Sports without sportsmanship is a hollow activity

You don't have to be brothers - like Ken Dryden, left,
and Dave Dryden - to embrace good sportsmanship.

Hi gang,

I've been thinking about the concept of "sportsmanship" quite a bit lately, promptly by the unseemly practice of schools lobbying for their candidates for college hockey's Hobey Baker Award (really, if you're campaigning for this award, you have no idea why Baker was selected to represent college hockey's highest honor, and you should do some homework).

Sportsmanship, for me, is a critical component to playing sports. Winning is important, don't get me wrong. So is playing the right way. It's about treating your opponents, your teammates, the refs, and the game with dignity and respect. That's what this column is about.

Let me know what you think. Best, -Brion

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SPORTS WITHOUT SPORTSMANSHIP IS A HOLLOW ACTIVITY

February represents the stretch run for most high school hockey seasons. In other words, this is the time of the season when coaches tend to get hyper-focused on winning, whether it's simply to make the playoffs, or to get a better post-season seed. Far too often, I've seen coaches lose their composure, and their sense of sportsmanship. And if a coach loses sight of the overriding values that these game are supposed to impart, what can we expect of the players?

Last spring, I watched with serious concern and consternation as a local girls hockey coach went on a Twitter rant when his team lost a playoff game, in a shootout, against a lower-seeded squad. The game-winning goal may (or may not) have been hit a second time by the shooter. Hockey fans, coaches, and refs know that, in a penalty-shot scenario, a player can't touch the puck a second time after it's shot. In this case, the refs ruled that the puck wasn't hit twice, which ended the game.

Afterward, the coach of the losing squad took to Twitter to vent. Here's a sampling:

"They blew the call and I could tell they knew it."

"The player clearly saw the puck laying there after the initial attempt, instincts tell her to tip it again. Bad bad call."

"Why are the officials out of position? Horrible."

Now, I understand in this day and age, Twitter allows people – even our highest-ranking elected official – to go complain publicly whenever they feel like it. But I was clearly disheartened by the obvious lack of class, and the total absence of sportsmanship, on display in the coach's tweets.

To make matters worse, some players on the coach's team apparently followed his lead. At least one team captain refusing to take part in the handshake line after what had been an outstanding girls high school hockey game. That's such a shame. After all, we're talking about a girls hockey game. Yes, the games are important, especially a playoff game. But that's exactly when sportsmanship is supposed to trump bad behavior.

The more important the game, the higher the stakes, the more sportsmanship should matter. That's why Hobart Amory Hare "Hobey" Baker is a genuine hero of mine.

Baker, who played hockey and football at St. Paul's School in New Hampshire and Princeton University, was so supremely talented that he drew special attention from his opponents. Many of those opponents took liberties, and at a time (early 1900s) when hockey was incredibly rough, Baker took a beating. But he didn't retaliate. Instead, Baker was the epitome of "letting his play do the talking." After the game, he would visit the opponents' locker room to shake hands with each player.

Following his graduation from Princeton, where his team won two national championships, Baker joined the St. Nicholas Club in New York. During the 1914-15 season, when he led the club to national amateur championship, arenas advertised games by posting "Hobey Baker Plays Tonight," which embarrassed him. Baker would plead with sportswriters to highlight the club, not him.

In 1991, the great Sports Illustrated writer Ron Fimrite said this of Baker: "Through his Spartan example, he imposed a code of behavior on athletes, particularly college athletes, that was accepted, if not faithfully observed, for the better part of four decades. It is now, alas, as forgotten as the dropkick. In the Hobey code, for example, a star player must be modest in victory, generous in defeat. He credits his triumphs to teamwork, accepts only faint praise for himself. He is clean-cut in dress and manner. He plays by the rules. He never boasts, for boasting is the worst form of muckery. And above all, he is cool and implacable, incapable of conspicuous public demonstration."

Sadly, the Hobey Baker Memorial Award Foundation has lost sight of what made Baker great. They've ignored his legacy by turning the award into a popularity contest. School sports information offices churn out marketing material for their candidates, an act that would make Baker cringe. It is the antithesis of what he stood for, which is that no one player was any more important than any other. Baker was all about his team, which, somewhat ironically, is what made him legendary.

A general lack of sportsmanship not only impacts how we deal with opponents, and officials, but also how we treat our teammates. When there's an overall erosion of the values of the game, the fabric that binds a team can fall apart. Conversely, when players put the team first – a basic tenet of sportsmanship – great things can happen.

Here's an example. I'm not using real names, because I haven't asked for parental permission to tell this story. But it's a great story about a player putting his team's interests before his own. "Jack" has worked with us at Stop It Goaltending for at least eight years. And when I say "worked," I mean he busted his tail, and parlayed that work ethic into a chance to play for a solid New England prep school program.

By his sophomore year, Jack appeared to be on track to be the team's starter. But injuries, and the emergence of one of his goalie teammates, derailed that plan. By his senior year, he was resigned to a spot on the bench. Still, Jack continued to strap on his gear, every day, pushing his teammates in practice, making the team better. It paid off, and his squad made the New England prep school playoffs.

That's when Jack was confronted with a gut-wrenching decision. Sitting together in the locker room before the team's first playoff game, the starting goalie confided he had forgotten his skates. The kid was crestfallen, and presumed Jack would take his spot in the net. Jack, though, didn't blink. He knew that he and the starter wore the same skates, and the same size. He also knew the starter had earned this game.

So Jack gave up his skates, and watched as the starter led his team to a win. But I've never been more proud of Jack, and I'm sure his parents were as well. I'm guessing his teammates, and his coaches, felt the same.

More recently, the NCAA college football championship game served up another prime illustration of selflessness, and sportsmanship. Trailing Georgia at halftime, Alabama coach Nick Saban pulled long-term starter Jalen Hurts, a sophomore. Hurts entered the game having won 26 of 28 games over the past two seasons, but was benched after completing just three of eight first-half passes, replaced by freshman Tua Tagovailoa. And the freshman delivered, passing three second-half touchdowns, including the stunning game-winner in overtime.

But what grabbed my attention throughout the second half of the game, and in the celebration following Tagovailoa's heroics, was the dignity that Hurts displayed.

"As a team player, you have to do what's best for the team," Hurts told ESPN. "It was important for me to be true to myself and be the team leader I have always been. Don't change because of a little adversity."

Novelist James Lane Allen said: "Adversity does not build character, it reveals it." Hurts has character in abundance. That, more than his championship ring, makes him a winner. Just like "Jack." Just like Hobey Baker.

