Ready for grading, word count 3276, double week applies

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Losing this kid is really going to suck.

My daily routine starts off before the sun greets us with its presence. I’m up before the family as I sluggishly get myself together for the day ahead. A bowl of instant oatmeal and a cup of instant coffee later and I’m out the door.

The sky has turned from a jet black to a cool grey as I turn on my truck and head into the frigid abyss. I drive in silence with the crunch of the snow under my tires accompanying me. It’s the only time during my day without chaos. Don’t get me wrong, I love the chaos that is to come. I thrive on it, chaos is what pushes me to do my job well but there’s something about this 20 minute drive that prepares me for this day as it has every day for the past 25 years. It’s therapy.

I take the long way too. I need as much time as I can get from home to work to think. To think about the life I lead, to think about the kids I’m responsible for, the team I’m responsible for, the community I’m responsible for.

The only car in the parking lot of the rink as I turn in is John’s, as usual. He’ll be flooding the ice for the first time this morning, hours before the teens arrive. I jerk open the rusted doors and enter the only place that I’ve truly felt alive.

John is on the Zam, toiling away, I walk up to the glass and give it a little tap, his head jerks right and he smiles as he always does.

“Coach” he says. “John” I say.

We’ve said those two words to each other every morning without fail for the past 25 years. I’m sure he had a similar exchange with my predecessor too.

I walk around the rink, admiring John as he guides his beast with pristine perfection around the ice. Every turn is perfect, every nook is flooded. He never misses a spot and never over or under-does it.

Rinkhands like John are few and far between. We’re lucky to have him.

My office was left, by me, in its usual clutter from burning the midnight oil the night before. I was up later than usual reading the scouting reports for the third time for our opponent tonight. It’s a big one, the big one, one we cannot lose.

Most travel teams don’t have scouting reports. Most travel teams don’t have video footage to study. Most travel teams aren’t my travel team.

It’s why we’re the league standard. It’s why we’re undefeated. It’s why we will win our 8th consecutive championship tonight.

It’s not that we have the best players, we don’t. Other teams in our league are stacked with kids who can flat out play. Kids who individually are better than most of the kids on my squad without question. The difference is that our team, as a team, is heads above the rest of the pack and it’s not even close.

That’s the message that I give to the kids at the beginning of every set of tryouts. You come to camp to join a team, not to play for yourself. If you play for yourself you’re out, I don’t care if you can shoot over 90 or skate like the wind. You don’t play for me if you don’t value your teammates success over your own.

That’s why losing this kid is going to suck.

An hour goes by and it’s almost time. I set down the papers, close the laptop and pause the game tape. I check the clock, 7:19.

I strap on my skates, grab my stick and head out. My assistants are already on the ice, preparing the drill boards, getting pucks ready, the usual. My eyes immediately go where they always do. Where they have gone to every morning for the past 3 years, expecting to see the young man that has been the finest hockey player I have seen in my tenure running this team. My expectations are met as they always are.

There is Gord McKenzie, standing at the boards, his teammates crowding behind him, waiting, itching, pining.

I hop on the ice, give my whistle a blast and he explodes over the boards like a horse out of the gate at the Kentucky Derby. He skates full speed along the blueline, stops abruptly before crashing into the boards, spraying snow all over them and retraces his steps at full speed back to where he came, dodging teammates along the way. He sprays the boards with another stop and joins his teammates for the skate.

I first met Gord when he tried out for my team a year earlier than he was eligible. He was too good for his age group but nowhere near ready physically for our league. He was the smallest kid by a foot and the kids didn’t go easy on him during the scrimmages. They gave him the business and then some; he got it from all angles, physical and verbal. The vets didn’t want him there, the rookies didn’t want to get shown up a kid younger than him, the parents didn’t want their kid losing a spot to a kid who wasn’t age eligible.

He was my best tryout.

Not because of ability. Because of his work ethic. He was first on and last off every single skate, even beating out the hulking veterans whose life was their team. He dazzled with his footwork, impressed with his shot and earned respect by taking hit after hit after hit without complaint. He wasn’t the best player out there in terms of pure skill, heck he still isn’t, but I knew that if I put him on the team he’d help us win.

I cut him.

He was too young and even though he turned heads and earned the respect of the team I couldn’t justify it to the parents without getting hell. I also didn’t want to be responsible for the health of this kid when he was clearly physically outmatched by every player on the ice. Maybe it was the coward’s way out. Maybe I should have been brave and took him in. If I knew then what I know now he would have more than held his own. I regret not being able to coach him for another year.

