Finding out if your youngster has what it takes …

The Bruins' Tuukka Rask, doing what he does best.

Hi gang,

Apologies for being out of the loop these past few months, as I've been busy recuperating from getting a brand new titanium right hip (rehab is going well, and I hope to be back on the ice in early 2014!). In the meantime, with high school, college, and professional hockey seasons in full swing, I wanted to chat about a topic that's near and dear to my goaltending heart. Goalies require a certain mindset that, while it can be cultivated, is often innate. You simply have to hate – Hate! – giving up goals. Here's my column on the tenacity that goalies, by the very nature of their position, have to have to be successful. It originally ran in the New England Hockey Journal.

Finding out if your youngster has what it takes …

One of my favorite coaching sessions over the course of the season is Desperation Day. This is the day when we show our goalies how to make those impossible saves, the ones that top pros make with alarming regularity. Yes, there's a method to the apparent madness of a desperation save (more on that later), but in reality what the session ultimately reveals is whether or not the youngster has the heart and courage to be a top-flight netminder.

Just for fun, I typically start the session by asking my pupils if they know who Winston Churchill is. This little Q&A invariably winds up sounding like an installment of "Kids Say the Darnedest Things" ("He's a goalie, right?" is by far the most popular answer). But it was Churchill, the legendary prime minister of Great Britain, who rallied a nation against the threat of Nazi Germany on June 4, 1940, with his famous "We shall fight on the beaches" speech before the House of Commons. The line that has always stayed with me, the one I want my goaltenders to remember, is this: "We shall never surrender."

Now, I don't mean to make light of war, or place too much importance on sports. There are already too many pro athletes and high-profile sportscasters doing that these days. What I'm talking about is character, and the willingness to battle, to dig deep in order to expend every ounce of energy needed to do your job. In this case, that's keeping the puck out of the net, using any means necessary.

Here's the "team" lesson I want my young goaltenders to take home from Desperation Day: There is nothing desperate about effort. If you quit on a play – even an impossible play – that can deflate your teammates. Goalies, by the nature of the position, have to be leaders. If you don't give a full effort, then your teammates suddenly have an excuse to go less than 100 percent as well.

Simultaneously, giving up gives your opponents an extra boost, thinking you've thrown in the towel. Make no mistake about this – Quitting on a play is like tossing fresh chum into a pool of starving sharks. The feeding frenzy can be frightening.

Fortunately, the opposite is true. A lot of coaches and athletes talk about "giving 100 percent" (or more), but in reality that's quite rare. However, those who do have the ability to fire up their team. Imagine two scenarios. In the first, you dive across the crease and deflect a sure-fire goal over the net. You don't think that's going to get your teammates jacked up?

Or maybe the opponent misses the net altogether. Ask players, and those who answer honestly will tell you they'd rather see a nice, wide-open net to bury the shot. The last thing they want to see is a flash of goalie equipment, whether a stick, glove, blocker – anything! – flying into their field of vision. They might rush, or grip their sticks a little too tight, and send their shots wide or over the net. That doesn't even count as a save in the scorebook, although it sure does in my book. And it gets even better.

In a desperation-save situation, the shooter is expected to score. And most of the time, they probably will. But that's when something almost magical can happen. In this second scenario, if a goalie makes every effort to make the save, tossing aside personal pride and safety to fling across the open net, it almost doesn't matter if the opponent pots the puck. The goalie's team will still rally behind that effort. It's almost as if they say, "Heck, if our goalie is going to bring it, we better bring it too."

And, even as the opponents celebrate, the heroic goalie – the one who refuses to quit, ever – has planted a seed of doubt. He (or she) has served notice that nothing will come easy. And, believe me, the other team will see that. I've seen it again and again over the past 35 years. These types of goalies are winners, and they can will their teams to win.

So, is there a method? The short answer is, yes. Visual attachment is critical. If the goalie loses sight of the puck, the task becomes infinitely more difficult. A goalie caught out of position doesn't have the luxury of tracking the puck and "deciding" to make a move. In the time it takes to make that decision, the puck will be in the back of the net. Instead, the goalie must simply react. If he (or she) gets to the rebound, only to find there's no imminent danger, all he's expended is a small slice of energy. It's like the winter hiker's credo regarding gear: "Better to have it and not need it, instead of needing it and not having it." You have to go to the puck, with all the energy you can muster.

The key is getting your body to move with your eyes. Set that back edge by driving your knee to your chest, and push. Hard! When you go, built the wall from the ice up. A ridiculous number of goals are scored along the ice, so that's where you want your stick. Paddle down, creating a wall, not a ramp. Aim your goal stick toward the opposite post, so you have that added support if the puck happens to hit the paddle. Engage your core muscles, and bring your catching glove above the stick, just in case the puck gets lifted.

And, perhaps most importantly, remember that even if you make that highlight-reel save, your job still isn't done. You've got to track the rebound, and be ready for the next shot. That is, after all, our job description.

Last, bring it all the time. Effort comes from habit. If you quit in practice, there's no guarantee that you'll be able to pull off the effort required for a miraculous save in a game. It has to be part of your mindset, and that's honed in practice.

