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

##

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

"Elite" hockey teams are not always what they purport to be

Too many "elite" team directors are like carnival barkers,
trying to extract every penny they can from parents.

Hi gang,

Welcome to summer, hockey's "silly season." Actually, it's really an extension of the crazy season that started in March and April, when hockey programs typically hold tryouts for the following season. These spring tryouts and summer skills sessions are why some parents think that hockey is actually a year-round sport.

Now, I understand the need for non-profit youth hockey programs to hold early tryouts. They need to get a handle on the number of kids they'll have, and how many teams they'll be able to roster. These tryouts are usually pretty straightforward, and there's a place for everyone.

That's not the case with "elite" and "select" programs. These for-profit organizations can be cut-throat, often with little regard for the well-being of the players and their families. I've seen it firsthand. It isn't pretty. The following is a cautionary tale based on a parent's confidential experience. But "Alan" isn't alone, I assure you. Let me know what you think.

##

"Elite" hockey teams are not always what they purport to be

Youth sports have become a big-time business. That's not necessarily a good thing. Recently, Sports Illustrated ran a scathing article on youth baseball programs in general, and the company "Perfect Game" specifically. This Iowa-based behemoth is offering tournaments and showcases for baseball "phenoms" as young as 9.

Really, how crazy is that?

But before anyone in an "elite" or "select" hockey program casts aspersions about Perfect Game, they ought to take a good look in the mirror. Because, the fact is, hockey is rife with many of the same problems. Select programs start early, as young as 5 and 6. The goals have less to do with kids having a good time, and more with achievement (both on the individual and the program level). Getting ahead. That's what Perfect Game promises. That's what too many elite hockey programs purport.

Elite hockey programs employ some of the best snake-oil salesmen in all of youth sports, with their promises of top-notch coaching and additional games against better competition to give your child the necessary edge to succeed. And self-doubting parents fall for their sales pitch over and over again. I've seen it, repeatedly.

In the coaching biz, springtime guarantees two things – "elite" program coaches looking for goaltenders, and parents complaining about getting shafted by elite programs. The two go hand-in-hand like Alex Ovechkin and one-timers.

Now, before I go any further, I have to emphasize an important point: I'm not saying every coach in every elite program is a self-centered, self-aggrandizing megalomaniac. There are solid, trustworthy programs, and there are coaches truly invested in making sure that "fun" isn't squeezed out of the game. They may even be the majority.

The problem is that there are still too many bad apples that cast a long and less-than-flattering shadow over reputable coaches and reputable programs. I know for a fact that there are many elite coaches who share my concerns. Their responsibility is to call out bad programs. Mine is to make parents aware of them.

Perhaps the most difficult thing for parents who are dealing with the "elite hockey" landscape is to somehow separate the seedy programs from the reputable ones. With May being the season when programs start applying pressure to sign on the dotted line, what's a concerned parent to do?

First, don't be fooled by win/loss records, banners in the rink lobby, and fancy uniforms. Those are can be deceiving. Ask yourself what's more important to you and your child, to be part of a "winning" program, or a program that nourishes and helps your young netminder to grow. Again, those two concepts aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, but my point is that the program's "emphasis" should be on development.

Take, for example, this tale that a reader recently shared with me. Again, I'm not interested in embarrassing any particular program, so I'm not identifying the parent or the program. Suffice to say, these comments are representative of many that I've heard over the years. The father, Alan, was writing to say that his son, Jeremy, a 2004 goaltender, had been recruited by an elite coach who happened to be scouting his youth hockey game (yes, they actually do scout youth hockey games).

"One of coaches asked us to come to a practice so the head coach could take a look at Jeremy," said Alan. "Practice went well. I was surprised at how high the level of play was above what we've been playing. That being said, he played well, had fun and looked to me like the best goalie on the ice.

"The coaches were very aggressive asking us to come to tryouts, even after I said I couldn't afford to play for them nor was I sure I could handle the extra travel and time required," he said. "The head coach talked me into coming to tryouts and told me my son needed to be playing elite hockey in Boston now. Otherwise it would be too late, and he would never have a chance of playing at a high level."

Alan knows now this is a major red flag. The coaches are masters at preying on parents' insecurities. Trust me, elite programs are not the guaranteed path to a D-I scholarship that they'd like you to believe they are.

