Mike Kelly… as seen by others

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 07/08/2009 (5912 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

CALGARY — Mad Mike Kelly knows who he’d choose to portray him in a movie of his life.

"Uncle Fester (from the Addams Family),” guffaws the head coach of the Winnipeg Blue Bombers. "Or Bruce Willis. Or the guy who played James Bond… the first one… uh, Sean Connery. Now. When he’s older.

"Why? Isn’t it obvious? Because each of those guys has such a beautifully shaped head.”

It’s not the configuration of the noggin that has many Winnipeggers wondering. It’s what’s going on inside that bald dome that does.

A portion of the city thinks Kelly is a few audibles short of a touchdown drive. Others love his style.

In only eight months, Kelly, the Bombers’ first-year head coach, has reeled off more classic one-liners, skinny-dipped in more hot water and set fire to more big, brazen headlines than most freewheeling anarchists could aspire to in eight years. He is, hands down, the most interesting, offbeat, controversial personality in the Canadian Football League — a league rife with outrageous individualists.

Outspoken. Brash. In-your-face.

"I believe in myself,” Kelly says unapologetically. "I believe in what I’m doing. Belief. That’s something my dad preached, that he instilled in us. I’m doing what I think is best for the Blue Bombers’ football club. I will not deviate from my plan. I say what I think. Some people interpret that as arrogance, I guess.

"I’m my own person. I’m not going to change.”

Change, though, is what he’s bent on bringing to Canad Inns Stadium.

"I found people here a lot more bitter and distrustful than in the mid-’90s,” says the man who was the Bombers’ offensive co-ordinator from 1992 to ’96. "I guess it’s because they’re starved for a winner. Since I left — and, please, I don’t mean to imply that it’s because I left — they’ve only been to two Grey Cups. We went to two in six years in the ’90s there. Didn’t win ’em. But we were there.

"People started taking that kind of success for granted, maybe.

"When I was here before, people believed in the team. I come back, they believed in individuals. So when I decided to clean out some of those individuals, there was complete and total panic. But if you look at the 30-some guys I did get rid of, only half a dozen are still in the league.

"Then I trade for Siddeeq Shabazz, and everyone’s wailing: ‘Not another castoff from Edmonton. Who is this guy?’

"I’ll tell you: He’s the CFL defensive player of the month. That’s who he is. Now they think he’s the best thing since sliced bread.”

Those around the Bombers on a fairly regular basis insist that Kelly, down deep, is a good guy, a funny man, an interesting person.

He’ll say something quite outlandish one day, then joke about it the next. "I do think I’d be a fun dinner date,” Kelly says.

Still, people can’t quite get a handle on him, or his contradictions.

One moment Kelly’s decrying sensationalism in the media, the next he’s saying something outrageous to a room choked by tape recorders and notepads.

"That’s fine,” Kelly says of the hard-to-pin-down charge. "My inner circle knows me.”

When provoked, he lashes back. He believes his uneven relationship with the Winnipeg media is down to his taking back control of the Bombers message.

When critics compared his short reign to that of the Harley-straddling surfer dude Jeff Reinebold, he, predictably, returned in kind.

"I got rid of all my earrings,” he quipped, "and the tattoo removal is going well.”

Kelly released Derick Armstrong for insubordination, after the star wideout refused to play after being left out of the starting lineup at a game in Edmonton. He’s returned fire during a radio station call-in segment when he was fired upon by belligerent listeners.

Winnipeg is a pretty staid town. There, the post-Bud Grant gold standard for football coaches is undoubtedly Mike Riley, the quiet, cerebral, humble Jimmy Stewart type.

In stark contrast, Kelly, burly and bald, comes off as defiantly confrontational, a loose cannon. Proprieties be damned.

"Everything I say,” he sighs, "kind of… blows up. I guess people have too much free time. I keep checking the mailbox for a bonus cheque from (CFL commissioner) Mark Cohon, for all I’ve done to create interest in the league.

"Like the other day, after (former Bombers star turned TSN analyst)Milt Stegall said that Michael Bishop was only a short-term Band-Aid for us at quarterback. I responded with something like ‘Milt’s in TV now. He should go powder his nose and get onto something else.’ And suddenly it’s a big deal. Geez…

"Hey, I go back a long way with Milt. I expect him to come back at me now. That’s fine.

"Have some fun. Lighten up.”

In that quest, he doesn’t plan on backing down or, thankfully, shutting up.

"They love it, I know,” he says, "but believe it or not, I don’t say many things that aren’t calculated.”

A few hundred-thousand Winnipeggers will have a mess of trouble believing that particular statement, but might there be method in Mike’s madness, after all?

To date, Kelly’s time as Bombers coach has been a bumpy, if richly entertaining, ride.

Five games in is, naturally, far too early to assess how the Mike Kelly era will be remembered.

Going on what we’ve seen and heard so far, though, you can bet large it’s going to be remembered.

"When I die,” Kelly says, "if they chip ‘He was a good guy’ into my tombstone, that’d be enough for me.”

— Canwest News Service