Rob Andringa’s fighting spirit always came with a smile
May 30, 2020 | Men's Hockey, Mike Lucas
Badgers hockey alum and broadcaster died on Friday after courageous battle with cancer
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BY MIKE LUCAS
UWBadgers.com Senior Writer
MADISON, Wis. — During a 1989 hockey game at Northern Michigan, University of Wisconsin defenseman Rob Andringa lost his helmet on his shift. But he didn't immediately skate to the bench because he didn't want to leave the offensive zone.
Play continued.
Tracking down the helmet near the net, he stooped over to pick it up. Andringa didn't see his UW teammate Sean Hill lining up a shot. Nor did he see the puck coming off Hill's stick.
After taking the shot off his head — right above his forehead, parallel to the part in his hair — Andringa fell to the ice in a pool of his own blood. It took 17 stitches to close the wound.
"Potentially, it was a life-threatening situation," said UW trainer Mike Johnson who tended to Andringa. "If the puck had been a little lower, he could have easily lost an eye.
"If it had been a little more direct on impact, he could have sustained a skull fracture. That could have been a fatal injury. He was very lucky."
Andringa, a spunky team leader, took it all in stride.
"You have to play without fear," he insisted while suggesting that there was no other option. "And you can't worry about things like that happening again."
The stitches altered his appearance but not his outlook.
"Looks pretty good, huh?" he said making fun of his hairstyle. "I got the Frankenstein cut."
It was vintage Andringa, who mixed his fearlessness with a playfulness that endeared him to everyone on that "Drive for Five" team that won the 1990 national championship for coach Jeff Sauer.
In the finals, Andringa had the winning goal against Colgate at the old Joe Louis Arena in Detroit. Over the last 20 games, the Badgers lost just once in capturing their fifth NCAA title.
60 minutes.
No alibis.
No regrets.
After a disappointing loss in January, the players found a rallying cry and motivation in those words that were on a sign that was pulled off a locker room wall and taken on every road trip.
This was a group that subscribed to one philosophy: Life is Not a Spectator Sport.
"Our inspiration," said winger Tom Sagissor.
Andringa double-downed.
Our inspiration, he echoed.
As one of the strongest heartbeats in an extraordinarily united locker room, Andringa often picked out the music that was played over the speakers while dancing to his own drummer (Earth, Wind and Fire's "September" would later climb to the top of his play list).
The crafty Sauer blended a winning combination of character and characters who governed themselves. Sags. Shuey. Bycer. Tanker. Rals. Oz. Hilly. Sneds. Parks. Duke. Mac. Nellie. Kurtzie. Et al.
"We've got 20 guys in that room," said Andringa, aka Ringo, "and before every game everybody is doing what they have to do to get ready. Whatever it takes. Everybody is different."
Different? "I like to be a little goofy," he admitted. "Too intense, too many mistakes."
But in the next breath, he added, "Everybody is different. But everybody is the same. We're all fighters. We have an upbeat spirit. We keep it loose. We're individuals, but we play for the team."
And he was more resolute than normal with what he said next.
"Years from now, we'll still be close friends. In time of need, we'll rally around each other."
• • • •
Less than 72 hours after his chemotherapy treatments were discontinued at the end of April on his doctor's recommendation, Rob Andringa was still fighting the fight; a spirited and courageous fight that he had fought since being diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer in mid-December of 2017.
He was still talking about defying the odds, too ("I still feel there's a miracle out there.").
During her May 1 journal entry on CaringBridge, Christi Andringa had revealed that Hospice was the next phase in her husband's journey. While extolling his indefatigable drive ("He's a tough dude"), she spoke of the kids and the strength and compassion that Jack, Carson and Dara had shown during their father's battle. She also promised the "five of them" would carry on with "ginormous love."
During the last 30 months, Andringa's fight gave rise to #RingoStrong, a rallying point for his old UW teammates, his co-workers with RBC Wealth Management and the Big Ten Network; and his legion of supporters, young and old alike in the Madison community, that were drawn to his narrative.
They all showed him much love. And he returned it. Whenever anyone probed about his cursed fate, he reiterated, "This cancer diagnosis ain't going to stop me, this ain't going to define me."
Upon pulling back from the chemo, Andringa stressed that he was not done fighting. But he offered a candid glimpse of his battle. Among other things, he had lost his appetite contributing to a steady weight loss that sapped his energy and compromised his strength and mobility.
