A Season of Loss, a Lifetime of Forgiveness

The Dan Snyder and Dany Heatley Story

By John Manasso, Kevin Connolly

ECW PRESS

Copyright © 2011 John Manasso
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-77041-060-2
CHAPTER 1

The Crash

Atlanta Thrashers general manager Don Waddell had made up his mind and decided it was time to deliver the good news. The start of the NHL season was three weeks away and even though Dan Snyder had not been able to take part in training camp, because he had undergone surgery on an ankle ligament, Waddell wanted the 25-year-old to know he had made the team. He approached Snyder and Dany Heatley, Waddell's budding star and the most valuable player at the previous season's All-Star Game. At Heatley's invitation, Snyder, a gregarious floppy-haired, gap-toothed player to whom teammates took a liking for his ever-present crooked smile, had been staying with Heatley for about a month, as Snyder had bounced up and down from the minor leagues to Atlanta and back during his previous three seasons.

"Are you getting tired of the hotel yet?" Waddell asked Snyder.

"No," Snyder responded, unsure of the line of questioning. "I'm staying with him," he added, motioning to Heatley.

"You've got to be tired of him by now," Waddell said to Snyder. "I think it's time to get your own place."

On that late September day, in oblique fashion, Waddell signalled to Snyder that he had would be with the team for the entire season. It was the crowning achievement of Snyder's brief professional career. Snyder excitedly called his parents and his brother Jake to inform them of the news and started his housing search. But the celebratory mood would last only a few days.

* * *

The week before Thrashers' training camp was set to begin, Waddell had persuaded Snyder to have the surgery, explaining bluntly that, with Snyder's skating ability, he needed to be at top form to compete in the NHL. That Snyder needed the surgery, in Waddell's mind, served as a microcosm of the player's career — barely fast enough, barely big enough. Nonetheless, Snyder embodied the ethic Thrashers coach Bob Hartley prized: He was tough, fearless, and with a mouth that never stopped yapping, no one wanted to play against him.

Snyder had been through enough trials before, so the 2003 training camp need not be one of them. Based on his performance at the tail end of the previous season, Snyder had earned a spot as the team's third-line centre for the 2003–04 campaign — a season which held high expectations for the expansion franchise entering its fifth year. In previous stints with the Thrashers, Snyder had lived out of a hotel room beside the highway near the team's practice facility in Duluth, Georgia, about 30 miles northeast of downtown Atlanta. However, since arriving in Atlanta in August from his hometown of Elmira, Ontario, to prepare for the season, Snyder had stayed at Heatley's home in the city's upscale neighborhood of Buckhead. Heatley, a right winger who had earned about $8 million in his first two pro years, was coming off a season many observers believed would act as a springboard to launch a spectacular career. He could become one of the best players in the world at his position — perhaps Canada's next great player.

September 29, 2003, was a practice day for the Thrashers. Over the weekend, the team had played exhibitions in Raleigh, North Carolina, and Richmond, Virginia. After a day of rest on Sunday, it was back to work on Monday. Hartley and Waddell had trimmed the roster down to 22 players, the number they planned to start the season with. Only two pre-season games remained. The boot that Snyder wore as a protective cast on his surgically repaired ankle had been removed the week before, and he was eager to get back on the ice.

"He kept trying to convince Bob he'd be ready for start of the season, which was probably a little out of reach," Snyder's older brother Jake said. "I could see Dan playing with that [injury]." That was his personality: no injury was going to stop Snyder from achieving his goals. At a pre-season game against the Carolina Hurricanes the previous week, Snyder wore a suit, a dress shoe and a sneaker where the recently removed cast had been — although unplanned, the mismatched shoes were typical of the kind of goofy behavior teammates came to appreciate in Snyder.

After practice on the 29th, the players attended an event at Philips Arena for season-ticket holders. The ownership group that had contracted to buy the team the week before was present, and the players were there to schmooze fans and sign autographs. Heatley and Snyder were among the last players to leave, around 9 p.m. They got in Heatley's black 2002 360 F1 "Spider" Ferrari and headed for The Tavern at Phipps, a player's hangout not far from Heatley's home. At 9:47 p.m., Heatley and Snyder ordered 10-ounce draughts of Bass Ale with dinner, according to a statement bartender Greg Greenbaum later gave investigators. Snyder spoke to his former teammate Jarrod Skalde on his cell phone, confirming plans to get together the next day and attend an Atlanta Braves playoff game. The check came at 10:11; the players paid and left. Heatley turned left out of the parking lot onto Peachtree Road, then turned right onto Lenox Road to head home.

The details of what happened next might never be fully known.

* * *

The 2002 360 F1 Spider can go from zero to 62 miles per hour in 4.5 seconds. Its engine can deliver 400 brake horsepower — almost triple that of a Honda Accord — and it has a top speed of 180.2 miles per hour. It is made of a light aluminum alloy and weighs about 3,000 pounds, about 1,000 pounds lighter than a Ford Explorer. More a collector's item and an engine of speed than a utilitarian automobile, Ferraris are scarce, and keen-eyed buyers gobble them up quickly, as only about 1,000 are sold new in the United States each year. Unlike most cars that depreciate the instant their owners drive them off the lot, Ferraris appreciate because of their scarcity. Just over three months before that fateful September night, Heatley had paid $240,823 for the vehicle — in cash.

The car's previous owner, Steve Pruitt — a former professional race car driver — was later questioned by investigators about its speed. "Well, it ... it ... it's fast," he said. "I guess it just depends on your ability to be able to drive it the way, you know, the way it's capable of being driven. Obviously, you know, I ... I ... I drove competitively for four years, you know, so I ... I kind of know how to handle a car like that." The investigator asked if a buyer was required to take special classes before operating the Ferrari. "No, no, no, no," Pruitt responded.

On the night of the 29th, when Heatley turned down Lenox Road, a narrow, sloping, curving byway overburdened by its present status as a commuter thoroughfare, he soared past the posted speed limit of 35 miles per hour. Later, the fastest speed his lawyer would admit to was 58. Two other forensic experts put the car's speed at more than 80 miles per hour — numbers whose ultimate reliability might not have stood up to scrutiny at trial. The Ferrari's speed proved catastrophic. For some reason, Heatley swerved abruptly to his left. Unable to control the car, he braked and lost control. The car's right rear tire skidded out in front of the right front tire as the car crossed the double yellow line and careened off the road. It slammed into a wrought iron fence with brick pillars. Air bags deployed. The impact obliterated one of the 4,400-pound pillars.

The...