 Furthermore, the coaches were asking Jeremy to play out of his age bracket. That's another red flag, from both a hockey playing and emotional development perspective. There's a lot pressure on goalies, even young ones. That pressure increase tenfold when you've got older kids disappointed in the play of a younger netminder.

"I had reservations, but then the coach made an offer that made the financing manageable for us," said Alan. "Thinking it was a year too early, but knowing my son wanted to give it a go and now the money could work, I signed on the dotted line fearing an offer like this might not be around next year.

"I fell in love with the fact I would no longer need to be coaching my son," he said. "He would have a new voice. I thought I was giving him the world with all the promised goalie coaching and in a big organization. The season started two months earlier than we were accustomed to, and quickly reality set in. There was no goalie coaching and drill after drill was line rush after line rush, bar down after bar down, all practice long.

"My son was a mess, standing straight up in the net. No one was saying anything to him. So much was so very wrong and he got no help. Once he got into some games his instincts took over, but you could see where bad habits were creeping into his game."

This happens more often than you'd suspect. Sometimes, elite programs will hire coaching outfits like the one I work for to help fine-tune their goalies' game. But in-program practices can still be a nightmare for goalies, who are often buried under an avalanche of shots. Furthermore, there's a lot more emphasis on winning with an elite program, and that pressure often falls on a goaltender who doesn't have the emotional maturity to deal with it.

"The season came to end for us when I found out how much my son hated playing for them, and how much he couldn't take the defense making in-game comments to him about goals going in," Alan said. "I had no idea all that was going on."

Again, this is a recurring theme. It's the major reason why, whenever a parent of a prospective "elite team" player asks me about their options, I tell them to do their homework. Call up the parents, both present and (perhaps even more importantly) past. Ask why they like the program, or why they left. Talk to the coaches (they are perhaps he biggest difference between a good and bad season).

If coaches are promising you the world, thank them, and then get it in writing. Seriously. Don't be afraid of risking your child's spot on the team. If the coaches question why, that's a concern. Just tell them you've been burned before. It's important, because with most elite programs, we're talking a fairly large investment. When Alan and his son returned to their youth hockey program, they left a chunk of change behind them.

In short, take control. This is your son or daughter. Coaches are looking out for their programs. You need to look out for your child. Be smart, and thorough. If anyone is rushing you to commit before you, or your child, is ready, walk away. It's not the end of the world.

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

Commitment is not a four-letter word

Commitment isn't easy, especially after three overtimes.

Hi gang,

Don't blink! Summer is already half over, and August is beckoning! I swear, the older I get, the faster the seasons seem to race by. But it's often during the dog days of summer when I learn just how committed a goaltender is to his or her craft. 

I'm not talking about attending camp every day, facing a million shots. I'm talking about the little things -- eating right, getting proper rest, staying fit and flexible -- when it would be all too easy to fall into bad habits.

In reality, that goes for all hockey players, and all athletes. The following column, orginally written fro the New England Hockey Journal, addresses team athletes specifically. I hope it serves as a reminder that you're not only responsible for your yourself, but to your teammates. Let me know what you think.

##

Commitment is not a four-letter word

Every year, it seems I write at least one column that I know is going to set people off. So this year, I'm being clever, and switching columns with April "The Hockey Mom" Bowling for my annual grenade launch.

All right, that's only partially true. The real reason I asked for this forum is because the topic I want to discuss isn't just about goalies, goalie parents, goalie gear, or goalie coaches. It's about hockey players. All of them. And all their parents. It's about commitment.

I live in a small town north of Boston where the high school nickname is the Generals, after one of our more famous residents, Gen. George Patton Jr. "Old Blood and Guts" was a complex man, a bold wartime leader who could be equal parts condescending, arrogant, brilliant, and loyal. He could be quick to criticize, and quick to praise. He may not be the perfect school mascot, but his ability to inspire, and no doubt his fame, make him a solid choice. In one corner of the high school gym, up by the rafters, is a banner that reads: "General Pride – Tenacity, Spirit, Commitment." That pretty much sums up Patton. But youth sports? I have my doubts.