Not that he wanted anyone on the outside to know what he was truly feeling on the inside. From time to time, he mused, there were cravings. Like for a Frosty from Wendy's. Or for cherry pop tarts that he could wash down with a Mountain Dew. At least it sounded good to him.
When he awoke each morning, he tried not to outthink himself.
"I've had so many drugs in my body now for two plus years that it just kind of wears on you," he was saying on May 3 from his home in Stillwater, Minnesota, 30 minutes from Minneapolis. "When you think about it, there may not have been a month when I haven't had anything or taken a pill or done something. It's just kind of where we're at right now. Sometimes you've just got to suck it up more.
"It was a tough day (April 29) when we had to tell the kids what was going on. For most people when they hear Hospice, they think, "Oh, my God, he's only got a week to live.' But that's not the case. I don't know how much time I have. But I know there are different layers to Hospice. You have to take it as another step in the journey. When you get into this situation, you have to be able to recalculate.
"The doctor has always said the reason why I've had so much success with my treatments up to this point is, 'Because you're optimistic and you have given yourself hope. You've accepted what you have.' So, I'm still just focusing on the fight versus focusing on 'Why me?' In the back of my mind, I know we're going to find a way or something miraculous will happen. That's the mindset I've always had."
He kept his word. He fought to the end. An inspiring fight.
On Friday night, Rob Andringa passed away. He was 51.
• • • •
"The first thing I think of is his courage in dealing with it (the cancer) in a way that you admire from the standpoint that he never looked at it and felt defeated or felt that adversity wasn't part of life," said Wisconsin men's hockey coach Tony Granato, a longtime friend and confidant.
(Granato starred for the Badgers the four years preceding Andringa's arrival at the UW.)
"Robbie was going to do everything he could to fight it as best as he could. I really don't know how to describe it, but from the outside, you wondered how he could find that strength and courage to have the attitude, spirit, morale, and energy every day. And that was true every time we saw him.
"Fortunately, we got to see him a lot because he did a lot with our team. He could have chemo the day before and he'd show up in the building and he'd be full of energy and smiles. His love and spirit of living was something I don't know I've seen in anyone going through what he has gone through."
Granato and Andringa were self-proclaimed "brothers."
"His whole thing with me was, 'When are they going to retire our number?'" recalled Granato, who wore No. 21 on his Badger sweater; the same number that Andringa wore during his four years. Prior to them, the No. 21 was worn by the incomparable Chris Chelios who went on to NHL stardom.
"I kept telling Robbie, 'Hopefully someday they'll retire Chelly's number and we can pretend that we were part of that,'" Granato kidded. "Me and Robbie have always had that bond with 21. There's a special meaning to it for us. That's why we called each other the 21 brothers."
Dara and Carson Andringa have recently gotten tattoos to honor their pops. Dara has a 21 with wings. Carson has an XXI and cross. All of which should spawn a conversation on how the program might recognize the number. Only one Wisconsin hockey player has his jersey retired: Mark Johnson (No. 10).
Johnson, the UW women's coach, saw Andringa's determined fight against cancer in a similar light to his dad's fight. In 1991, the legendary Badger Bob Johnson died from brain cancer. He was 60. He never stopped coaching, never stopped being positive, never stopped fighting to the end.
"If you know Robbie at all — and I've known him a long, long time; I grew up in the same (Madison) neighborhood — you know he's a competitor and fighter," Johnson said. "And he sort of attacked it (the cancer) the way he would getting ready for a big game or hard practice.
"Okay, what do I need to do? Okay, let's go do it.' My biggest takeaway was his overall attitude and his ability on a daily basis to keep upbeat and have a smile on his face and tell us, 'He's going to be okay."'
Reflecting on Andringa's leadership and hockey skills, Johnson pointed out, "He was a gifted athlete and excelled in multiple sports in high school. As a player, he had that competitive edge. You wanted him on your team. Certainly, he took it to a really high level winning a championship (1990).
"But that wasn't enough. He got involved in coaching. He did the broadcasting side of it. He gave back to hockey in so many different ways other than being a player. He was a coach and an announcer, and he just loved the game. He was very knowledgeable and educated. And he had a great passion for it.
"A lot of people, especially a lot of kids benefited from his energy and enthusiasm. He worked our hockey schools forever as a player and camper and then he became a coach and I had a chance to work with him every summer in Vail (Colorado) for a week.
"Whether it was 15 or 20 years ago, or it was last year when he was in a tough position because of what he was going through, he still came out there even though he was battling the disease. He still went on the ice with the same passion and energy and enthusiasm that he did many years ago."