As an added bonus, I'll share this universal truth – Coaches love these kids. Even if they're not the most technically gifted, they'll get their share of playing time, because coaches know that they'll compete from whistle to whistle, and that they'll inspire their teammates. That is a special gift. It's not the sole domain of goaltenders, since every player can help raise the bar. But other players can quit on a play, and they still have the goaltender behind them. Goalies don't have that safety net. That's why, in my mind, the position is imbued with certain leadership qualities. And when you go all out, all the time, refusing to surrender, you've proven yourself to be a worthy team leader.

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

Keep track of the shots your goalies face in practice ...

How many shots is too many? Coaches, you should know ...

Hi gang,

So here we are, on the cusp of Labor Day weekend, which means the eve of another hockey season (don't ask me what happened to ice hockey being a winter sport ... when my daughter's U-14 team hits the ice before the Boston Bruins, something is very, very wrong). That, of course, means it's time for my annual plea for coaches to remember to keep the number of shots their goalies see within reason. Do it for the good of your goalie, and the good of your team. Here's my column on just that topic, originally written for the New England Hockey Journal.

Please, coaches, keep practice shots within reason

Much of what we do in coaching is about repetition. To develop the proper muscle memory and technique, the same maneuver has to be repeated hundreds and hundreds of times – correctly – before it becomes second nature. So I'm going to risk repeating myself in order to remind coaches that hammering your netminder in practice is a sure-fire way to ruin your young prospect. Consider this my annual appeal, not necessarily for sanity, but awareness.

Here's the flawed logic that far too many coaches – and I've seen this even at the elite levels – employ: The more shots, the better. Even in "warm-ups" (a classic oxymoron in this instance). Little attention is paid to exactly what kind of shots the goalie sees, as long as they're coming in large quantities. It's almost as if the coach just expects goalies to miraculously or intuitively to develop perfect technique by facing a mind-numbing number of pucks. Worse, some coaches don't even notice how many shots a kid sees.

Just last month, I was sitting with the mom and grandfather of a young goaltender as they watched their son/grandson at practice. Now, the grandfather knew a thing or two about goaltending, having raised a son who played at the prep school, college, and even minor league levels (earning himself a cup of coffee in the American Hockey League along the way). And Granddad was obviously frustrated watching as his grandson being used as a piñata.

"I think coaches, even good coaches, just don't get it. My grandson is just sitting there, like a target," said the gentleman. "The coaches mean well, but they're oblivious. They don't know how to coach goalies."

Bingo! Still, you'd expect that kind of comment from a frustrated parent or grandparent. I felt exactly the same way when my eldest daughter played goalie in lacrosse. The drills, it seemed to me, where set up specifically to discourage anyone from ever wanting to play the position. And my daughter, being a relatively bright kid (and not having a masochistic streak), got the message pretty quick, and found a different position to play. To some degree, however, I put the onus of my daughter's decision on the coach, who clearly lacked an appreciation for what goalies go through.

Frankly, I'm baffled that more coaches don't see this. Perhaps, like the aforementioned grandfather said, "It's because they've never been goalies." That's true, to an extent. It is a unique position, and just like I don't expect goalies to pick up techniques through osmosis, the same probably applies to coaches. Still, they're adults, and the issue goes beyond personal experience. Volunteer coaches don't need to be experts on goalie instruction, but they need to develop a better understanding of what drills work – and, probably more importantly, don't work – for their young netminders.

I've used this example before, but it bears repeating. If you've got 20 kids lined up in a shooting drill, the goalie is seeing 20 pucks for every shot each individual kid takes. That means, if one kid takes five shots (over the course of a five-minute drill), the goalie is trying to stop 100 shots. In five minutes. That's the perfect recipe for burnout.

Moreover, it's a great way for kids to get hurt. The reality of youth hockey is that the drills that look good on paper often fall apart on the ice. Faster kids start creeping up on top of slower kids, or kids who can't control the puck, and before you know it, the goalie is seeing two or three shots simultaneously. Essentially, you're asking kids between the ages of 8 and 14 to use common sense and look up before shooting. Well, forget it. It just doesn't happen. Heck, it doesn't even happen at the high school level. Most positional players simply aren't wired that way. I sometimes suspect they don't see the goalie at all.

I've lost count of the number of times I've seen youngsters hit by shots, often in unprotected areas, while they're concentrating on the previous shot. This happened to my daughter in lacrosse practice all the time (with the blessings of a clueless coach). It's like asking a Little League batter trying to hit baseballs being thrown by three different pitchers. Most baseball coaches would say that's nuts (and they'd be right). But that's exactly what far too many youth hockey coaches do.

Even if your goalie is fortunate enough to escape getting hurt, the fallout of seeing too many pucks in too little time is another career-killing trait, the Yips. We've all seen kids (often the bigger, stronger kids) skate between the between the hash marks, with their heads down, and crank a slap shot not 10 feet from the goalie. I bet most parents would flinch as well. And once a goalie becomes puck shy, you've got a real problem.

These machine-gun shooting drills are also a guaranteed way to encourage bad habits. Believe me, it's far more difficult to break a young goalie's bad habits than it is to build good habits in the first place. That's why I firmly believe that the Old School way of incorporating goalies is doing a great disservice to these young men and women. When was the last time you saw a coach hold up a drill to instruct a goalie? Again, it doesn't happen.