FINIS

Parents, school officials must respect boundaries

Hi gang,

I'm revisiting a column that I wrote a year ago, because we're heading toward hockey playoffs, and tensions between parents, school officials, and coaches always seem to ratchet up this time of year. That's especially true in this case, when a parent who happened to be a school official (a superintendent, no less) went way over the line in disciplining his son's coach.

Hockey, and the dynamics surrounding the game, are complicated enough without a parent in position of power having a personal vendetta against a coach. There's simply a right way and a wrong way to handle disagreements. This is an example of the wrong way, by any standard that I know.

Let me know what you think! Best, -Brion

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PARENTS, SCHOOL OFFICIALS MUST RESPECT BOUNDARIES

Sigh! Seems like every time I want to focus on a basic goaltending topic – from techniques to game preparation – something happens that pulls me in another direction. Recently, it was the suspension of Andover (Mass.) High School hockey coach Christopher Kuchar and two assistants for alleged mistreatment of their players.

Sheldon Berman, superintendent of Andover schools, took that action after saying Kuchar prohibited players from eating for 12 hours after a loss. That charge, on its face, was absurd (seeing the away game was, at most, only two hours from Andover). Berman said he was acting on complaints from parents, some who had contacted the state's Department of Children and Families.

Then the story gets really bizarre. Seems two years earlier, Berman wrote a memo to Andover Principal Philip Conrad and former Athletic Director Don Doucette, chastising Kuchar for the treatment of Berman's son, Dale. Obviously, I can't go into every detail of a six-page memo (yup, six pages!); it's easy enough to find it online. Suffice to say, Berman's memo is a classic example of parental overreach. Considering that it came from the superintendent of schools, addressed to two men who work for him, Berman's memo borders on egregious.

Dated March 28, 2016, Berman's memo starts: "I would like to express serious concerns about Coach Christopher Kuchar in his role as Head Coach of the Andover Ice Hockey Team. My concerns are twofold. On the one hand, I believe his coaching style is not one that is aligned with the larger interests of the Andover Public Schools. On the other hand, I believe his treatment of my son falls close to the category of abuse."

What followed was a six-page character assassination of Kuchar (and a bloated ode to Berman's son), ending with the superintendent recommending that Doucette fire the coach. "It is my belief that Andover would serve students far better with another coach," wrote Berman.

The memo, frankly, is mind-boggling. It's a particularly vile bit of skullduggery, because Berman sent it privately to two men who not only answer – directly or indirectly – to him, but also have a direct say in Kuchar's employment. And I'm not the only one who thinks so. Some 40 Andover parents recently attended an Andover School Committee meeting looking for answers. According to published reports, Andover Selectman Bob Landry said the bigger issue wasn't the coaches, but Berman's questionable behavior.

"It is remarkable to me as a School Committee that you are ignoring the elephant in the room," Landry told committee members. "You have evidence now that the superintendent of schools wrote a six-page memo to two subordinates encouraging them to terminate the Andover High School hockey coach in clear retaliation for how he felt his own son had been treated. How that doesn't warrant an investigation by you immediately is beyond me."

The crowd applauded, but School Committee member Shannon Scully accused Landry of grandstanding.

"We can't entertain personnel matters in open meeting," she said. "This will be dealt with in executive session. If you don't mind getting off of your soap box that would be fantastic."

First, Ms. Scully, you CAN entertain personnel matters in an open meeting. This is a classic dodge that public boards use to avoid conducting public business publicly. There are exceptions that allow boards to meet in private, or "executive session." Here is the first one, per the state's Open Meeting Law Guide: "To discuss the reputation, character, physical condition or mental health, rather than professional competence, of an individual, or to discuss the discipline or dismissal of, or complaints or charges brought against, a public officer, employee, staff member or individual."

Note the phrase "rather than professional competence." Landry was specifically questioning Berman's professional competence. I agree. Berman was completely out of line with his memo. Now, you can say the " discipline or dismissal" phrase applies, but that doesn't prevent committee members from suggesting an open hearing with the coach and the superintendent. Did you ask, Ms. Scully?

If Kuchar or Berman decline, you then assure your constituents (yes, you work for them) that the full minutes of the "executive session" will be released once the issue is resolved, per state law. Your community deserves complete transparency.

Second, if you don't like people getting up on a soapbox, Ms. Scully, be more forthcoming. This isn't on Bob Landry. This is on the members of the Andover School Committee. Residents have every right to question whether the committee fully investigated Berman's memo. For it to come out in the press feeds that suspicion.

I've had this happen to me, though on a much smaller scale. I am an Old School coach who believes in working hard while we're on the ice. I owe that to my goalies, and to their parents and/or their program, who foot the bill. I also like having a good time. There's almost always a lot of laughter and good-natured ribbing during my sessions. My favorite students are those who can smile while working their tails off.

But I'm also the first to admit that my approach is not a one-size-fits-all. I welcome conversations with parents, especially if they think my style isn't working for their child. I can handle it. My only goal is to make sure my students gets the maximum out of their ability. Having fun is a close second, and important, but it's not my top priority. If that rankles a child, or parent, they need to talk to me, so I can understand what their priorities are. From there, I can adjust. But if parents take a backhanded approach, there's little I can do.

Two years ago, one of my bosses asked about a particular student. The young man had told his father that I made him feel bad about himself, and he didn't want to work with me. The father (who didn't attend the sessions) didn't contact me; he contacted my boss. When asked about the student, I answered honestly. I couldn't remember treating this young man any differently than any other student. I wasn't even sure what behavior I was answering for. But I was disappointed that neither the student nor his father brought their concerns to me.

Likewise, I'm a parent. My two daughters played varsity sports through high school, and my eldest continues to play collegiate volleyball. My wife (also a coach) and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye with the coaches that our girls have played for. But when we've had issues, we addressed them civilly, respectfully, and directly with their coaches. Not after games, or practices, but usually over coffee.

In short, it's okay if you don't agree with everything your child's coach does. But there's a right way to address those concerns. Don't do what Superintendent Berman did. That was the very definition of cowardice. He tried to leverage his position to oust a coach he didn't like. There's no place for that in youth hockey, or high school hockey. Berman, and the Andover School Committee and school officials, need to take a long, hard look in the mirror.

FINIS

Welcome to the real world

Hilary Knight, a member of the USA women’s hockey team,
deflects the puck toward goalie Molly Schaus during a practice 

Hi gang,

Time to revisit one of my favorite topics -- realistic practices for goalies (and, by extension, the rest of the players). I find that I come back to this topic often, only because I continue to see, year after year, coaches running practices that are nowhere close to reality.

