Whenever Harnarayan Singh drifted to boredom in his Brooks, Alta., classroom, he’d scribble the numbers 0 to 99 in a column on a page and test his hockey knowledge.
Beside every numeral, the student would write out as many NHL players as he could that wore the corresponding sweater.
Visualizing skaters’ backs, the young Sikh was, in a way, writing his own destiny on that blank piece of paper in that small immigrant town northwest of Medicine Hat.
So when Singh’s wife made a memory wall in their basement commemorating Harnarayan’s journey from bedroom broadcaster to airport sleeper to the first Sikh to broadcast an NHL game in English — his latest busted barrier, snapped a month ago in Calgary — she made certain to include a copy of Scott Morrison’s By the Numbers. A symbol of an improbable dream come true.
There were naysayers and long odds. But, for Singh, there were also signs of encouragement. The battle was always: Is it possible?
On New Year’s Eve, Singh will call his 570th consecutive hockey game for Hockey Night in Canada: Punjabi Edition, which is more popular than ever.
As he sips tea in a Vancouver coffee shop before voicing a recent double-header, the talkative play-by-play man happily discusses his craft, his obstacles, and how he came to this dream he makes sing every Saturday night.
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SPORTSNET.CA: How do you feel right before you go live?
HARNARAYAN SINGH: For Punjabi, it’s excitement, a bit of a rush. OK, here we are. There were certainly nerves for the English broadcast, holy s—.
Was getting English work always the end goal?
I hadn’t hidden the fact I’d be interested. Growing up, what I’d envisioned as the dream job was on the mainstream, English side. I’m so lucky for the community; the Punjabi one has become so important. It’s doing so much for the game for people growing up looking for a familiar face on TV. There’s so many beautiful things happening from that, but I never shied away from the English side. The timing was right, and some of the producers on the English side approach and asked if I’d be interested. I said, “Of course.” I’m hoping to be part of the English side even more.
“She had tears coming down. ‘What’s wrong?’ I said.
‘Nothing, son,’ she replied. ‘These are tears of joy.’ “
Let’s go back. When did you fall in love with hockey?
I grew up in a small town in Southern Alberta [called Brooks]. There weren’t any other Sikhs or Punjabi people in that small town. No similarities. My parents had been in that town for years as teachers. In kindergarten, I had to decide what to wear to school. The turban I’m wearing now is an adult one, but kids start off wearing hybrid versions. There were no classmates to copy off of, but I saw my dad as a teacher in the community and wanted to wear what he was wearing. I was adamant. So I was four years old wearing a formal turban to kindergarten.
Your house was different.
We spoke a different language at home, listened to different music, ate different food, we looked different. Here I am going to school in a predominantly Caucasian town. Obviously you’re going to get questions. My parents were liberal-minded. They said, “Tell them about yourself. Be positive. Don’t look at it as, ‘Why are they asking?’ ”
I found out early that hockey was something that made everybody more comfortable with me. It was the ice-breaker between my classmates and I. Looking back, there were a lot of classmates that might not have been friends with me had they not thought it was cool I was into hockey.
“A lot of classmates might not have been friends with me had they not thought it was cool I was into hockey.”
My siblings and I grew up in the ’80s when the Oilers and Flames were powerful teams. My sisters were already Gretzky fans, so they were watching hockey. I had hockey pajamas. We watched on TV, collected cards. I played a lot of ball hockey at school with friends. I became obsessed. All my kid pictures are of me wearing hockey sweaters. The Mighty Ducks movie influenced me, too.
My parents nurtured our passion for hockey, but we were involved in other activities like music, so our weekends were busy with cultural events. At our version of grace, I’d take the food and say thank you for the food, but I’d always throw in a prayer for Oilers or whatever.
Who called the games of your childhood?
Bob Cole. A lot of Saturday nights. He called so many iconic moments. Because we were so close to Calgary, I listened to Ed Whalen call Flames games for years. He had a few pet things. Like, whenever he started a game it was, “Hello, hockey fans!” I bumped into him at a mall in Calgary as a six-year-old and knew who he was. I ran away from my parents to see him: “Oh, my gosh, it’s Ed Whalen.”