Here's one last overarching reason you should dispense with repetitive shooting drills. They're not realistic. They … Never … Happen … In … A … Game! I'm not trying to be a smart aleck here (honest!). In a game, there is one puck, and the goalie's chief responsibility, in addition to keep that biscuit out of the net, is to follow it. Everywhere. I tell my goalies that on a 200-by-85 sheet of ice, the only thing they can't lose sight of measures only 1 inch by 3 inches. If they do, they can't get themselves in the best position to do their first job, and make the save.

So what coaches need to do is think outside the box. Create drills that resemble game situations, and emphasize following that single puck, allowing goaltenders to react to the initial shot, and the second and third shots. Have kids come in from a variety of angles (not just a straight ahead breakaway) so the goalie develops crease awareness. Make the goalie follow the puck as it moves across the ice, and not simply sit in the one spot where they expect the shot to come from. Employ screens and tip drills. Make your goalies, and the rest of your players, get after rebounds (this will help develop the tenacity to win those goalmouth battles). Give you goalies, and players, the required time to recover before seeing a new puck (sometimes just a few seconds is all that's needed).

Mostly, just be aware of that kid in the pads between the pipes. Put yourself in his or her skates. Your goalie will benefit, and your team will benefit.

FINIS

Teamwork is crucial for every player, goalies included

All for one, and one for all.

During the summer months, I spend so much time at goalie camps that it's easy to forget that these netminders are only one part of a multi-faceted team. An important part, but a part just the same. Which is why it's so crucial that goalies embrace the concept of teamwork, and their role as a key cog in that organization. It's never about "me" ... It's about "us." Here are some thoughts on the topic, originally printed in the New England Hockey Journal and the New York Hockey Journal. Let me know what you think ...

Why coaches must preach "team" for everyone, including goaltenders

This past summer, my eldest daughter (not a hockey player) and I had an animated discussion about team sports. Her swim team was having an end-of-the-season pizza party, and she wanted to invite a friend who wasn't on the team.

"No way," I told her, just that bluntly.

"Why, Dad?" she replied (repeatedly). "It's no big deal."

"I disagree, honey. It is a big deal," I countered. "This is an event for you and your teammates. It's not about hanging out with your other friends. This is about all the kids on the swim team. Your team."

I've been involved with team sports for so long that I consider these basic tenets to be absolute truths. But things are different today. I've seen family gatherings where parents allow their kids to bring a friend, instead of encouraging them to play with their cousins or – God forbid – interact with the adults. To me, that's just bizarre.

To make a hockey comparison, a team is a collection of the individuals in the locker room. Really good teams nourish that environment, building a true "team" where players care for and rely on each other. Critical to that development is including the goaltenders.

All too often, hockey goaltenders are separated, both consciously and subconsciously, from their team. That's never a good thing. The reality is that the position is already set apart by it's very nature. We stand in one place, for the entire game, while the action swirls from end-to-end, and the players change up as often as my wife changes her mind about what color to paint the house. When a goal gets scored, everyone else heads to the bench, but the goalie is left alone to dig the puck out of the net. That's no fun (speaking from experience).

Remember, youngsters aren't drawn to the position because they're loners. More often than not, they're attracted by the unique responsibilities that come with playing goal. For me, I always loved the idea of being a difference maker, and being the one player that, if I was really on my game, could prevent an entire team from winning (which didn't happen as often as I would have liked, but that's another story). The point is, despite loving the actual position, I was disappointed by just how rare it was to feel like the goalies were actually being incorporated into the team.

Frustratingly, you see this in many, many aspects of the sport, both in practice and in games. For example, I've lost count of the number of times I've seen a coach pull the team together during a drill, but leave the goalie standing in the net 30, 40 feet away. That doesn't make any sense to me, but I suspect that the coach isn't even thinking of it in terms of an insult. It's just an error of omission, but one that gets compounded each time it's repeated. Eventually, the goalie loses interest.

Now, this is important, because it's not a part of the game we, as goalie coaches, can teach effectively during our goalie clinics or mini-ice sessions. Those are primarily reserved for the art of stopping the puck (though we do discuss team-oriented topics like reading the play, or being a good passer). Team practices are the best environment to bring goaltenders on board with everyone else. Still, even in the team practice setting, I've been told by coaches "Just work with the goalies," as if it's such a specialty that the rest of the team couldn't possibly benefit from what I'm teaching (here's a hint … goalie coaches know a few things about how to put the puck in the net!).

So, while I'm telling the young netminder to take charge, instructing teammates about where to be and who to cover, the same young netminder is left out of the discussion by his or her coaches. The result is often a goaltender who isn't on the same page as his or her teammates. In a sport as fast and mercurial as hockey, that can only lead to trouble.

"Goalies are the only players who can see the whole ice surface," says Fred Quistgard of Quistgard Goaltending in Maine, and the former head coach of Union College and Bowdoin College. "They should be totally familiar with the defensive, neutral, and offensive zone systems. They can recognize problems before they happen and can anticipate the saves that will be required based on where the puck carrier is attacking, where the opponents without the puck are moving, and how the defense is lining up against the rush."