Now, I understand that sometimes coaches will be looking to hone specific skills, and that will require taking some "license" with a drill to address that specific need. But those coaches also need to take care not to accidentally encourage bad goaltending habits (such as telling the goalie to keep the puck moving, instead of tying up the rebound).

Here's my New England Hockey Journal column on the topic. Let me know what you think.

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Practice plans, and the concept of living in the real world

Now that the high school season is well under way (I know, I know, most kids have been playing since Labor Day, but that's another column), it's time to revisit practice habits. Bad practice habits. Or, at the very least, unrealistic practice habits.

What this really comes down to, from a goalie's perspective, is shooting drills that don't mirror reality. Long-time readers of this column know how I feel about the typical youth hockey, club hockey, and high school hockey practice, the ones that have the goaltender bombarded by an avalanche of shots. These drills may be great for promoting survival skills, but they won't produce better goaltenders. In fact, I've long believed goaltenders improve in spite of these shooting drills, not because of them.

You can see this at the highest levels of the game. Mike Valley, goalie coach for the Dallas Stars, recently gave a talk – "Practice Shots vs. Game Shots" – during a goaltending symposium in Wisconsin. He wasn't necessarily concerned about the volume of shots, but the drills that create a certain "type" of shot. Namely, drills that funnel players into the slot, on their forehand, with no defensive pressure, allowing them to rip shots at will.

"I would challenge any coach," said Valley. "They say, 'Goaltending equipment has become too big.' They say there's not enough goal scoring.

"But look at how [goalie coaches] study the game, and how we're training. Look at how much that has changed," he said. "Now compare that to how much practices have changed in the last 30 years. We look at how goaltending styles have changed, how everything has evolved. But practices look the same as they did 20 years ago."

The problem with most practices is twofold. We're creating lazy shooters, and terrified goalies. Valley referred to an April, 2015 article by NHL.com correspondent Kevin Woodley, who quoted long-time NHL back-up Jason LaBarbera on the challenges that typical practices present. LaBarbera noted that, in a game, players don't have the same time to make a move, which allows him to play deeper.

"In practice, guys have all day, and you start to get tired as practice goes on," said LaBarbera. "And I found I started to be a little more of a skater, take another step out, just to give myself a better chance to make myself feel a bit better."

"It's hard, because you don't want to get away from who you are and how you want to play in a game. But if you play deep in practice, you are [vulnerable] to a point, especially because coaches are looking at you. You want to make sure you are making saves, and looking like you're playing well."

LaBarbera is absolutely correct. He's not emphasizing "depth" as much as he's talking about stopping pucks, looking good while doing it, and cultivating a self-assured "persona." Bad shooting drills are the antithesis of all three.

This isn't just an NHL problem. It happens at every level. As I write this, I'm sitting in a rink, waiting for my daughter's high school game, watching a youth hockey practice. The "warm up" consisted of players coming right down the center of the ice, sometimes two at a time (each with a puck), winding up and firing away. It's nuts.

"What happens in practice, you're standing there, and you're like, 'OK, I know my game plan, I know how I want to play things, I know the depth,'" said Valley. "Then all of a sudden the guys start coming down the middle and they're just zinging it, bar in. And they have time to skate in, nobody's touching them, and it's just shot after shot after shot. You're managing confidence."

Valley's point is clear. If you want to build your goalie's confidence, you have to create more realistic drills to mirror what they can expect to see in a game. To verify his suspicions, Valley commissioned a quick study that revealed, over 1,150 NHL games, only 4.5 percent of the shots came from the mid- to high-slot area, unimpeded. That's right – only 3,063 of 68,174 total shots came from this prime scoring area.

"So I brought this up to my NHL guys," Valley said. "I said 'Are you going to base your confidence level on something that happens only 4.5 percent of the time? That's 1.5 shots per game. You're much better off focusing on being a smart goalie, how you're going to play when the puck's coming down the wing, or they're throwing pucks in from a bad angle, and trying to jam for rebounds. Don't base your confidence off something that's only going to happen only 1.5 times a game.'

"For me, it was a pretty powerful message. Those numbers are pretty revealing," he said. "And if there's anything we can do as [goalie] coaches, it's maybe to try to get the [head] coach to understand that, if we want to increase goal-scoring in the league, why are we practicing something 98 percent of the time that only happens 4.5 percent of the time (in a game). It's just a different way of looking at things."

Woodley, who is also a correspondent for InGoal magazine, had a similar take.

"A good chunk of practice can be counterproductive to good goaltending, leaving the goalie facing situations that can create bad habits," wrote Woodley. "It is the separate sessions with the goalie coach, before and after practice, that are important. If that sounds like a stretch, consider the fact that a large portion of NHL practice time is spent on line rushes which are only occasionally defended, often in the loosest sense of that term. The result is wave after wave of players skating in with passing options and plenty of time to dish or hold and shoot from close range."

Yeah, that happens all the time in a real game, right? The onus, however, is on the coaches during these youth, club, high school or college levels to understand this distinction, and implement drills that are more realistic. I've seen this with my daughter's team. When we have shooting drills coming out of the corners, along the top of the face-off circles, I tell the girls to shoot while "shielding the puck." In other words, if they come around on their backhands, they need to shoot on their backhand.

More often than not, they look at me like I've got three heads.

"But I can't shoot a backhand," is the typical response.

"Exactly," I'll say. "And you'll never learn if you don't practice."

Backhand shots also happen to be one of the toughest shots for a goalie to read. So, while it may not be the sexiest shot going, learning how to take it, and how to save it, is a real win/win.

The same holds for a variety of shots, from a variety of angles, with defensive pressure forcing quick releases. That's what happens in a game. That's what you ought to be trying to create in your practices. It will benefit your goalies, and your team.

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Postscript: I also want to take a second to give a shout-out to the courageous girls who step up to play goalie for their public high school teams. This is a common predicament for girls' teams in the Northeast. Goalies are a hot commodity, and if you have any talent, there's a good chance that you'll be recruited to play prep school or club hockey. Which means the hometown public school team is typically scrambling to find someone brave enough to take up the crease. I see this happening repeatedly.

Given that situation, I have another appeal to the coaches. If you have a beginner goalie, be patient. The position is unlike any other on the ice. It takes time for goaltenders to develop. It won't happen overnight. The position brings enough pressure even for a veteran netminder. If you're lucky enough to have a player willing to take up the challenge for the good of the team, make sure your support her.