It's that last quality that really concerns me. Commitment. Part of me can't resist laughing, acknowledging the irony. As a guy who didn't get married until his mid-30s, I was usually on the wrong side of conversations regarding commitment. But, as I always told my mom, I was just waiting for the right woman. Having just celebrated 19 years of wedded bliss with my wife (23 years together!), I've learned a thing or two about commitment.

Which brings me back to youth sports. I've witnessed an erosion of commitment over the past two decades, and I place responsibility for that phenomenon largely on parents. Not every parent, mind you. But far too many parents allow their children to pursue as many pastimes as they'd like, oblivious of schedules. Admittedly, sometimes conflicts are unavoidable, given the lead times when you have to sign up. Other times, however, parents just take a shotgun approach. It apparently doesn't matter how many conflicts are created, or what effect those conflicts might have on the kid's team, as long as Little Johnny or Little Jennifer get what they want. Or what Mom and Dad want (say, skiing every other weekend).

So I'm going to ask you – the parents – to consider something radical. For once, stop and consider the other kids on the team before thinking about your own child. Why? Because it's a "team" sport, that's why. If we should be teaching our kids anything, it's that the team in more important than the individual (a basic tenet of hockey, by the way).

My own experience was pretty straightforward. Mom, who raised six kids, supported any pastime we wanted to pursue, with two crucial caveats. First, we had to keep our grades up. If our schoolwork suffered, the pastimes would go away until we set things right. Priorities. Second, if we made the decision to join a team, we honored that commitment. For me, that meant missing family ski vacations in high school so I could make hockey practices.

Now, the obvious dilemma is the question of "When?" When do you start requiring kids to make a more serious commitment. We want youngsters to have a broad array of experiences, so they can learn what they like best, what motivates them. However, reinforcing this approach during developmental years creates a culture where kids (and their parents) accept that it's fine and dandy to show up whenever they please. I draw the line at middle school travel teams. It's a perfect time of transition, for academics and for athletics.

I've attended countless practices – both on the soccer pitch and at the hockey rink – when only a handful players show up. Games are problematic too, but missing practice is a major stumbling block. The absent kids not only fall behind in getting fit and learning the requisite skills, but they also lag in developing a sense of teamwork. That becomes painfully obvious during games. How many of you have seen everyone suddenly show up for a playoff game, only to realize that the kids don't know how to play together?

Here's another example. This past spring, I was an assistant coach for my daughter's 8th grade soccer team. We had 18 players, 11 of which could be on the field at any time. Seven extra players seemed like a lot, but manageable. During practices, we were lucky to get half the squad, and game-day attendance was a constant question mark.

So, halfway through the season, I wrote a lengthy email to the parents, detailing our shortcomings. I finished with the following: "In short, soccer isn't a game you can 'dabble' in, especially now that the girls are on the big fields. Players who aren't in shape, or don't know where to be, or can't control the ball, or make simple passes, are easily exposed. And I think that's exactly what's happened to us. Former Patriots coach Bill Parcells once said 'You are what your record says you are.' I think our 0-3-1 record is indicative of where we're at. I'd really like to see the [team] turn it around for the second half. But that requires everyone to be all in."

Not one parent replied. At least not directly to me. Instead, one mom wrote to the head coach. That parent's daughter was a quiet girl who wasn't a gifted athlete, but worked hard. When she was at practice. Which, unfortunately, wasn't often.
Here's what her mom said: "Many kids do pull on their boots in the spring for the pure joy and sole pursuit of dabbling in the beautiful game. The fast, slow, fit, unfit, tactical and tactically challenged, bring to the field the athletic gifts they have and are willing to share. Increasingly uniquely with no try outs, [the town program] offers all comers the opportunity to continue the experience of team sport. Some choose not to sit, but go out and join their efforts with others, not to win but to take part. And I am proud of all those youthful dabblers who make our town such a joyful and colorful celebration of sport every weekend."

That sounds like a really sweet sentiment, on the surface. I see it differently. I would like that mom to explain to her daughter's teammates why they had no substitutes (including her daughter) during a Saturday game played in 95-degree heat. Not exactly "a joyful and colorful celebration of sport."