In other words, Quistgard is asking coaches to "explain to the goalies what their responsibilities are." And those responsibilities go far beyond the classic, short-sighted edict of "just stop the puck."

Ultimately, coaches should want a goaltender who thinks like them, or at the very least can bring their game plan to the ice. As Quistgard says, we see the entire ice, much like a point guard in basketball, a catcher in baseball, or a quarterback in football. I tell my youngsters that the position brings with it natural leadership responsibilities. And leaders can't be passive.

For the majority of the game, goalies are in the calm eye of the hurricane. Positional players are actually in the hurricane, chasing the puck or the play over the entire 200-by-85 expanse of ice. Goalies, though, know the play is coming to them. That makes us invaluable teammates. It's never too early to start learning what the coach expects of not only you, but all the players, at every position. At the younger levels, keep it really simple. If there's a loose puck, tie it up and get a whistle. If your defenseman is chasing a puck behind the net let him know if he has time to make a play (either skating the puck or making a break out pass), or if he has a forechecker in hot pursuit.

As goalies climb the ladder of youth hockey through high school and even college, their responsibilities grow, from verbal commands to puck-handling duties, and I plan to detail those in later columns. In short, though, they are more involved. The point today is that goalies should never think of themselves as a castaway on an island. They are part of a team, and being a good teammate means more than simply stopping the puck.

Coaches, you need to realize that too. I was lucky in high school. After practices, my coach would drive me to my part-time job at Osco Drug, and we'd talk about various aspects about the game, and the team. It gave me a chance to prove that I knew what was going on. And to his credit, my coach listened. Neither of us had all the answers (we were, in fact, not a very good team), but at least the two of us were on the same page. And that can only be a good things for a hockey team.

FINIS

Why every player needs to put on the goalie pads

Does this look like a target to you?

Hi gang,

With just a few weeks of summer camps remaining, and the start of youth hockey seasons on the horizon, I thought I'd revisit one of my favorite topics. Year after year after year, I witness kids -- and even coaches -- who treat their goalies like an inanimate bulls-eye. That phenomenon prompted me to write about one of my own long-held coaching beliefs in a column for the New England Hockey Journal. It proved to be one of my more controversial columns, but I still stand by it. Let me know what you think.

Why every player needs to put on the goalie pads

I'm the first to admit my coaching style can be unconventional on occasion. I'm OK with that, because the position, and the game, continues to evolve. And I'm always happy to explain my rationale. The reality is, much of the hockey coaching and hockey parenting that you'll find today is demonstrably Old School, typically based on the "that's how I learned the game" theory (which explains, in part, the resistance to USA Hockey's well-reasoned call for cross-ice games at the Mite level).

So, on the eve of a brand new season, here's another of my offbeat ideas. It's my firm belief, certainly not shared by the majority of hockey parents, that every player ought to spend at least one game in goal. Not a practice, but a game. At least once.

Five years ago, I was coaching my daughter's Squirt team. Our squad had a half-time goalie who was also playing for another team. To accommodate the absences, I implemented a rule at the start of the season that everyone had to take a turn playing a game in the nets. My reasoning was twofold. First, from a practical standpoint, I figured one or two of my young charges might actually like playing between the pipes, which would solve a raft of problems.

Second, though, I wanted every kid to understand what it feels like to get pelted with pucks. It's been my experience that some of the biggest crybabies are the same kids who, in practice and "warm ups," take slap shots from five feet away, or fire away regardless of whether the goalie is actually looking (or preoccupied with the previous shooter), or constantly shoot high, flinging pucks at the goalie's head. They're also the first to blame the goaltender for a soft goal.

So I wanted to make sure that everyone experienced that unique anxiety that the position brings, hoping to instill a little compassion (not a bad exchange for only 36 minutes of game action). And it worked pretty well, in part because it was a "shared burden" that all the kids understood, and it was established right from the get-go. Until the final week of the season. There was one kid – let's call him "Oscar" – who never volunteered to play, and I'm convinced he and his parents were just hoping he'd fly under the radar, and escape the responsibility. They didn't know me.

I called Oscar out for the last game of the season, and told him that I expected him to suit up for the last pre-game practice, just so he could get comfortable with the gear. His mom pulled me aside, and said her son was incredibly nervous about playing goal. I told her I could understand that, but coming to me at the end of the season, when the policy had been in place for six months, was not only bad form, but also limited my options. I reminded Oscar's mom that every child had already played goal (a few, including my daughter, several times), and it wouldn't be fair for me to give her son a pass. After all, lots of the kids weren't wild about playing goal, but they all had stepped up (and none, to my knowledge, had suffered grave emotional scars).

Last, I told Oscar's parents what I figured they already knew, that there are many, many times in life when we're asked to do things we're not entirely comfortable with, and avoiding those moments is not the ideal approach.

So what did Oscar and his parents do? They bailed. Just didn't show up for the final game. Was I surprised? Not in the least (in fact, I'd already warned my daughter – the joy of being the coach's kid – to be ready to suit up if Oscar went AWOL). But was I disappointed? Absolutely. Rather than subject their child to a short lesson in facing up to his fears, Oscar's folks let him skate free. Please tell me what, if any, benefit could be derived from that?