Ron MacLean, I wanted to do what he did. When Ron MacLean hosted the NHL Awards, I’d set up my own podium as a kid and pretend to host the awards. I got my own tape recorder and record my own sports radio on cassettes. I’d play it for family. Invite a couple of friends from elementary school to come over and, instead of playing with them, ask them to be part of my radio show. We’d both talk hockey. My parents nurtured this by getting me a kids’ microphone stand and speaker play toy. In my own imaginary world, our living room was the hockey arena. We had a single rocker chair that was one net, and the stereo on the opposite side was the other net. So as the hockey game’s on TV, my family would watch, but I’d reenact what the players were doing with mini hockey sticks and do the commentary as well. My sisters would say, “Lower your volume so we can actually hear what’s going on the TV.” I’d add my own crowd noise, everything. I realized as a kid I wasn’t going to be in the NHL as a player, but it was something I enjoyed. I was so talkative, and it fit.
You must’ve met Bob Cole and Ron MacLean at this point.
Ron, I know well. I consider him a mentor but a friend as well. He’s met my family over the years. I have a special rapport with Ron. I’ve met Bob a couple times. When Hockey Night Punjabi was based in Toronto and I was going back and forth paying my own flights, I’d see him at the airport when I was looking for a place to spend a few hours, but I didn’t have the courage [to approach]. What would I say if he asked what I’m doing here? He’s got a magical thing to him, because his voice is the call to so many moments. The last game ever at Rexall Place I got a chance to see him. I’ve been busy on Saturday nights for the past 10 years, and he’s a Saturday night guy.
What advice has Ron given you?
Two guys in the industry have really helped me: Ron and Kelly Hrudey. Before Hockey Night Punjabi started, I was a reporter at CBC Radio in Calgary, and Kelly would come in to do stuff for Hockey Night on CBC. I’d see him walk by and jump out of my desk: “Oh, hey!” I’m sure he sensed I was a hockey-obsessed guy. Then I started seeing him and Cassie Campbell at the airports. I had a chance to sit down with him early and ask, “How do you prepare?” He gave me a lot of cool tips that I use to this day.
Like what?
At the beginning of the week, look ahead to Saturday and start focusing on those teams. It’s those nitty-gritty things that help when you start out. Either Sunday or Monday I will write out the games coming up for those [Saturday night] teams. I’ll keep a closer eye on those two teams all week: watch those games, read those articles, look at the lineup, story lines. When it comes to Saturday, you’re up to speed. He also pointed me in the direction of great websites that have a lot of information in one spot. Then, on-air delivery—how to sound conversational, what producers look for, what viewers look for, all those things. I don’t know if Kelly remembers, but he helped me a lot.
“At our version of grace, I’d say thank you for the food, but I’d always throw in a prayer for Oilers.”
With Ron, just to have someone of his stature give support to what we’re doing and have his blessing—this is important to the game. He brings us up on Hockey Night in Canada English, which meant a lot. It made you feel good about what you’re doing and brought us to the mainstream. Every time I met him, I was amazed by his memory. It’s unreal.
He’s not human.
I told him a story in 2008 or 2009, and just last season on Hometown Hockey he mentioned the story on-air. When we were kids, faith was big. On our birthdays, my mom would make us a sweet pudding and say a special prayer for us. As a kid, on Jan. 26, I’d ask my mom if we could make the pudding to celebrate Gretzky’s birthday. She didn’t have to, but she was a great sport. So on Jan. 26, for years, she’d make the pudding and we’d pray for Gretzky in our prayer room. He threw that story out on Hometown Hockey, and my jaw dropped.
Your biggest obstacle to make it here?