Johnson compared Andringa's lasting impact on the local hockey scene to the mentoring influence that one of his former Badger teammates, Bobby Suter, had on youngsters.
"A little different path," he said. "But they gave back to the game that was so good to them."
Suter, a 1980 Olympian with Johnson, died from a heart attack in 2014. He was 57.
"When you look at the families that have come through this program — the Johnsons, the Suters, the Granatos, whoever you want to say, the Andringas are as important as any," said Granato, noting that the head of the clan, Dr. Conrad Andringa, was the team physician in the '70s for Bob Johnson and Robbie's older brother, Jeff, was a defenseman under Johnson and Sauer.
"Robbie was a stick boy, then his brother Jeff played here, then Robbie played here, and then Robbie came back and did the broadcasts. He knew more about us than we knew about ourselves. This has always been his hockey team, his school, his community.
"I don't know that anyone had a connection as close as he had to this program."
Granato's brother Don and Andringa shared a connection. They were UW co-captains as seniors. But it went deeper.
"They have a lot of similar characteristics — they're competitive and courageous — and the one thing they really have is passion," Tony said. "They also have the compassion to love people and to appreciate opportunities. Both were little brothers who watched their big brothers come through here.
"They were sitting in the wings hoping someday they'd get that opportunity. They had a deeper connection than most and better take on what Badger hockey is. That's pretty unique and special."
Don Granato was a cancer survivor. And a valuable resource to Andringa.
In 2005, Granato was diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma. Since 2015, he has been cancer free. A year ago, he was hired as an assistant coach with the Buffalo Sabres. But he had another health challenge when pneumonia led to a bacterial infection and respiratory failure. He survived again.
"What they've both relied on, Donny and Robbie, was their strength, their mental toughness and the love and friendship of all of their teammates that were there for them," Tony said. "The support that they got gave them the energy and the fight to face the challenges and hard times."
Tony Granato could relate to the support system. In 1996, while playing for the Los Angeles Kings, he faced his own personal health crisis when he underwent brain surgery. Doctors removed a hematoma on the left temporal lobe and addressed a cluster of abnormal blood vessels.
Andringa was among those reaching out and supporting Granato.
"Hockey is unique that way if you've been on a championship team or you've been on a close group that has done something special or you've just been on a team," Johnson said. "The fans see the game and the results. But it's all the other stuff that the players cherish; the friendships they develop.
"There's that bond. You might not see somebody in a number of years but the minute you see them again, you instantly connect. I see that with our Olympic team. I see that with some of our championship teams (at Wisconsin). I see that with Robbie's 1990 championship team.
"That group was very close-knit and together. So, when one of your teammates is down or needs something, you have a built-in support system. The Wisconsin hockey community has been very willing to support Robbie. You do whatever you need to do as a friend."
Andringa felt that love. And returned it. But his circle of friends wasn't just limited to hockey.
There was former UW football coach Bret Bielema and his defensive coordinator Dave Doeren, now the head coach at North Carolina State. There was former Badger football and baseball player Joe Armentrout and pro golfer Jerry Kelly, an all-city prep hockey player in Madison.
In the media, there was Brian Posick, the play-by-play voice of Badger hockey; and Andy Baggot, a venerable hockey reporter. Two days after Andringa got off chemotherapy, Posick acted on an impulse. He decided to drive up to Stillwater to support Andringa, who was his part-time color analyst.
Posick invited Baggot who reveled in the spontaneity of it all and didn't hesitate to ride shotgun on the 250-mile trip. They left at 5:30 a.m. Fifteen minutes from Stillwater, they called Andringa to let him know that they were in the neighborhood. Could they come over?
Their unannounced visit caught Andringa completely off guard. But, of course, he welcomed them even though he and Christi were expecting a house full of people. Before driving back to Madison — and they only stayed for a couple of hours — Posick and Baggot had something for Andringa.
Cherry pop tarts and Mountain Dew.
Unscripted, unconditional friendship.
Respect and love.
Andringa engendered that in people.
And in his time of need, they rallied around him.
"When you're down, you feel the brotherhood and the support and the love from your teammates and from the people you know and from some people you don't even know," Granato said. "And that gives you the strength to fight whatever battle you have to fight."
At the start, the fight was day by day.
Lately, it was hour by hour (60 minutes, no alibis, no regrets).
Rob Andringa fought that fight to the end.
Just like Christi, a pillar of strength, knew her husband would. Just like Phyllis and Connie knew their son would. Just like everyone knew their goofy, beloved friend would.
#RingoStrong.
Our inspiration.
