I guess I am in transition mode. I have my commitment (which I take very seriously) with the current North York team but, I'd be lying if I didn't say that my mind was wandering to what is ahead for me next season. I have tried to keep myself busy, while I am away from both organizations.
In the past few weeks, while the team and I are practicing and getting ready for our final tournament of the season, I have been delving into different areas.
In my off-time from the team I am starting to involve myself once again in the training and development of other kids.
In years past I would have to switch hats almost every night. One day I'd be on the ice training a Novice house league team north of the city and the next coaching one of two rep teams. One male and one female. That, of course was when I was a much younger man. I could bounce back physically a lot quicker than I can now. I also seemed to have a LOT more energy.
Strange how that works.
Now, I found I needed a charge both mentally and physically. The only way I know how to do that is to change my personal perspective. This shift in viewpoint comes in the form of developing teams I do not coach. Working with a number of different teams and having a blast doing it.
Recently, I experienced such a sense of deja vu at one such session, that I still grin when I recall it. We had a couple of minutes left at the end of the program so, as a reward for working hard, I always let the kids scrimmage. One player looked up at me and said - "Jeff, can we hit?"
Instantly, I was transported back to 1999 and having almost exactly the same conversation with one of my players on the Vaughan Panthers. I couldn't help but smile and offered the very same answer I did to the Panther player - "Why not?" The scary thing was, the reaction of both players, one past and one present was almost identical, "Guys! Jeff said we can hit!!", as he peeled away with his arms flailing.
Watching them scrimmage with energy they didn't even know they had, gave me such a warm feeling. This was in no way based on the fact that the session was that ground-breaking or special, on the contrary, it was much like any of the hundreds if sessions I have run in the past ten years or so. I derived my happiness in the way these players attacked the game. With a passion and energy that often gets overlooked or goes missing in the course of a long season.
When you coach a team and spend so much of your time with the players and families, you get comfortable. Dare I say, lazy at times. They know what to expect from you, you know what you can get from them. Then there are the times you meet each other in the middle and have one of those skates where everything seems to come together and everyone leaves happy, energized.
Sometimes it all comes together in the practical arena - during a game and nothing it seems, can go wrong. You have that feeling that nothing - no matter what can defeat you. That is a rare and special time for a coach. Also just as gratifying are the exciting come from behind moral and physical victories, they too are very memorable.
This year I actually had a player come up to me and say she loved the practice! There had been many sessions between the last time I heard those words from one of my own players.
Sometimes it's the little things that make a difference, like having a player thank you for extra ice time. Giving them a deserved pat on the back for a job well done and having them look at you, knowing they truly appreciate the words and sentiment.
Everyone's lives are full of negatives. Too many road blocks and red tape. You desperately want for the players to experience the escape and freedom this game can provide. To shrug off whatever problem you are facing at that particular time, to just go out and skate.
To feel the cold wind on your face as you make your first turn around the rink, the unmistakable sound of metal meeting a fresh sheet of ice, or even more importantly the way the whistling in your ears as you pick up speed is almost like a close friend whispering to you that everything will be all right.
You want your players to be that safe and confident enough to be willing to reach for the stars, to be absolutely certain that anything is possible if you just believe and work for it.
I say this because I have had times in my life where hockey saved me.
I remember one event clearly. My father had just passed away before the Christmas break in 2005. I remember feeling lost, I still hadn't fully recovered from my mother's passing less than a year before. I felt helpless and completely alone. No one person was more important to my becoming who I am, than him. I always knew that because he was around, I could try anything and no matter what the result, win or lose, pass or fail, his confidence in me was rock solid. Hockey was something that we shared - it was our thing.
We had an early morning practice the day after I discovered him in his apartment. I didn't sleep that night, so I just stayed up staring at the ceiling or looking out the window. I decided to leave early for the rink, letting my daughter sleep and going alone.
I arrived at the rink on one of those cold, clear and crisp mornings only a Canadian can truly appreciate. Despite the temperature, I stood outside the car and looked up in the sky. It was still dark and cloudless so you could see the stars and waning moon clearly. I can't say I even felt the cold, I was just so desolate and ready to fall apart at any moment. I even half contemplated getting back in my car and going home but decided against it.
I got ready in silence, I didn't even want to be in the room when my associates came in, so I laced up and stepped on the ice. Just me and the pucks. If I could forget my situation for even a few minutes before the team showed up, I'd be grateful.
I saw out of the corner of my eye, a few of the families come in - come to the glass to witness my attempt at releasing some pain by pounding one puck after another at the empty net. I remember intentionally missing high so I could hear the sound of rubber smashing against glass. It was a Canadian catharsis in some comedic stereotypical way.
The players filtered out onto the ice and I could see they were unsure how to approach me. I didn't even know if I could talk at that point. The team, all assembled by then, were huddled at the boards across the ice from me. Then, as if rehearsed they did something that rescued me and made me fall apart at the same time.
The entire team en masse skated across the rink and circled me for a group hug. No one knew what words to say at that time, they just knew I needed support. This one act of kindness, this gesture of affection brought me to tears but at the same time gave me strength to get through the practice. They literally saved me. They knew what I needed and just as I had supported each of them in different ways during the season, they now gave me the power to deal with my loss.
I never have, and never will forget what that group of young women means to me. Even to this day I am excited to see each and every member of that team, to joyfully share old times and even new adventures we are experiencing together. A bond was forged that day that continued throughout the season and beyond, one that can never be broken.
I have come full circle, almost back to where I started. This game has given me so much. How can I do any less than reciprocate? I feel I have to do everything in my power so any player I have the good fortune to coach or train, can learn to love this game as much as I do. My one true desire is that they too will return to the game, take the torch from my hands and carry on the dream.
Everyone should have the opportunity to be blessed the way I have. To have lived and experienced all that the game of hockey has to offer. Everyone does have that chance, they just have to want to.
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