FINIS

Requiem for an athlete

True, in a rare moment of repose.

Hi gang,

It's been almost a month since the girls and I had to say goodbye to a very, very special member of our family. Thanks to my editor at the New England Hockey Journal, I was able to pay tribute to our wonderful Labrador retriever, True. 

Anyone who has ever lost a pet, especially a pet dog, can probably appreciate the following. There is a rare and remarkable bond that forms between a pet and her owners. And True was truly remarkable. Let me know what you think ...

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Requiem for an athlete

Your indulgence, please. Writing has always been cathartic, and I'm hoping my craft can work its magic this evening.

It is approaching midnight, on the eve of July 4. I'm home, but can't sleep. The long holiday weekend was a tough one. Earlier today, my wife, daughters, and I had to put down our beloved yellow Labrador retriever, Trudell.

Longtime readers of this column might remember True (the nickname I always felt most comfortable with). I wrote about her a few years back, as an example of the perfect goaltender – remarkably quick, agile, and focused.

True celebrated her 10th birthday earlier this year. I realize that's 70 in "dog years," but this dog was still an absolute stud. Her narrow head and lean build was a testament to her lineage as a full-on American field Labrador retriever. True was bred to retrieve waterfowl, even in the most inhospitable environments.

Her father, Zeb, was my father in-law's prized retriever, and he enjoyed needling me that True, as a family pet, was "a waste of a great hunting dog." I always laughed, knowing he was right. In her prime, True was 65 pounds of quick-twitch muscle, sinew, and gray matter hard-wired to fetch.

But even in her "golden years," she continued to personify the qualities that make Labs such phenomenal pets. Good-natured, kind, exuberant. But what really set True apart was her boundless capacity for fun.

When True saw me grab my lacrosse stick and tennis ball, her response was unadulterated joy. Her ears picked up, her tail wagged uncontrollably, her entire body would shake with anticipation. At that moment, she was absolutely locked onto the ball, a pure athlete waiting to pounce. She was the perfect goaltender – coiled, confident, and unfazed by any outside emotions or distractions.

But True, as I would learn, was more than a natural goaltender. She was the ideal teammate. Though she wasn't a "cuddly" pet, she lived and breathed whatever mood filled our house. If we were happy and celebrating, True had to be in the middle of it. Unsuspecting visitors would get smothered with slobbering kisses. If we were upset, True would mope. She embodied our family atmosphere, yet rarely failed to lift our spirits.

Late March, True started showing signs that something was amiss. Her exceptional endurance began to ebb. She was hesitant to jump into the back of the family wagon after a run at the beach, and even struggled to hop onto our bed (her favorite napping spot). Like her father, True developed laryngeal paralysis, making breathing difficult.

Starting in May, True's condition deteriorated rapidly. Her decline happened so fast, we couldn't get ahead of it. Our local vet was visibly stunned when he saw her, just six short weeks after her annual physical. She was stumbling badly, her hindquarters barely able to support her weight.

We had X-rays taken, and were told that True, orthopedically speaking, was flawless. After consulting with four different veterinarians, the consensus appeared to be that True was suffering from some kind of neurological problem. It could have been the result of a tumor on her spine, or brain, or caused by a stroke. We tried steroid supplements, with minimal benefit.

The only option at that point was more expensive testing, which would only tell us what type of more expensive surgery needed to be done. For an aging pet who already was suffering from laryngeal paralysis, it simply didn't make sense. Our vets concurred. Lauri and I resigned ourselves to helping make True as comfortable as possible for however long she was with us.

Over the last two weeks of June, it was clear True's time was coming. She held on for a final visit from my mother in-law, the woman who weaned her as a puppy. On Sunday, Lauri made the courageous decision that True shouldn't have to deal with her declining health any longer. We drove to a clinic in North Andover, our girls cradling their "knucklehound" in the back seat.

We would return home to our small cottage that afternoon, knowing it would seem far too big without True. There would be reminders waiting for us, of course. Tennis balls in the backyard, the water/food dish in the kitchen, couches and carpets covered with her fine blonde fur. I'd miss her appearing out of nowhere every time I opened a peanut butter jar, or a package of cheese. Daily rituals, including her trembling delight at meal times, and our slow walks around the neighborhood (when she had to sniff every blade of grass), would change forever.

Now, though, we were only concerned for True's well being. More than anything, we didn't want her to be in pain. Her tail still thumped vigorously against the floor every time a new person came into the room, a sure sign of her indomitable spirit.

But part of True was clearly resigned. She had fought the good fight. She put her faith in our decision, just as she always had. She trusted us, unequivocally. She seemed perfectly at peace, even as the technician put the catheter into her front leg. The veterinarian then came in, assured us that we were doing the right thing, and explained the process. True, she promised, would not suffer.

Not a minute later, our beautiful True was gone. Her incredibly strong heart stopped beating, her labored breathing stilled. My wife, and our two daughters, took turns lying beside her, sobbing. The love this dog engendered was truly breathtaking. My girls then left, leaving me alone with my True.

I leaned in close, looking into those deep, milky brown eyes that no longer could see me. I apologized to her for being a less-than-perfect owner, for being short tempered at times, for being impatient when her boundless energy prompted her to run off.

Stroking her soft coat, I thanked True for the lessons she taught me, lessons about how to love without conditions, without boundaries of any kind. She taught me about joy – the joy of simple pleasures, joy of physical exertion, and joy of camaraderie, of just "being there." I knew I had to leave True's body behind, but I would take the lessons she taught with me.

Then, with a heavy heart and swollen eyes, I said my final good-byes to this wonderful athlete, to this perfect teammate. True.

FINIS

What coaches and parents can learn from a caring teacher

Good teachers, like good coaches, lead by example.

Hi everyone,

I can't believe we're almost halfway through July.  Once our summer camps hit full stride, there doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day to get everything done.

So I'll post this quickly, with little by way of an introduction. Suffice to say, I owe a great deal of gratitude to Martha Gillespie, my daughter Maddi's third grade teacher. Here's why:

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What coaches and parents can learn from a caring teacher

Martha Gillespie is a coaching hero of mine. You probably don't know her. Don't feel bad. Martha Gillespie is not a hockey coach. She isn't famous. She was an elementary school teacher. But the traits she embodied are universal trademarks of good coaching (as well as good teaching, and good parenting).

Mrs. Gillespie espoused four beliefs that every coach, and every parent, can benefit from. First, she cared deeply about each student who walked into her classroom, and would go to bat for them even in the face of bureaucratic inertia. But she still held her students to a high standard, regardless of the challenges a diverse room of 3rd graders presents. That's point No. 2.