But that's exactly what can happen with this type of "my kid first" parenting style. What was accomplished by this child missing half of her team's practices and games? Certainly not an "opportunity to continue the experience of team sport."

Of course, this parent probably never gave it a thought. When parents lack any awareness of how their actions affect their child's teammates, they can drag down the entire team. That's wrong.

If you're still with me, I'll emphasize that I believe the hockey season is too long. No question. Many programs and leagues are run by people more concerned about profits than our kids. I understand that, and fully support my local program's policy of encouraging kids to play a fall sport (for the last three years, my daughter's first hockey game was scheduled before her first soccer game; how crazy is that?).
Once the fall season ends, though, I ask my players to focus on the winter sport they signed up for. Make practices, and make the games. If you can't make practices, don't be surprised if your playing time on game day gets trimmed. Because playing time isn't something that's guaranteed just because you show up, or something Mommy and Daddy pay for. It's something you have to earn.

FINIS

Getting the balance right for young goaltenders

Not exactly the kind of balance I had in mind, but
pretty impressive nonetheless.

Hi gang,

Hope this finds you all enjoying a successful season. The midway point of the season is always a good time for me to reflect about why I coach. This season, that idea really hit home, since I just got back on the ice this month after hip revision surgery last September.

It was a long and sobering four-month recovery period, and I found myself counting my blessings that I still have the opportunity, and the privilege, to coach. Which brought me to this column, which I originally wrote for the New England Hockey Journal. It really gets to the heart of coaching, at least how I like to practice it. Let me know what you think ...

Getting the balance right for young goaltenders

Sometimes writers choose their column topics, and sometimes the topic chooses the writer. Maybe it's an editor who "suggests" a particular theme (to which the best responses are typically, "That's a great idea," or "I quit"). Other times, it's simply circumstance. This is one of those times.

In the past week, I had two young goalies who were reduced to tears during clinics, not because they got hurt, but because they were embarrassed, overwhelmed, or simply distraught. I'm not sure which, because I never found out what was upsetting them. As most parents can attest, when a child decides to clam up, it's all but impossible to break down that wall. Plus, I had to think of the other kids in those sessions, and it wouldn't be fair to them to allow one child to distract me from the task at hand.

However, both boys reminded me of another situation, last spring, when I watched a young goaltender sobbing uncontrollably after his Pee-Wee team was eliminated from a post-season tournament. Then, this week, I got an email from a concerned mom with a son who was struggling with the emotional demands of the position. She talked about how her son "loves playing goal, but when it comes to being scored on, his emotions take the best of him and he has (and does) cry in the net."

"(Johnny) likes to be a leader and is very confident in himself and outgoing, but he does have quite the temper at times and gets down on himself pretty bad when he lets a puck come through and is scored on," wrote the mom.

Her son, it should be noted, is a Squirt, which means he is only 9 or 10 years old. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? Normally, I'd simply tell his mom to remind her son that it's just a game, and not to take it too seriously. But then I thought of my own teary-eyed students (ages 7 and 9, respectively), and the inconsolable Pee-Wee goalie (who was 13). All were feeling a very real stress that they weren't able to deal with. Those events, combined, convinced me that I needed to give the subject more thought, and write about it.

If you spend enough time in a rink, it's easy to forget how young and impressionable these little netminders really are. It happens to me, and I work every week with "kids" from 6 to 56. We all have to be mindful – vigilant, actually – about the emotional well-being of the children we coach.

Of course, that doesn't mean pampering them, and therein lies the quandary for many coaches. We need to find the right balance, even if that balance point is something of a moving target. Every child, and every team, is different. Just like there's no "one size fits all" way to play goal, there's certainly no universal approach to coaching youngsters. They all bring their own set of characteristics, at different ages, and sometimes that includes some emotional baggage. We often don't know much about their home life, or their school day, or even their after-school activities with friends.

Therefore, it behooves us to be flexible, and keep an open mind when any of the kids appear to be off their game. So, here are a few thoughts to remember, primarily for coaches, but for parents as well.

In my goalie clinics, I always remind my shooters to keep their shots "age appropriate." The same goes for coaching. The younger the goaltender, the more important it is to keep the mood light. Again, hockey is a game, and we can't lose sight of that. Coaches can have expectations, but one of those is to make the game enjoyable.