Somewhat predictably, Oscar didn't return the next season. I don't know if he went to another program or not. On one hand, it saddens me to think he may have quit the sport over this situation. On the other hand, if a 36-minute stint in the nets is enough to sour him on the sport, better he find out early that he's not cut out to be a hockey player.

Here are the lessons that Oscar missed out on. First, goaltending is hard. Kids who don't play the position don't understand how tough it can be (much like coaches who never played in the nets). It requires an entirely different skill set, from skating to setting up on your angles. You've got to follow a rock-hard puck, measuring only one-by-three inches, and stop it from entering a four-by-six foot goal. And you've got to do it while trying to move around in bulky gear designed to protect you. That's a tall order for most youngsters.

Second, you can't take a shift off. Regular players make mistakes all the time, but most of the time those gaffs don't result in goals. Coaches might see the mistakes, which can lead to some tough love on the bench. Kids, though, rarely notice the errors of their linemates. But they do notice the goals, and if a goalie makes a mistake that leads directly to a goal, that goalie is going to hear about it from his or her peers.

Which leads to my third point – Goalies, even young ones, face tremendous pressure. Even on teams with enlightened coaches, who try to shield their netminders from unwarranted criticism, being the last line of defense is no picnic. I'm sure this was the major reason Oscar refused to play. But I'm just as certain that, if you never play the position, you never develop the appreciation of that particular brand of torture. We live and die a little bit with each save and each goal (that probably goes double for goalie parents).

I still remember the breakaway goal that Mike LaValliere (the former Pittsburgh Pirates catcher) scored on me in high school, when the puck hit my glove, my shoulder, and then agonizingly rolled down my back into the net. The year? 1975. That's how much goalies carry the weight of each goal with them (fortunately, my memory has become much more selective during my beer-league career!).

Giving regular players a small taste of that isn't a bad thing. Hopefully, the experience develops a little empathy, and camaraderie, within a hockey team. Try it.

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Commitment is not just for kids anymore ...

Devils goalie Martin Brodeur celebrates
with his son Anthony, then 5, after
winning the Stanley Cup in 1995

Hey everyone,

Having just finished up a phenomenal week of coaching at Brian Daccord's Prospects Camp with the Goaltending Consultant Group at Merrimack College, I was reminded that top-flight goaltenders needs help and support along the way if they're going to get the most out of their natural talents. Which reminded me of this column, originally written for the New England Hockey Journal. Let me know what you think ...

Do you have the commitment to allow your child to play goal?

A few years back, I paid a visit to my sister in New Hampshire, because she and her clan build a first-rate home rink in the winter, and I absolutely love playing a little shinny there with my daughters, nieces, nephews, and their friends. On this particular evening, my nephews had a new friend join us, and the kid was absolutely all over the ice. He never strayed far from the goal, but nothing got by him. He used anything and everything – stick, body, arms, legs – to stop the puck.

During a break in the action, I asked my nephew Luke about this kid, who I'll call "Joey" (to protect his parents). Luke tells me that Joey is an only child, and absolutely lives to play goalie, which of course gets my attention. For Joey, "hockey" means street hockey. He plays every single day after school, and almost all day on the weekends.

Luke introduced us, telling Joey that I coach "real" goalies. The kid's eyes just lit up. He started in on all the goaltending books he has, and his favorite goalies, from Martin Brodeur and Henrik Lundqyist to Tuukka Rask. He didn't have a favorite team – "I've got 10 genuine NHL jerseys" – but he had plenty of spunk. It was impossible not to like the kid right from the get-go.

As the game is winding down, a big pearl-white Cadillac Escalade pulled up to the curb by the rink. It's Joey's mom. When she stepped out, I told her that Joey was quite the young goaltender, and asked if he's planning to play anywhere.

"You mean a real team? Oh, god, no," she replied. "What a pain. Who needs that?"

The next few seconds can only be described as awkward. Joey's mom had this plastic smile stuck on her face, and my response was stuck in my throat. "You're kidding, right?" I finally blurted out.

The woman looked back at me like I slashed her tires. "I mean, all that driving around to practices and games, that's a big commitment for my husband and me," she said. "And then there's all that stinky equipment … "

"Seriously?" I replied, now dumbfounded. I almost added: "Then why bother having kids?" But I managed to restrain myself. After all, I don't have to live in the neighborhood. Plus, it's really none of my business. Later, though, while gabbing with my sister in her kitchen, I couldn't shake my brief encounter with Joey's mom.

"A big commitment," I told my sis. "Really? Isn't having a child a big commitment?"

Goalie coaches ask kids to make commitments all the time. We do it because, in our hearts, we truly believe that the kids who make the requisite effort get the most out of whatever God-given talents they have, and they get the most out of this game. And this game teaches a number of essential life lessons that you simply won't find in a classroom.

Now, I'm asking parents to do the same. If your children have a passion for something, you ought to let those kids pursue that passion. At the very least, give them the opportunity.