Which leads to Nos. 3 and 4. When Martha saw an issue, she was able to communicate with a child's parents clearly and concisely, sharing her concerns. And finally, she upheld the first three points because she never once mailed it in.

Based on her actions, Martha Gillespie never once considered teaching as a job, or obligation. It was a calling. In a great many ways (she abhorred the term "a lot"), that's what separates great coaches – coaches who truly make a difference – from those who are simply meeting a perceived responsibility.

How do I know Martha Gillespie? She was the third grade teacher of my eldest child, Mary. My daughter had struggled through second grade. She loved school, so it wasn't a case of a child who wanted to be elsewhere. But she did have trouble applying herself.

Her second grade teacher simply shrugged off Mary's inconsistent effort, and suggested she was just lazy. "Messy" and "disorganized" were two other adjectives. It wasn't said in a malicious way, but more just a matter-of-fact statement.

Since Mary was our first, my wife and I didn't really know any better when it came to expectations at school. We challenged her to buckle down, while realizing she was only 8. She could frustrate us, but we figured she was just going through the normal progression.

That changed the next year, with Martha Gillespie. A former elementary school librarian, Mrs. Gillespie noticed early on that Mary wasn't keeping pace.

"She recognized that Mary was an inattentive daydreamer, which is a hallmark of ADHD in girls," said my wife, Lauri, an occupational therapist. "It's very different from what most people characterize as ADHD."

When most people hear ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder), or ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder), they think of children who are fidgety, hyperactive, impulsive, and maybe even disruptive. Mary wasn't any of these. But she was slow to transition in the classroom.

Mary was typically the last one to get her materials out for a new project, the last to put things away when the class moved on to another topic, and the last out the door for recess. Not a big deal, right? But Martha Gillespie made a note of it. In a classroom of 22 kids, she recognized that this child was struggling to keep up.

"Martha always had such a clear voice," said Lauri. "What made her special was that she was able to pay so much attention to one child in her class, and advocate for her. She took action. Not many teachers would do that.

"She saw Mary's action within the classroom setting, and recognized that it could be a problem for her long-term, if not addressed early."

Which brings me back to the four major principles that Mrs. Gillespie brought to her profession that any coach can benefit from.

Caring. Like any good coach or parent, Mrs. Gillespie made the effort to look below the surface. She didn't take my daughter at face value, but took the time to see if there was something else going on. She encouraged us to have Mary tested, both by the school, and more importantly, by outside evaluators.

In that way, Martha Gillespie displayed a rare and special attention to detail. That’s what coaches need to do. Kids aren't created equal. You need to get to know each one of them, and understand what makes them tick. That's a tall order. But it's also what makes coaches special.

Accountability. For Martha Gillespie, "caring" was a two-way street. Her students had to care as well. She never made any excuses for Mary, and I assume that she held our child to the same standard as every other youngster in her class. That was important to Lauri and me. Moreover, this is where Mrs. Gillespie was able to establish a level of expectation that applied to every child.

This is not semantics. Children will have different strengths and weaknesses, in the classroom and in the playing arena. So it's OK for teachers, and coaches, to adjust their expectations based on those individual qualities. But the one constant is effort. Martha Gillespie insisted that Mary try. And she had our full support.

Communication. Here's another "two-way" street. Identifying an issue is only the start. If you're a coach, you need to be able to talk to the parents of a child if there's an issue interfering with the team's chemistry. Conversely, parents have a two-fold responsibility.

First, if your child does have a disability, you coach deserves to know. Don't assume it won't be an issue (I'm speaking from experience here). Second, if you've taken that step, and you feel it's falling on deaf ears, you need to advocate for your child. That's not always easy, but it's necessary.

Commitment. Teaching, like coaching, ought to be a calling first, and a profession second. Martha Gillespie did what she felt was the right thing to do, regardless of what the consequences might be. How many of us can say that?

Like Mary's second-grade teacher, Mrs. Gillespie could have let our daughter coast. Her grades were satisfactory, if unexceptional, and she would have graduated. That wasn't acceptable to Martha. Instead, she went to bat for a child who she felt had potential, but wouldn't fulfill that promise without extra help.

Though I have no hard evidence, I'm convinced that having Mrs. Gillespie serve as such a strong advocate for Mary made it easier for Lauri and I to get our child the assistance she needed. We had her tested at Children's Hospital, and they confirmed Mrs. Gillespie's suspicions.

Our local school district was very supportive, "but that was driven by how attentive Martha was," said Lauri. "These were subtle things. They weren't blatant."

This past June, Mary graduated from high school, with a 3.4 grade point average. To say I'm immensely proud of this young woman would be an understatement. This child, together with my wife, worked her tail off, and made herself into a better student. As you read this, she'll be a freshman at the University of New England, pursuing a degree in sports medicine, and playing for the Nor'easters volleyball team.

At her graduation, my wife and I invited Mary's high school volleyball coach, who was tremendous advocate for our daughter, and one former teacher. That teacher was Martha Gillespie. She brought a scrapbook that her students had made for her, nine years earlier. The fact that she kept that memento was another testament to what her students meant to her.

As she was preparing to leave, I pulled Mrs. Gillespie aside. I told her I couldn't let her go without saying "Thank you," and sharing the immense sense of gratitude that came from the bottom of my heart.

"Please, you're going to make me cry," she said.

But I was way ahead of her. My eyes welled up with tears as I told this woman what an important role she played in helping to pave the road that would allow my daughter to succeed, not only in school, but also in life. Whatever this child achieves going forward, she will owe a debt to her third grade teacher.

What a wonderful legacy for any teacher. Or coach.

FINIS

The hidden dangers of overt practice celebrations

If you want to celebrate a goal in a game,
that's fine! Go ahead. But think twice about
doing it in practice, over and over again.

Hi gang,

The second day of November brought the season's first snowfall. Crazy! Fortunately, it didn't last long, and by today  the white stuff had melted away. But it got me thinking about this column. A good snowfall every now and then is fun. But after a while, if the snow continues to fall, the accumulation can wear on you (especially if you're the one doing all the shoveling).

Similarly, scoring a goal and celebrating, spontaneously, is one of the great joys of hockey. But when it's done repeatedly, or starts to become orchestrated, those celebrations lose their luster. When you celebrate every goal in practice like you've just scored the overtime winner in Game 7 of the Stanley Cup, it can have the same effect as that driving snowstorm. When you find a ton of snow dumped on your driveway day after day after day, you can suddenly lose your appreciation for all that fine white fluff.