I’d see him at the rink with his age-appropriate team, miles and miles ahead of them. Not just in skill but in smarts. He played the puck where it was going to be. His anticipation was off the charts. Making reads and interceptions and passes that my veterans never did. He was becoming a bit of a local folk-hero. I never watched the younger kids play. I left that my assistants to scout the kids coming up next season. I watched every game. He led his league in scoring, his team won their first championship in league history, he aged up and he was the first name on my team sheet next fall.

I got to know him very well over the course of his first season with us. He was the youngest on the team but the hardest worker by a mile. He would show up before anyone else and leave after everyone left. He genuinely loved the rink. He just loved being around hockey. He was the same person on the ice as he was off of it. Confident, smart, genuine. What you see is what you get with Gord and that’s about as good of a compliment as I can give anyone.

I like to push my players. I ride them hard and I mean hard. It’s how I get them closer together. They unite as they get worked to the bone and develop a sense of comradery in their conditioning. I have seen it all out there during camp and the initial practices; vomit, fainting spells, arguments, complaints, the whole grab gab of fun. What I didn’t see until Gord skated for me was a smile.

I run this drill that the kids call the guillotine because those who can’t survive it likely get cut. It’s a combination of everything I look for in a player. Decision making, skating, shooting, and above all conditioning.

It starts with a sprint from full stop to the far blue line, you pivot sideways and cross over the whole blue line with your back to where you came from. When you get to the wall you receive a pass and skate backwards along the wall to the red line where you cross over sideways and do a full lap with the puck around the center ice circle. Once there you skate forwards into oncoming traffic of the players making their way across the blue line. You avoid them (while they have to avoid you) and skate through cones with the puck in a pattern designed to muddle a professional’s brain. I expect people to lose pucks there, it’s constant against-the-grain pivots, turns and angles that are just uncomfortable for skaters. Once through you have to shoot high left or right and then sprint full steam, through the maze of players doing what you just did.

You then do this three more times before the whistle.

I had never seen a player complete a perfect drill. Players always lose the puck, miss the shot, collide with each other, don’t sprint the final way and so on. I had never seen a player complete a perfect drill…until Gord did it. You don’t do what he did on skill. You do it on smarts. To plan your path, trust your instincts, use your equipment properly…it’s a dance I’ve only seen perfected by Gord.

I could barely contain my surprise as he finished the final sprint at full speed, weaving his way through a sea of bodies without breaking stride. He stopped with a sharp edge, huffing and puffing…and smiling. My assistants looked at me as if to say “holy shit.” I smirked.

Today was a big day. Either way it was Gord’s last day with us. He wasn’t the only player aging out but he was the only player moving on. In a few week’s time he would be drafted and he’d be on his way to where I knew he’d be going the second he finished that drill.

I can’t tell you enough about Gord’s game. There’s too much to tell. He’s been scouted and written about and featured but none of that does him any justice. I am biased because I have grown close to him but he is a generational player. Not a generational talent, mind you, he isn’t the most skilled player on our team but as a player, as a teammate, as a student of the game…there is none better that I have seen in my time here.

I run a hard practice, harder than usual on a gameday. I need them realize how important tonight is. It’s not because Gord and some of the other kids are leaving, that happens every year, and I will never put the personal progress of a player over the importance of the team. Tonight is different because it’s for the title. This is what we work for. This is why we do what we do. Winning isn’t everything but it sure is a lovely reward for all the work we put into this team.

I can tell the kids want a scrimmage but I don’t give it to them. I need their nervous energy for tonight, I need them wanting to pounce with aggression and determination. Instead I do a 1 on 1 drill to emphasize the importance of controlled zone entries. The forward carries the puck in over the wing or the middle, depending on position and has to beat the defender clean with a chance. The big guys try to plow their way in, the speedy guys chip and chase against the grain, some dangle and shift their body position to cause awkward pivots. These kids know how to play, no doubt. Gord does his rotation 3-4 times and every time it’s something different. You aren’t going to see the same thing from him twice, that’s what makes him such an effective player.

The one that impressed me the most was his last run. He came up tight against the boards and we all thought he was going to try to squeeze by, he was going to get muscled out. The defenseman bore down on him and right before getting crunched he jutted outwards and planted forward in a burst of speed. The defenseman crashed into the wall and he got a shot off.
The thing about Gord is that he’s not going to impress you with his size or his physicality. That’s not his game. He’s a good skater, a great shooter and his hockey sense is unparalleled in this league.

I end practice, nothing else I can do now.

