Jeff Haney bids farewell to a hockey handicapper who was always a favorite

Monday, June 26, 2006 | 7:13 a.m.

Unless you're in the small minority of gamblers who bet on hockey, you might not have heard of Bobby Bryde.

As Bryde would never hesitate to tell you in his inimitable way, he was not part of the city's gaming establishment, or what he considered the "inner circle" of well-known local sports betting figures.

The only thing Bryde cherished more than his outsider status was his reputation as a tough guy, a hard-liner, a rough-and-tumble, take-no-prisoners gambling iconoclast.

All of which he probably was. But I was lucky to know another side of his personality, too.

Bryde, a longtime Las Vegas resident, respected sports handicapper and internationally renowned hockey authority, died Thursday at Nathan Adelson Hospice after an extended fight with cancer. He was 49.

As the self-styled "Hockeymeister," Bryde published several books and numerous articles on NHL handicapping. He was often interviewed for his hockey expertise on sports-talk programs throughout the United States and Canada.

He was the most loyal reader of my gambling columns, yet when he disagreed with something I wrote he was also my harshest critic.

If he could, Bryde would no doubt call up and give me an earful for revealing this:

Beneath his blustery exterior, Bryde was the kind of person we need more of in Las Vegas. He was cerebral, intellectually curious, fiercely loyal to friends, kind and generous to a fault.

In a city where money too often breeds corruption, Bryde cared more about people as individuals than about the endless pursuit of the almighty dollar - even though he worked as hard as anyone and had earned the admiration of his peers.

I was always impressed by his thorough research in handicapping hockey, as well as "specialty" sports such as the Canadian Football League and the College World Series.

Yet Bryde had a wide range of interests and a broad expanse of knowledge beyond sports. It spanned subjects as disparate as literary fiction, old-time radio shows and the music of military bands.

In one typical exchange, I gave him my copy of "The National Football Lottery," Larry Merchant's ahead-of-its-time 1973 book on football betting. He returned the favor with a collection of Kafka's short stories and novellas. (If there's a lesson there, I haven't quite figured it out.)

I'd sometimes watch hockey or football at Bryde's home, as part of a rogues' gallery of journalists, gamblers and oddsmakers he would invite over. We'd marvel at the six or seven full-size TV sets in his living room that were rigged to pull down satellite signals from our neighbor to the north. Bryde was surely this city's most dedicated viewer of "Hockey Night in Canada."

When my son was born nearly five years ago, Bryde delivered a selection of, shall we say, unique baby gifts that included vintage posters of Phil Esposito and Bobby Orr. Later, my son got to know Bobby Bryde's as a place where he'd be greeted not only with candy or a cookie, but also by an inflatable dinosaur wearing a Flyers jersey - a permanent fixture at Bryde's front door.

I had known Bryde since the late '90s, but our relationship went in streaks and slumps. For long stretches, we'd talk every day. Then we'd go a few months without communicating - either because something I wrote in my column ticked him off or because we each got caught up in the mundane affairs of our busy day-to-day lives.

The past several months have been one of those fallow periods.

So I feel fortunate I was able to visit him a final time last week in the hospice to say goodbye. It was the day of the seventh game of the Stanley Cup finals. That seemed somehow appropriate.

I'm richer for having known Bobby Bryde. He was a genuine Las Vegas character, and I was proud to call him my friend. He will be missed.

Auf wiedersehen, Herr Hockeymeister.