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.

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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.

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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

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.

FINIS