My mom was remarkable in this regard. She was widowed just before I started 8^th grade, and she had six of us to look after. I wanted to be a hockey goalie. Street hockey was just the start. Ice hockey was my dream. Fortunately, a few of my brothers had the same dream. Mom looked around, and said: "Fine. You get the equipment, and I'll get you to the rink."

That's what we did. I got a paper route, and made enough coin in a few months to buy a new set of "Made in Canada" goalie gear (which, admittedly, was considerably cheaper to buy in the early 1970s). Mom never failed to keep up her end of the bargain, shuttling us all over New Jersey's Bergen County to our practices and games. We started networking with other families – seemed like everyone had a huge Ford LTD wagon in those days – to form car pools, and give mom an occasional night off.

Today, my wife and I have two teenage daughters. I'm really lucky in that my bride shares my opinion that sports are vital to a child's development. She's a Midwest gal, and grew up playing basketball and volleyball. She also was a competitive swimmer. So she knows a thing or two about sacrifice, both as an athlete and as a parent of an athlete.

Our youngest daughter – our hockey player – also happens to be nuts about horses. I mean, over-the-top crazy. I know very little about horses except this – they're ridiculously expensive. Still, my wife and I understand how important they are to Brynne. This is, after all, the same child who once asked me to take her to a local stable so she could get a job in exchange for riding lessons. She was 6.

"Oh child," I remember telling her seven years ago. "If it means that much to you, then mom and dad will make it work." And we have. Brynne doesn't ride as much as she'd like, but she rides enough to keep her happy (while the family remains financially solvent). It's required some sacrifice, but the smile on Brynne's face when she is spending time in the saddle makes any "sacrifice" seem small. I like to think that my mom felt the same way when she watched us playing hockey.

So now you've got a youngster telling you that he or she wants to play goal. First, make sure they're serious. You owe it to yourself, and you owe it to your child. This was the genius of my mom's response to her boys, those many years ago. If my brothers and I didn't want it bad enough, we wouldn't have found a way to buy our own gear, and mom would have been off the hook.

But if your child sticks with it, then you've got to go all in. It can be expensive, and it can be time-consuming, especially if you get additional coaching. Make the extra effort to get your child to the rink on time for the practice as well as the games. Learn how their gear goes on; help them when they're young, encourage them to do it on their own. Trust me, your child won't ever forget, and it will be one of the most rewarding experiences you'll ever have.

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Getting the most from your goalie gear

Hey everyone,

I'm still in "catch up" mode, but think this piece written for the New England Hockey Journal last summer is really sort of timeless. Not in a "great writing" way, but in terms of the "subject matter." Far too many goaltenders thing the "gear makes the man," and that simply ain't true. Plus, I got a chuckle out of the postscript below, seeing LA's Jonathan Quick is again playing at a level most humans can't even imagine!

Getting the most from your gear

There's an old axiom in beer league hockey: beware the guy who shows up with a ratty old bag of well-worn gear. More often than not, those are the characters who can skate circles around the guys sporting a head-to-toe top-of-the-line set of pricey equipment that they bought with their year-end bonuses.

Here's the goaltending corollary – equipment doesn't make the goalie. Now, good gear will help a good goalie play better. But even the best equipment isn't going to turn a dumpy, unmotivated kid into the next Martin Brodeur. I always try to judge each goaltender I coach on his own merit, but there's a growing group of kids who watch guys like Tim Thomas or Tuukka Rask (or Henrik Lundqvist, Ryan Miller, or Jonathan Quick), see them as stars, see the accolades that come their way, and want some of that action.

What they don't understand, initially, is that it's not enough to toss on all this cool gear and jump in between the pipes. That additional equipment, designed to protect them, takes some getting used to, and considerable effort to master. That challenge gets even more difficult if the gear is outdated, incomplete, or ill-fitting.

So here, free of charge, are a few tips to help your young netminder get the most of the gear you do buy.

First, get the properly sized equipment. Apply the Goldilocks' Rule – don't get gear that's too big (not matter how much you think your kid will grow), too small (no matter how good the deal is), but is "just right" for your neophyte netminder. Gloves, pads, chest protectors, and pants are all made in junior, intermediate, and adult sizes. A few items (like pants) can be bought oversized. But most gear that's too large will only inhibit your youngster's ability to move properly.

For this reason, I often advocate buying your child's gear from a reputable "brick & mortar" store, with a knowledgeable sales staff. You can find great deals online, but you're also making a "blind purchase" to some extent (unless you already know exactly what you're looking for, in which case you probably don't need my advice).

I'm typically a fan of "second hand" stores or even places like Craig's List, provided you're confident that you can correctly assess if the gear will fit. If you're as new to the sport as your child, then you're really at the mercy of the person making the sale. There have been dozens of design changes in gear (particularly leg pads and chest protectors) that mirror recent developments in how the position is played. Getting an old set of pads – even if they're in great shape – might inadvertently put your child at a disadvantage if they're not designed to play the butterfly technique. Specifically, look for adequate knee stacks and synthetic leather (not cloth) on the insides of the pads, which allow goaltenders to execute modern techniques (like the butterfly slide and push) with greater ease, while protecting their knees.