The day flies by and before I know it I’m jarred out of watching game film by one of my assistants. It’s that time again. I stopped giving pre-game speeches years ago. I let my assistants go over talking points and let the players speak to each other. Motivation is much more effective when it comes from your peers.

I tie my tie, put on my jacket and head out. The refs are on the ice doing their final preparations. My eyes immediately go where they always do. Where they have gone to every before every game for the past 3 years, expecting to see the young man that has been the finest hockey player I have seen in my tenure running this team. My expectations are met as they always are.

There is Gord McKenzie, C on his chest, standing at the boards, his teammates crowding behind him, waiting, itching, pining.

He doesn’t start, I like to try and get a jump on the opposing coach with Gord. They’ve seen him before, they’ve scouted him but as I mentioned, you never see the same thing from Gord twice.

The first shift goes by without event, we set the tone with pressure but can’t close. Icing, offensive zone faceoff. I yell “1” and the three leap over, Gord among them.

He’s at the dot and I can see him working, the opposing team has a weakness in their lineup. I’m about to yell at the top of my lungs but Gord immediately talks to his teammates, all of them, huddled together, planning. The opposition’s defenseman is positioned too close to the faceoff circle, they’re looking for an aggressive tie-up so he can push the puck up to a streaky winger. It’s a risky plan but Gord does not have the size to win a physical tie-up like that. Gord knows what’s coming and before the puck hits the ice his skate blocks his opponent’s stick and the puck is pushed behind the goal line by Gord, behind the defender who crashed the dot. Before anyone else can react the left winger is on the puck who rings it around the boards back up to the defenseman who gathers it and wrists it on net, it’s tipped by the right winger and we’re up 1-0.

That’s a classic Gord play. Doesn’t get a point but it’s all him. That’s what he brings to this team more than anything else. He sees a weakness and he tells him teammates how they can exploit it together.

I keep them on to see if they can muster something else up.

Gord wins the faceoff and he loops back to collect the puck from his defenseman. I like giving the centerman the puck at our blue line because it gives them opposition less time to react and the centerman has countless options. Of course this means that we have less time to make decisions but this is why we practice.

He has nothing but that doesn’t deter him, it never does. He holds on to the puck long enough for his opposing center to overcommit and he shifts his weight to gain body position and he’s in the zone off the backed-up defense. He winds out and pulls the puck back then dips his shoulder in to head to the net but he doesn’t head there, instead he veers behind the net and the defender doesn’t catch the lane change in time, he grabs a should and hauls Gord down, 2 for holding.

We can’t capitalize.

The game goes on, ebbing a flowing. One of our other departing players takes a whack at a rebound and it’s 2-0 before the end of the 1st.

The second is nearly over and it’s still 2-0. We’re shutting them down, really giving them nothing to go on but a bad bounce off of a blocked shot gives their leading scorer a wide open net and he doesn’t botch it. It’s 2-1 after 2.

I head to the room during the intermission, something I don’t usually do. I didn’t like way they left the ice with their heads down and that’s something I can’t tolerate. Teams pick up on body language and that can be as good of a motivator as any.

I walk into the room and Gord is talking.

“We’re doing such a good job at preventing them from getting into our own zone that they had to rely on a bounce to score.” And that’s it. He sits down, they notice I’m there and the room dies. I look each one of them in the eye and leave.

We fly in the 3rd. It’s not a contest.

We’re sound defensively but extremely aggressive offensively. We hem them in their own zone and put up 2 before the 10-minute mark. Gord has an assist on the 2nd one.

Around 5 minutes left, up 4-1, Gord has the puck in our zone, he carries it low and drops it back to the defenseman to relieve the pressure on the forecheck but gets it back when he peels out to open himself up. He weaves through the neutral zone and streaks into the offensive zone 1 on 1. He comes in tight against the boards and I can’t help but laugh, I know what’s coming. He has such a knack of bringing what worked in practice to a game situation. They all thought he was going to try to squeeze by, that he was going to get muscled out. The defenseman bears down on him and right before getting crunched he juts outwards and plants forward in a burst of speed. The defenseman crashes into the wall, he has a clear path to the net and zips it 5-hole while looking top corner. That’s another thing about Gord that I love, he can really mess with a goaltender’s eyes.

The buzzer sounds, helmets and gloves are ejected upwards the team is in a mob around our goalie but it doesn’t last long. Gord ends it and immediately goes to shake hands to let the other team leave before they can really celebrate. They get the trophy, we take pictures. We’ve done this so many times it feels like this is supposed to happen.

After the dust settles and the players lose steam and begin heading to the dressing room, Gord skates over to me soaking wet and says “thanks coach.”

Losing this kid is really going to suck.