During my first year coaching a local Squirt team, my assistant coach asked: "So, what are your expectations for the season?" My reply – "I want to make sure every child has so much fun that they want to play next year." – was clearly a bit too abstract. He wanted to work on our forecheck and transition game, which was fine. I let him handle the X's and O's of our practice and game planning. Meanwhile, I was the mood czar, pushing kids when I thought they could handle it, and backing off when they needed a softer touch.

Coaches, engage your parents. Parents, engage the coaches. It's critical to have everyone on the same page. That's doesn't mean you'll always agree. I recently had a post-clinic chat with a parent who didn't like my approach. He wanted more repetition, less instruction. I calmly explained my rationale, and why it was crucial for me to set the agenda, not his son. I also reminded him that repetition without proper technique often leads to bad habits.

The distinction, of course, was this was a private lesson, and the father could opt not to have his son participate. A team setting is a bit trickier. Still, the more coaches and parents know about each other's expectations, the better prepared they are to handle the bumps in the road that inevitably crop up.

Be firm, but be fair. It's perfectly acceptable to set goals, and have structure. Structure breeds efficiency. But don't be a slave to it. When you're on the ice, it's OK to say "Let's get to work." I've always told my players that winning makes the game a lot more fun, and hard work greatly improves your chances of winning.

That said, it's just as important to maintain perspective. Be aware. If a child is upset, it's your responsibility (as a coach) to at least try to figure out why. If you can't, give the child a break from the action to settle down, and follow up afterward with the parents. There may be external issues that you don't know about, or have no control over, but will help you gain a better understanding of the situation.

Don't single out the goaltender. Ever. Even if your young netminder is solely responsible for a bad outing (an extremely rare occurrence, by the way), there is little benefit from publicly chastising the kid. Don't let parents, or the other kids, do it either. There are usually hundreds of "mistakes" made during the game that either go unnoticed, or don't lead directly to goals. The difference for goaltenders is that their mishaps often wind up on the scoreboard. That's a tremendous amount of pressure, especially for a youngster who hasn't developed the requisite emotional maturity.

During a game, there's never a good time for the goalie to lose his or her cool. We have an adage in coaching circles: "You never want one bad goal to lead to another bad goal." As a coach, encourage your goaltender to focus on the next shot. Once a goal is behind him, he has to let it go. There's nothing he can do about it. If the child loses his temper, he's far more likely to let in another bad goal. Goalies, even young goalies, need to learn early that an even temperament is best. A temper tantrum works against him, and against his team. That lesson has to be a mantra, repeated over and over again. Be consistent.

Finally, be positive. We're in the growth business. We want our kids to improve. Routinely, one of my favorite moments during a goalie clinic is when I tell a child, "I don't care how many goals you give up here. I don't choose your team, or who the starting goalie is. I just want to see you get better." The relief that typically follows is often cathartic, and it's not surprising to see the same youngster play much better once he (or she) relaxes. It's the ultimate win-win. A happy, relaxed goalie, playing well. What could be better?

FINIS

Sometimes, the pads never quite fit

OK, so where exactly do I begin with this stance?!!

One of the greatest challenges of writing a blog, or a regular column, is keeping your voice fresh. It is, after all, your voice (or mine, in this instance), and slowly, over time, a dreaded predictability can creep into the writing. It's something that writers have to be constantly vigilant about, because, let's face, it, we love to hear ourselves talk. The past summer, I had a topic that I felt went far beyond the normal parameters of my monthly The Goalie Guru column for the New England Hockey Journal. So I asked my colleague and good friend, April "The Hockey Mom" Bowling, if we could switch columns for an issue.

It turned out to be something of a mixed blessing. My regular readers got a new voice - April is a superb columnist – with a fresh perspective. I, on the other hand, found out that one of my favorite pupil's – April's son Sam – was giving up the position. Not the sport, just goaltending. It was a bittersweet pill to swallow, because Sam was one of those rare youngsters who just seemed to thrive in the nets. He would keep smiling no matter how hard he worked, and he was a sponge, soaking up everything nugget of goaltending knowledge I could offer. He simply loved learning about the position, and the game. So it's with somewhat unresolved emotions that I present April's column. I wish her and her son nothing but success. But I'll miss him ...