One of my sisters was always encouraging me, because I was wondering if it’s going to work. Am I wasting my time? When I was growing up people would say, “You have to be realistic. Chances of you getting on TV are slim.” My sister and mom were always pushing me. My dad is a PhD with seven degrees and a bookworm. He was like, “Try it. If it doesn’t work, switch.” Common sense. But my mom was like, “You can do it! You can do it!” In broadcast school, a couple teachers said, “You’re doing great but maybe consider news. If the industry is getting ready for this, maybe it’s news.” They didn’t see it in sports.
One of the reasons I chose Calgary’s Mount Royal [University] is, I’d seen a number of students get internships with another sports media company in Toronto. It was a big application process that involved a portfolio and I was like, “No way.” My sister asked about it three days before. I said I’m not going to bother, I won’t get in. She’s like, “What?! That’s the whole reason you chose this program. You have to try!” We got everything ready and built a portfolio about the kid with the dream and made it to TSN.
When Hockey Night Punjabi started, there was also an Inuit version.
Yeah, and Italian, Cantonese, Mandarin did a few games.
Why was Punjabi the one to survive?
The Punjabi community in Canada is vibrant. They like to participate, whether it’s business or politics. Everybody was so proud of this. Canada’s national game, and our people are getting a shot at this on television. The culture is very proud of its music, heritage, food, everything. Also, a certain portion of the generation relates to field hockey. In the 1960s, India won a couple of gold medals in the Olympics, and a lot of the players were from the state of Punjab. But when CBC started this, they didn’t think it would be something that would carry on for a decade. The ratings and media attention were through the roof.
“Be realistic. Chances of you getting on TV are slim.”
And your “Bonino” call must have spiked viewership.
It helped us gain momentum in the mainstream hockey world, especially south of the border. Canadian hockey fans know what we’re doing because we’ve been around for a bit, but that took things to the next level.
How spontaneous are your signature calls?
The Mitch Maaaaaaarner one: If there’s a name where you can prolong one syllable, I say the name as long as I can in a melodic way. I try to beat out the goal horn. That’s the strategy. Sidney Crosbyyyyyyyy! That comes form Punjabi music, where singers compete to hold the longest note. Like, you know, in English, Mariah Carey’s known for belting out a tone for a really long time. Punjabi singers do that, too. At the beginning of a Punjabi musical performance, the singer will begin by holding a note for 25 or 30 seconds to rile up the crowd. That’s where that comes from. If the name fits and it’s for a home crowd, we’ll go for it.
The Bonino thing wasn’t planned. It was a mistake. In my pregame notes, I’d written “Bonino” for left wing, centre and right wing. My analyst and producer noticed and said, “Look. You have Bonino-Bonino-Bonino.” Then he scored such a big goal, the adrenaline was pumping, and it just came out. Instead of three [Boninos], it became 10. And I involved a heyk – the long O at the end.
A couple of English commentators will say, “Top shelf where mom keeps the cookie jar,” right? My mom, one of her famous dishes is a homemade sweet, kinda like a fudge with different types of flours and sugar. I’ve incorporated that: “Top shelf where Mom keeps the vasen.”
We had one for the Sharks: Mr. [Brent] Burns scored and I said, “Excellent.” That just came out. It’s funny that we’re using a Simpsons reference on a Punjabi show. A lot of my colleagues watched wrestling growing up, so we use “Bang Bang Kris Letang.” I also sang a song for [Nikita] Kucherov’s goal in the playoffs.
How difficult is it to translate hockey slang to Punjabi?
We just call icing “icing.” To add a new word would just add complications. Icin in Punjabi is barf. The word barf just doesn’t sound right on the air, so we avoid it. I try to use fun ones: Slap shot we didn’t have, so I use a literal slap to the face: Chipeard shot! That’s the most popular phrase in the community. I’ll go to a Canucks game in the concourse and people will says, “Mr. Chipeard Shot!” Penalty box translates into “box of punishment.”
Any funny lost-in-translation moments?