Similarly, goalie gloves should be comfortable, with straps that cinch around the wrist, permitting the hands to move freely. Some new gloves, and many old ones, can be stiff, preventing the goaltender from catching a puck, covering a puck on the ice, or holding a stick properly.

Employees at better retail stores will not only help you get the correct size equipment, but also show you how it's supposed to be worn. I can't stress this last point enough. Once you've laid out your hard-earned coin, take a few extra minutes to learn how to put the stuff on (and teach your child how to do it as well).

Most straps on leg pads have a specific purpose, but none are more important than the toe lace/buckle, and the knee straps. I'm amazed at the number of times I've seen young goalies – obvious beginners – get on the ice with the toe straps removed altogether, or tied not to the skates, but to other straps to keep them out of the way. When I ask parents why, I get one of two responses: "I didn't know what to do with them," or "I didn't think they were that important." Invariably, these are the same parents who strap on their kid's pads so tight that they fit more like a corset than goalie gear. No wonder these youngsters have so much trouble moving.

In reality, these toe straps are essential to keep the leg pads "centered" as they rotate back and forth while a goalie executes butterfly saves. If the toe straps are used correctly (laced through the skate, and tied by the ankle) the remaining straps can be loosened, which enhances the pads ability to rotate, forming a tight seal on the ice. That's why the knee strap is important; it keeps the knee secured in the knee cradle while the pads rotate.

Two more quick points. Goalie skates make a huge difference in a young netminder's ability to execute goalie-specific movements. Regular skates, with their thinner blades and a more rounded radius, are far more unstable (which can be very frustrating for youngsters). Goalie skates are a much better investment than a goalie helmet at the mite and squirt levels (though a neck dangler is recommended). However, if you do buy a goalie mask, make sure it fits correctly. A loose mask that moves is dangerous.

Last, but certainly not least, is the goalie stick. This is perhaps the most underappreciated piece of equipment among a goalie's "tools of ignorance." What many parents, and coaches, don't understand is that the paddle length of the stick often determines whether the goalie will have a balanced stance. The key is to make sure the goalie is holding the stick properly (with the blocker hand at the top of the paddle, with the index finger on the paddle for stability) while in his or her stance.

So, for example, a goaltender who plays in a low crouch can get by with a shorter paddle. I'm almost 6-foot-3, but I use a 26-inch paddle. Many goaltenders my height, however, play more upright and will use a 27-inch paddle. Personal preference is huge. So when you buy a goalie stick, bring your young netminder to the store, and have them try different paddle lengths (while wearing their goalie skates). The correct stick will be the one that feels most comfortable. Simple as that.

##

The Goalie Guru postscript. Last month, I took Tim Thomas to task for what I felt was his selfish behavior this past year, and how it helped doom the Bruins' season. Obviously, his decision this spring to take next season off, walking out on his front-loaded contract and leaving the team with a $5 million hit on the salary cap, only reinforces my belief. In contrast, I love what I've seen from Connecticut's favorite son, L.A. Kings goaltender Jonathan Quick, this year's Conn Smythe winner as the MVP of the Stanley cup playoffs.

Consider this terrific quote for LA defenseman Willie Mitchell on Quick, from Sports Illustrated: "He's also one of the best teammates ever because he's such a selfless guy. I'll make a mistake, it'll end up in our net, and he won't glare or say anything except 'I shoulda had it.' Love the guy."

Who wouldn't? Quick not only played like an all-world talent during the Stanley Cup playoffs, but he was the consummate teammate in the consummate team game. Tim Thomas could learn a thing or two about team play from his former USA Olympic teammate. That is, if he ever plays again.

FINIS

Tim Thomas and teamwork

Hi all,

Coincidentally, I'm trying to catch up on my blog at the very time that my Boston Bruins, circa 2012-13,and the rest of the National Hockey League playoff teams begin their annual quest for the Stanley Cup. I wrote this column for the New England Hockey Journal last spring, just after the hometown Bruins got bounced from the playoffs, but before Tim Thomas announced his self-imposed sabbatical. Interestingly enough, Thomas is no longer Bruins property, after the Boston brass ship his rights to the mighty New York Islanders. But the lessons learned during last spring's debacle are still relevant, I think. Would you agree? Let me know ...

Teamwork – The concept that Tim Thomas forgot

As I write this column, the "will he stay or will he go" drama surrounding the Bruins' Vezina-winning goaltender Tim Thomas is still simmering. Count me among those who feel that the team is better off without him. It's not because I don't like Thomas (as a person or a player), or don't respect him, or don't think he can still get it done at 38 years young.

Primarily, Thomas and the Bruins are better off parting ways because he's forgotten one of the bedrock principles of the sport: It's all about the team.

Keep in mind, this is not a "Bruins" issue. Even though this column focuses on Thomas, it's not a Boston-centric topic. It just so happens that it was the Black and Gold that Thomas played for, and it was the Bruins locker room that was severely compromised by the self-centered actions of their goaltender.

What Thomas did, in several highly publicized pratfalls and in many more instances that flew under the radar, was to put his own priorities before those of his team. There's an old adage that organizations often rot from the head down. For hockey teams, the decay often begins in the locker room. And it often proves fatal.