That's how your goaltender feels when you and your teammates go overboard with each puck that crosses the goal line. It's tiresome. Worse, it can drive some kids from the position, and from the game. And that's a shame ...

##

The hidden dangers of overt practice celebrations

The father's voice on the other end of the line was filled with frustration. For five minutes, I just let him unload, and here's what he told me. His son was a 10-year-old goalie who was rostered on the town's Squirt 2 team. Dad had no problem with the level of team his son was put on, but was troubled by the ongoing antics of a few teammates. To be precise, the young boy's father said several of his son's teammates were celebrating every goal in practice. Not just a fist pump or a shout, but a full-blown celebration straight out of the NHL Network's highlight reels. And the young goaltender was fed up with it. He didn't want to change in the locker room. He didn't want to hang out with his teammates. In fact, said his father, the young boy "didn't feel like part of the team." He was even thinking of quitting.

I couldn't blame the youngster for feeling discouraged, and despondent. It's one thing to be treated like a real-life pincushion during practice (based on the number of shots goalies face in most youth hockey practices, though I'm always hopeful that the tide is turning). It's another thing to be constantly humiliated because the team has a couple of self-centered goofballs partying like they've just won Lord Stanley's cup after every practice tally. It's adding insult to injury. Yet, for some odd reason, this behavior rarely warrants a second look from the coach.

This is one of the great laments of goalie parents. Imagine if your child was a Little League pitcher, and his (or her) teammates started jumping up and down and woofing every time they got a hit. In practice. Or how about if your child was batting, and the pitcher went into an orchestrated touchdown dance every time he got an out. Would you stand for that? I hope not. I know I wouldn't.

Yet, for some reason, this happens all the time in youth hockey practices, and few parents bat an eye. Even if they do notice it, everyone tends to get chalk up to "kids being kids." Everyone, that is, except the parents of the goalies. These ill-advised celebrations have a cumulative effect, and the end result is rarely good. Coaches need to do a better job policing this behavior, pure and simple.

There's an insidiousness to this behavior that coaches need to acknowledge, and should strive to recognize. It's fairly easy to shrug off the occasional celebration, but repetitive partying can wear a young goaltender down, quickly sucking the fun out of the game and taking the child's confidence with it. And once a child's confidence is gone, it's exceedingly difficult to recapture. Remember, these are young kids. An older goalkeeper will usually have the presence, and confidence, to tell his (or her) teammates to knock it off. But a child at the Pee Wee or Squirt level (or younger) may not. And that's where a coach needs to step in and stand up for he netminder.

Now, before you think I've gone soft, I want to be really clear on one point. I'm not saying that the kids who are celebrating are being intentionally mean-spirited, and I'm not saying that the coaches who allow this behavior are cold-hearted. A much more likely explanation is that both groups are simply ignorant. They don't think about the impact that excessive celebrating has on the young netminder. But ignorance is not an excuse.

Furthermore, whether they're cognizant of it or not, these kids are engaged in demeaning behavior. The idea is to embarrass someone else. Want proof? You rarely, if ever, see these demonstrations after a kid puts the puck past a plastic shooter tutor. It just doesn't happen. Why? Because the shooter tutor is an inanimate object. It offers no response. But a young kid with pads on is a perfect target.

There's a reason why the NFL penalizes excessive celebrations. It's unsportsmanlike, because it's showing up your opponent. It's another form of piling on. When a team in a youth hockey game goes up by four or five goals, most youth hockey coaches (though certainly not all) will employ a three-pass rule, or will switch up their line-ups, to avoid intentionally running up the score. Of course, there's the scoreboard serving as a big, bright reminder. In practice, these same coaches tend to turn a blind eye to these post-goal histrionics, shrugging it off with an "it's all in good fun" wave. But it's not fun for the goalie. I assure you.

This is a classic example of kids emulating their heroes, without the requisite maturity to understand when the behavior is appropriate, and when it isn't. They don't grasp the idea that every "celly" undermines the confidence of one of their most important teammates, the goaltender. I've actually had kids tell me they're just practicing their celebrations. Really? I mean, really? I tell them to keep practicing their shot instead.

Here's what I've done in the past to deal with these young chuckleheads. I usually start with a warning, explaining to them why over-the-top celebrations are both unnecessary and insulting. Most kids understand. Some don't (or they understand, but don't feel they need to change their behavior). For this latter group, I take a blunt, decisive approach. I tell them that they will suit up as goalie for the next practice.

You should hear the howls of protest. From the kids, and from their parents. Which always makes me laugh, because I suspect that, deep down, they know exactly how embarrassed they'd feel if they had to endure the same treatment. That's the lesson. Give them a taste of their own medicine.

Think about it another way. How about if the goalies hooted and hollered after every single save? Seems silly, right? So why should it be any different for the players shooting the pucks? The answer, obviously, is that it shouldn't.

One of the most difficult tasks for a goalie coach/advisor is to balance the often-competing concerns between parents and coaches. So I told this particularly parent to address his concerns, and the concerns of his son, with the team's coach. Oftentimes, that's all it takes. As mentioned earlier, this behavior will often go unnoticed only because the coach (or coaches) already has a dozens of issues he's thinking about, from power plays to breakouts to team defense.

However, if the coach dismisses these concerns, it's an indication that there's a disconnect. Don't be afraid to go to the program's board, as a concerned parent. You have that right. I never want to see goaltenders pampered. In fact, it's important to learn how to deal with these shenanigans, because I guarantee that other teams will employ them to unsettle your netminder. On the other hand, teammates ought to be building one another up, not tearing each other down. After all, that is the very essence of "team," and one of the most important lessons that hockey ought to be teaching our sons and daughters.

FINIS

Wanderlust is not the best trait of a quality goalkeeper

You can't always get what you want, and even some
of the world's best goalies (Montreal's Carey Price,
in this instance) spend some time riding the pine.

Hi gang,

Early fall is ice hockey's second "silly season." The first is in the spring, immediately following the end of the actual hockey season. This is when parents start scrambling like mad to find the "right" select team for their young hockey player.

What they don't always understand is that nothing is guaranteed, even in youth hockey. The composition of the team you thought you were joining might well change - and change dramatically - by the time your child suits up in the fall. That can mean the addition of another goalie who will challenge your child for ice time. (Trust me, anyone who takes a "club" or "select" hockey official at his or her "word" is begging to be disappointed.)

