I thought he was joking,” Cameron said. “But I’ve learned never to underestimate Wade and striving for what he wants. I can’t stress this enough: When he puts his mind to it, he’ll go after it.”

It was while sitting at home watching the Bombers get annihilated 52-0 to the Riders on Labour Day in 2012 that Miller resolved to turn his words into deeds.

“Knowing those players had no chance that day because of what was going on… that really bothered me. That was the one that set me right off.”

When the phone call finally came one year later, Miller only needed to talk to Melissa. The first concern was about the cost of the job at home. His partner and lifelong Roughrider fan concluded: “Either you take the job or stop complaining about what you’re seeing.”

Miller took the job.

Flash forward one year later, just hours before the Banjo Bowl’s opening kickoff, Miller is padding along the concrete concourse of IGF Stadium. He’s putting down chairs here, and finding a lost pair of sunglasses there, which are dispatched to the lost and found. Micromanaging.

It’s the third such inspection Miller has made that morning. The CEO takes time on his rounds to pose with dozens of fans for selfies. Most are in good spirits. Despite a swoon following a 5-1 start, the Bombers were then 5-5.

Yet one fan, immediately after posing with Miller, remained skeptical.

“I’m not jumping on any Wade Miller bandwagon yet,” said the fan, who gave his name as Todd. “The proof is in the pudding. I’m not sold that this is the guy.”

What would it take?

“It’s been so long,” the fan replied. “It’s going to take a Grey Cup.”

Miller is not under any illusions to the contrary.

“I thought I understood what this football team meant to Winnipeg and Manitoba — as a player, as a sponsor, everything,” he said. “But it wasn’t until I sat in this role that I really understand what this team means to the community. So I have a responsibility to this province that I don’t take lightly.”

So what would it be like for a guy from St. James, who vowed to be a Bomber at age 11 — and did just that — and vowed to become the franchise CEO — and did that, too — to accomplish what he never did as a player: Win a Grey Cup for his hometown? After 23 years and counting.

When asked the question, Miller paused for a moment, as if searching for an answer.

Finally, he replied: “I’ll let you know when it happens.”

randy.turner@freepress.mb.ca