The key element to remember here is this concept: the goaltender is part of the team. A vital, essential part of the team. Granted, that's not always evident, especially the way some coaches allow the goalies to be scapegoats when "bad" goals get scored (I can usually find a string of mistakes that lead to almost any goal, but that's a subject for another day). But the reality is that goaltenders only have one job – to keep the puck out of the net. If the biscuit gets behind them too often, they usually feel the brunt of any subsequent losses.

As a result, goaltenders often feel like they're on an island. They're separated from the rest of the team for a variety of reasons, including their singular job description and the pressure that goes along with that, and their own history of being eccentric. That's all the more reason why goaltenders have to ingratiate themselves with their teammates. If they can, they cultivate a win-win scenario.

Teammates will go to the wall for a goaltender they care about. Conversely, they can just as easily give up on a goaltender who they've either lost faith in, or don't like. It's the nature of the beast. That doesn't mean the locker room has to be a love-fest, but there's got to be mutual respect. Thomas took a wrong turn when he took his "lone wolf" persona public. Repeatedly.

Let's start with the famous White House snub. Thomas sat sulking in his hotel room, bemoaning his country's bloated government, while his teammates paid President Obama a perfunctory visit to celebrate their 2011 Stanley Cup championship. Spare me all those "free speech" arguments; our Constitution prohibits only the government from making laws that prevent free speech. It doesn't say anything about employers, or even coaches (If you don't believe me, try disparaging your boss on Facebook, and see how quickly you get called in on the carpet).

Clearly, the Bruins' brass wanted Thomas (one of only two United States natives on the team) to join the squad at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., and they had 5 million reasons to insist on it. But the pride of Flint, Michigan, felt his agenda was more important. That "me-first attitude" became a recurring theme for Thomas and the B's last season.

Meanwhile, Thomas's teammates did and said the right thing. Their comments boiled down to this: "As long as he stops the puck, he can say whatever he wants." Don't believe it. Those of us in the business know players avoid saying what they're feeling, especially if the topic is as sensitive as a teammate's behavior. I'd bet my house that a little sodium pentothal would deliver comments that cut much closer to the bone, revealing how much Thomas had cut himself off from his team. One team source told the Boston Globe's Fluto Shinzawa that Thomas was a "[expletive] selfish [expletive]." I guarantee you it was an opinion shared by more than a few.

But Thomas wasn't done. Emboldened by his newfound notoriety, Thomas returned to Facebook to pontificate about his support for the Catholic church amid a birth control debate. Thomas later defended a U.S. Marine scolded for creating a Facebook page critical of the government, which brought the national media buzzing around the Bruins' locker room. Just what a suddenly .500 team didn't need.

Then Thomas tried to hide behind the classic smokescreen, separating his "job" and his "private life." It's an argument that makes Thomas sound either like a country bumpkin, or disingenuous. I believe it's the latter, because Thomas is actually pretty bright, much like that Hick from French Lick, Larry Bird. However, he misjudged the public backlash (or at least the media backlash) of his actions, and he turtled. He made comments that he knew would make headlines, and then refused to explain them.

That trend continued right through the end of the season. By the time the playoffs started, the collective weight of media attention seemed to squeeze the fight out of Thomas. Even when the Bruins lost game 7 of their series against Washington, on Joel Ward's overtime strike, I didn't see any of Thomas's typical fire.

Despite the fact that Capital Mike Knuble ran into him on the game-winning rush – in what former referee Kerry Fraser called a clear case of goalie interference – Thomas didn't argue the call, didn't insist on a video review. This was not the Tim Thomas that decked Philly's Scotty Hartnell in the 2010 Winter Classic, or flattened Henrik Sedin in last year's Stanley Cup finals.

Instead, Thomas laid down, He seemed more than happy to get started on his summer plans. There was even the semi-poignant post-game moment that proved, to my mind, that Thomas quit. As the Bruins players milled about, waiting for the Caps celebration to die down so they could get on with the handshake, Thomas was caught on camera going over to some young fans, telling them to smile. Ever the cynic, I turned to my wife and said, "It's probably his kids."

Sure enough, they were. Now, I understand that no father wants to see his kids upset. My point is that Thomas wasn't upset. The competitive flame that had been his trademark was gone.

So what was Thomas's parting shot, as he packed up the family before running off to Colorado? He told the Globe's Nancy Marrapese-Burrell: "We went right into a very long season and we had adversity throughout that season. Having said that, we stuck together and got it done to come up second in the Eastern Conference."

No, Tim. You didn't stick together. You bailed. When the rest of your team went to celebrate at the White House, you hunkered down in your hotel room to spout some political rant. You made bold Facebook statements, but didn't have the backbone to back them up. You hid behind classic "Bull Durham" sports clichés, and then left your teammates to face the music (Oh, you didn't think that would happen?). You didn't nurture a team atmosphere; you abandoned it.

The Bruins were a team that died from a thousand cuts, and many of those could be attributed directly to their netminder. Thomas put his own agenda ahead of the rest of the squad, and those actions had ramifications that doomed the Bruins season. Thomas was no longer seen inside the locker room as quirky or eccentric. He was seen as selfish. That's a cancer.

FINIS