My producer who didn’t know Punjabi goes in my ear [during a broadcast], “It’s not Bill Cole. It’s Bob Cole.” I was like, “Yeah, I know. Why are you telling me this?” A little while later, he’s in my ear again: “You guys! He’s a legendary play-by-play man. You can’t be saying his name wrong. It’s Bob Cole, not Bill Cole.”
“We’re not even talking about him. What do you mean?”
This kept happening throughout the game. He’s in my ear saying, “You guys keep saying Bill Cole!” When the game’s done, the producer comes over for a chat. He’s like, “What the hell? If you want to talk about a big name in the industry, someone who’s part of our brand, you have to say his name right!” I’m standing there confused, thinking about it, and then I got it. Bilkul! Bilkul in Punjabi just means, “That’s right.” We would’ve said bilkul 10 or 20 times in the broadcast. [laughs]
What about your voice? Do you do anything special in order to call back-to-back games every Saturday?
I don’t drink anything cold, ever. I never have a Slurpee. I’ll make a fruit smoothie at home but won’t put ice in it. I’m using my throat so much, I know I’m prone to getting a sore throat. Warm liquids. Use lemon, ginger, honey. I drink tea because you can add herbs. Astragalus—if I ever feel the onset of a sore throat, I have that. Without my voice, I have nothing. And I have an ironman streak going [knocks wooden table]. I have over 550 games. I keep a log. Every Punjabi game since 2008.
When was the ironman streak in doubt?
The toughest thing has been missing friends’ weddings. I tell everybody, “Go ahead with your event, but if it’s on a Saturday, sorry, I cannot make it.” I even had a friend with a wedding in Hawaii who asked me to come play drums at the ceremony. Paid flight to Hawaii on a regular-season game, but I said no.
Why not? It’s just one game.
It’s so important to me. I’m still amazed every day that I get to do this. It means so much, and it’s been such a roller coaster to get here, I don’t want to jeopardize it in any way. I have a daughter now. She’s 15 months. My friend said, “Your first baby is Hockey Night Punjabi. That’s how much time you devoted to it.” Wow. I never thought of it that way, but it makes sense.
Even as a kid, you studied players’ numbers, but do you make mistakes?
I can recognize players from how they skate or their body language now. Jagr—you can tell him from miles away.
When a player gets traded and another player takes on the number, that next game is a battle. Trevor Daley moved from Dallas to Chicago to Pittsburgh, and we’d called a bunch of those games. For the entire next game, you’re thinking, Don’t say Daley, don’t say Daley, because your brain has associate the player with the number.
I look at all the numbers before the game and enter them on the computer. My laptop still has lineups from so long ago, all saved. It’s crazy do to a comparison from six years ago and see the turnover.
What’s the biggest compliment you’ve received?
I walked into a minor hockey arena and a mom and a dad came up to me and said, “Oh, we watch your show. You do a great job. We didn’t watch before, but we became fans because of your show. Now our kids play minor hockey.” The first time that happened, it dawned on me: At the grassroots level, this is literally growing the game. You hear minor hockey enrollment is stagnant, but this is a service to the game of hockey. We need it. It switched my thinking.
“Minor hockey enrollment is stagnant, but this is a service to the game of hockey. We need it. It switched my thinking.”
At a community event in Brampton in our early years, we drove up and saw a lineup for us. No big names were coming to this—it was us. Holy smokes. This is really resonating with the community. For hours and hours we were meeting these people. I remember a grandmother came in. Must’ve been 80-plus. Wearing Punjabi attire. On top of her traditional attire she’s wearing a Leafs jersey. She walks in with two grandkids, slowing trudging along with a walker. I got up to meet her out of respect, and she had tears coming down. “What’s wrong?” I said. “Nothing, son. These are tears of joy. When I immigrated to Canada, my grandkids were already here. They thought I was so uncool and backwards and I didn’t know about the culture. They didn’t even talk to me. It was heartbreaking. Since you started the show, I can understand hockey and my grandkids think it’s so cool. I’ve become a hockey fan, and it’s changed our family dynamic.” A light bulb went off: This means so much more than just broadcasting a game.