And the fallout is all too predictable. Johnny (or Janey) isn't getting as much ice time and Mommy and Daddy think is appropriate. So they start playing "musical teams" with their child, looking for a better situation. I saw one glaring example of this in youth hockey, when a father (I'll call him  "Joey") moved his son ("Billy") to four different teams over two years. Billy was a good kid, always cheerful and smiling, but he wasn't a very good goaltender. Pucks just found their way through him, constantly, regardless of how much additional instruction he got. But Joey kept insisting his child ought to be a starting goalie, which meant he had to keep changing jerseys.

And Billy went along with it, primarily (I'm guessing) because he didn't have a choice. Along the way, I'm convinced Billy actually started to believe what his father was preaching. Billy thought he was better than he was. Which, of course, almost always leads to disappointment. Which got me writing about the topic. Let me know what you think ...

##

Wanderlust is not the best trait of a quality keeper

The youth sports landscape has become increasingly complicated these days. Spring and summer have transformed into bizarre migration seasons for young athletes, where players and their parents move to a new school, a new team, or a new program in the hopes of finding a "better fit."

A better fit, of course, is parent-speak for "a place where my kid will get a fair shake, because he hasn't gotten one yet." I've seen this phenomenon happen at all ages. Many coaches have.

"Yeah, kids are jumping everywhere. If they don't like what's going on, they go somewhere else," Boston University legend Jack Parker told me once. "I will give you an example. When I was recruiting Tony Amonte (in 1987), he was a terrific player at Thayer Academy. He was 17 years old at the time, trying out for the Junior Olympic team. Now, they let him try out, because he was such a talent and they knew he was going to be on the junior team in the future. But there was no way he was going to make the junior team as a 17-year-old kid.

"But they let him try out, and there was a game on the South Shore, and they were playing a junior all-star team," said Parker. "Tony came out after the game with a long face on. His father said, 'What's wrong with you?' And Tony says 'What's wrong with me? I didn't play much. Didn't you watch the game?'

"And his father says, 'That's what's bothering you, Tony?'

"'Yeah, I didn't play enough.'

"'Well, Tony, let me ask you something. Do you want to play more?' And Tony says, 'Yeah, of course I want to play more.'

"And his father says, 'Then play better, Tony.' He didn't say 'The coaches are screwing you,' or 'You're way better than those other kids.' He just said 'Play better.' And that was it."

Youth hockey could use more parents like Mr. Amonte. Jump ahead 22 years, to June 2010, when a 39-year-old Tony Amonte was named the head coach at Thayer Academy. His athletic director, Matt McGuirk (Thayer, class of '92) knew things were going to be different when Amonte returned. Very different.

"When you and I were playing, there was one all-star team in town, and if you didn't make it, you played for your youth team," McGuirk told me three years ago. "Now, there's 55 all-star teams, a lot of for-profit organizations that will, quite frankly, tell you anything you want to hear if you're going to give them $5,000.

"What Tony represents is not so much a complete 180, but the bottom line is, there's no politics involved with his gig," said McGuirk. "You come out, you try out for the team. If you make the team, you're going to be an integral part of the team, whether you're a first-liner or a fourth-liner.

"Tony is all about the Old School meets the New School, and I think that's really important. In this age of enablement, this age that there's always another option, this age of materialism, Tony is all about getting to the core of it. You show up, you go to work, and you go home. The message is so important now, especially with kids today. If you want something bad enough, you can get it. Tony is of the school that you have to earn it. You've got to earn everything you get."

Amonte agreed with his former teammate, noting that the landscape, and its inherent wanderlust, has irrevocably changed, "not only high school hockey, but hockey in general. There are different forces pulling these kids everywhere. Keeping these kids in school is going to be a task, and I think it's going to be a task for every coach."

"It's tough," said Amonte, parsing his words carefully. "There's a lot of competition (for players) out there. There are tons of teams, and everyone wants to win."

As a result, the hockey landscape is filled with bedouin players, nomadic tribesmen roaming from rink to rink, program to program. And the situation is particularly applicable for goaltenders, for one obvious reason. While there can be 12 to 18 positional players per team getting ice time in any given game, there is usually just one goaltender. Most teams carry two or three goaltenders, but too many coaches, with their blinders firmly fastened on in their relentless drive for wins, will ride their No. 1 netminder upwards of 80-90 percent of the time. Sometimes every minute. Which, of course, can lead to disappointment and bruised feelings for the kids who aren't playing. And for Mom and Dad.

"Parents are part of the picture now," said McGuirk. "Being able to solve a problem by moving laterally rather than actually solving he problem through work ethic and determination, is more of the trend now. "

I've seen it firsthand. One glaring example comes to mind, a young man who I've coached since he first strapped on the pads at age six or seven. I've watched him grow, and become a very solid young netminder. Not spectacular, but solid. His freshman year, he attended a nearby prep school, but transferred to another for his sophomore year because his prospects of varsity playing time looked dim. After his junior year, a season in which he was the clear-cut starter, the young man was on the move again, leaving his prep school squad for a junior team. "We felt it was in his best interests," I heard, admittedly second-hand, from a "family adviser."

Really? I'd like to know just what those "best interests" are. I know it's a subjective term, but being the starting goaltender at a prep school with a good academic reputation seems like a pretty sweet arrangement to me. But junior teams offer more games, and supposedly more exposure, which supposedly equates to a better chance for a college scholarship or other opportunities. Clearly, going the prep school route didn't hurt Cory Schneider (Phillips Andover) and Rick DiPietro (St. Sebastian's School), but I recognize that they were exceptional talents. It has to be tougher for the middle-of-the-pack goaltender.

This is where character comes in. Developing character means learning to deal with adversity. And the best way to deal with adversity is to work harder. A determined work ethic is the gritty sandpaper needed to create an exquisite piece of furniture. It is the resolve that will sustain you as you get older, and life throws you curve ball after curve ball.

"That's the big dilemma. Do you take the kid with the heart, or the kid with the skill," said Amonte, when asked what is the greatest character trait he looks for in recruits. "I go for the heart every time. You can teach the skill, you can teach the systems, you can tell them where to be, but if they don't have the work ethnic, it's never going to be there.

"It's a learned skill too," he said. "Every day on the ice is a day you can get better. That's the way I look at it. You can try something new, you can try to get better, and do something you didn't do the day before."

Amen. You don't measure heart or work ethic by the miles that you've logged transferring between programs, or the number of teams you've played for. You measure it in effort you put in during practice and games, and in the weight room, off-season and in-season. As you start your season this fall, recommit yourself to that work ethic, and to your team.