Sometimes, the pads never quite fit 

This is probably the one and only time you'll ever catch my writing in Brion O'Connor's goaltending column. Why? Because I'm writing about the end of my son's goalie career. And he's only eight. After this, I can't imagine I'll have much to write about between the pipes.

For those of you who've read my Hockey Mom column in the past, you might already know the history. For everyone else, my then seven-year-old son, Sam, shocked us at the beginning of last season when he declared that he wanted to play in goal for his third season as a Mite.  

I guess it wasn't a huge shock. Sam had rotated through goal the previous year and seemed to like it, but no more than he did every other position on the ice. In fact, I was suspicious that it had more to do with wanting to avoid skating than it did with a true desire to tend the net. He’d been disappointed not to make the Mite 1 team and felt his skating skills were to blame. So being my son – instead of committing to work harder and get better – his first instinct was to hide from his weaknesses.

The apple, as they say, does not fall far from the tree. So in this case, it wound up between the pipes. We insisted that he continued to skate out, but he spent the majority of the first half of the season as goalie. He won. He lost. He made big saves. He let in some easy goals. He began going to Brion's goalie workouts, and he L-O-V-E-D every second of it.  

And I H-A-T-E-D it.

I hated watching him out there as the final backstop. When the team wins, there is at least one goal scorer to share the goalie's credit. When the team loses, it's hard for the goalie not to feel the greatest burden since every other player on the roster equally shares the failure to score enough goals to win. Can you tell I'm not a team-sports-kind-of-athlete?

But actually, I think this quote attributed to former NHL goalie, Arturs Irbe, sums up what I felt every time Sam went out there (even if he didn't feel it).

“The goalie is like the guy on the minefield. He discovers the mines and destroys them. If you make a mistake, somebody gets blown up.”

No pressure there! As an aside, after revealing this attitude, I'm thinking after he reads this column Brion would never LET me have his column space again even if I was still the mom of a goalie …

Despite the pressure – or maybe because of it – I started to take a curious pride in Sam's resiliency. I might be distraught over a loss, but he seemed to rebound pretty quickly. I might be overjoyed at a win, but he just shrugged it off. There is something so admirable to me about that kind of mental toughness that I began to be OK with the thought that maybe, just maybe, I was going to have to live with many more years of Sam behind the mask.

And then just as quickly he decided being in net wasn't his thing. And it was right after we bought goalie pads to boot.  

Another boy had been splitting time with Sam in goal and while he was skating out, Sam began scoring. A lot. Then he got moved from wing to center, which initially he hated for the defensive responsibility, but then began to relish for the opportunity to drive plays. He’s always loved to defend the puck and pass at the right moment … now his skating abilities had caught up with the plays he was devising in his head. Or at least close enough.

Sam also noticed something else. The boy he was splitting time with in net was a better goalie than he was and their team was winning more. "Maybe I'll just play back-up goalie," he said. And then, just like that, he never played goalie again.

I will concede the point that he is only eight, and still has another year of Mites. So maybe hell go back to goal at some point. But I have a mother's hunch that it won't happen. He was hiding in goal, as odd as that seems to those of us who would avoid that spotlight like the plague. But Sam would rather bear the brunt of isolation than become what he perceived to be a liability to his team. As soon as he was able to practice enough to do what he really wanted to and be good at it, he skated right out of the net.

Of course, part of me is oddly disappointed. And so is Sam, if only because he won't get to hang out with his beloved Coach O'Connor as much anymore.

But just like Sam going in goal wasn't my choice to make, Sam leaving it isn't my choice either. In fact, I haven't even weighed in on either decision. (OK … maybe I did ask him if he was REALLY sure before I bought those pads. Ahem.)

I see my place as a Hockey Mom as supporting Sam's choices. Sometimes that's just a quiet drive after a tough loss. Sometimes it's seeking out the right coach or camp. Sometimes it's offering advice when it's asked for, or maybe even when it isn’t. But Sam's decisions in hockey, just like they someday will be in life, are his alone to make. Ultimately, his mom is just along for the ride.

So while we may meet again, for now I'll say goodbye to my favorite Goalie. OK, Brion, now you can have your column back.

FINIS