FINIS

Summer fun that prepares you for the first puck drop

Mountain biking is a great summer option for goalies.

Hi gang,

Hard to believe that June has arrived, and that the start of summer camps is just around the corner. Although I love working summer camps -- Really, is there any better place to be on a hot, sticky day than an ice rink? -- I always approach the season with just a little apprehension. That's because I think kids need a summer vacation from hockey almost as much as they do from schoolwork.

As a result, my approach to summer camps and clinics is to keep them light and a little less serious. It's a mental break as much as anything. We'll work hard, but in short bursts, and without the pressures of winning and losing. And the rest of the time, I want my younger goalies branching out, pursuing other activities, and playing different sports. Here are a few thoughts on the topic, originally written for the New England Hockey Journal and the New York Hockey Journal. Let me know what you think ... 

##

Summer fun that prepares you for the first puck drop

Old-timers like myself vividly remember the days when goalies were mercilessly stereotyped. Not only were we thought to be a few cents short of a dollar, but we were the big, slow (and often overweight) kids who couldn't keep up with the game, so we got stuck between the pipes. And, like most stereotypes, this one is a combination of fact and fiction.

Much like today, there were kids in my day (growing up in the 1960s and '70s) who absolutely loved playing goal, who were more than willing to take on the challenge of stopping an entire team from scoring. Those of us enamored with the position were usually in pretty decent shape, because we were driven not just to be goalkeepers, but good goalkeepers.

Likewise, there were also plenty of kids who found a sort of refuge in the nets, dumpy kids who just wanted to be part of the action despite not being particularly gifted. And they could could away with it, for two reasons. One, you didn't need to be a great athlete, or in great shape; you just needed a relatively high pain threshold. Two, the rest of the kids were happy to have anyone with a pulse put on the pads.

There will always be kids who gravitate to goal, but the ones who do so because they think it requires less effort, and less fitness, are in for a rude awakening. Those days – like my cherished youth – are long, long gone. From the way the game is played (think 100-yard dash, instead of a Sunday jog) to the way we teach the position, goalies need to be fit. Notice I didn't say "great athletes." Of course, that helps. But a youngster with the desire and requisite physical fitness can accomplish great things between the pipes.

On the other hand, come June, kids need a break. Playing hockey – especially goalie – 12 months a year concerns me a little. I think of Jack Nicholson's Jack Torrance character in "The Shining," with his obsessive "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" mantra. Talk about scary. I believe it's really important to have an off-season, to recharge our batteries, to work different muscle groups and learn different skills. To have fun.

So, with school out for summer and the start of a new hockey season at least three months away, here are a few of my favorite off-ice activities to ensure that you'll get the break you need, but ready to go when the puck drops in the fall. One important point regarding team sports, such as lacrosse and soccer – don't play goal. Again, give your mind, and your nerves, a vacation. It's summer, after all.

Mountain biking

For my money, the best off-season exercise comes with two knobby tires underneath you. Mountain biking is a full-body workout, improving stamina, explosive power, reflexes, balance, and proprioception (body awareness). Plus, it's a hoot to play in the dirt. Just remember, I'm not suggesting a casual little pedal along a rail trail. If you want to get the greatest benefit, hit the singletrack. The tighter and more technical the terrain, the better. Toss in some vertical, which will really build your quad strength and lung capacity, and your on-ice workouts will seem like a snap by comparison (Interesting side note: I was recently listening to an NHL Classic broadcast of the 1993 Stanley Cup playoffs, with color analyst John Davidson talking about how Kings goalie Kelly Hrudy got super fit by mountain biking in the hills outside of Los Angeles).

Tennis

Lateral quickness, instincts, reading the play, superior footwork, hand-eye coordination, mercurial bursts of action, endurance, a willingness to battle for every point? Sounds a lot like goaltending to me. Of all my suggested summer pursuits, tennis is probably the closest corollary to playing goal. The best part is you only need one other person (and a court) to really work up a good sweat. Racquetball and squash are terrific options as well, but since this is summer, and I'm an outdoor fanatic, the nod goes to tennis.

Basketball

I love hoops. The game rewards skill, athleticism, hustle, peripheral vision, teamwork, and tough defense. In basketball, if you can't keep up, you get left behind. Period. That's how I want my goalies to think. They need to be in the same shape as their teammates, if not better. Plus, I love the critical thinking skills that basketball develops. You've got to process a lot of information in a hurry, and act on it.

Lacrosse

Hockey's off-ice cousin, lacrosse has all the attributes of hoops, with the added element of a lacrosse stick and (in some instances) a lot more physicality. But, as I said earlier, think twice about playing goalie. I have a neighbor who plays goal in both hockey and lacrosse, and I'm just a tad concerned he'll burn out. It hasn't happened yet (and I hope it doesn't), but I prefer hockey goalies get out and run in the off-season. Play forward. Score some goals!

Soccer

Those who mock soccer can't play it. In reality, the world's best soccer players make the game look ridiculously easy (much like the world's best hockey goaltenders). But the skill and footwork required to play the game at a high level is exceptional. Don't believe me? Just try it. I have a coaching colleague who constantly ridicules soccer, so I've invited him to come play with my group of Over-50 geezers. I've repeated the offer several times over the past few years, but he won't step up. Why? I suspect he knows just how difficult this sport is. So will you, once you try it. But stick with it. The rewards are tremendous.

Baseball

It saddens me to see our national pastime falling by the wayside in many parts of the country, in large part because of the rising popularity of lacrosse. But it's a great game, and if you're a goaltender, there are several positions that are ideal. I played third base, and I loved the hot corner. It teaches you patience, because you need to be alert on every single pitch, or you risk getting your head split open. If you want to be more involved, and really employ some of your goaltending talents, consider picking up the "tools of ignorance" and playing catcher. Is it any surprise the Vancouver goaltender Cory Schneider was also a top-notch backstop for his Philips Andover high school team?

Yoga

This isn't just for old guys (and gals). Athletes of every age can benefit from the flexibility, strength, discipline, and core balance that yoga offers. This is a low-impact exercise (unlike most of the others mentioned above), so it's joint friendly. And if you're friendly to your joints now, they'll repay the favor later on.

Last, if you get a chance to skate, skate out. Put on regular skates, and pick up a regular stick. You'll see the game from an entirely different perspective, which is refreshing. You'll use different parts of your body, and, more importantly, different parts of your brain. Similar to my belief that positional players should don goaltending gear at least a couple of times to appreciate what netminders deal with, I think goalies should rub elbows in the corners and find out just how difficult the game can be for positional players.

FINIS