Hockey Dad (29 page)

It turned out to be the best of times and the worst of times.

In John's
finally
year of junior, he won the OHL scoring championship with 56 goals and 166 points and the Greyhounds
came within a hair of taking the OHL championship, losing
to the Kitchener Rangers of Brian Bellows and Al MacInnis
vintage. In spite of his impressive accomplishments, John
wasn't selected in the 1981 NHL entry draft. The scouts said
he couldn't skate well enough; he wasn't strong enough. He
was devastated. So was I. He wasn't at the draft in Montreal,
but I was. I imagine there may be worse hockey-related kicks in
the teeth than that one, but I'm not sure I can come up with
one, to be honest.

That day had a large impact on me. I realized then what a
hard life or business hockey can be. I learned a lot by covering
junior hockey for the Sault Star, but not half as much as being
intimately involved in the ups and downs of a family member who was trying to make his way in the game. Over the
ensuing years-John signed as a free agent with the Montreal
Canadiens and had a six-year minor pro career that included
time in Nova Scotia, New Haven, St. Catharines and Peoria-I
had a front-row seat to the good, the bad and the ugly of the
true minor-league experience.

John never made it to the NHL, although he played with
many who would. The other centers in his
first
year in Nova
Scotia were Guy Carbonneau and Dan Daoust. They were
replaced by Brian Skrudland and John Chabot. John only
ever played in one NHL preseason game for the Canadiens, in
Halifax, and that was after he'd already been sent down, but
he evolved into a responsible, hardworking, two-way checking center who could still put up good numbers and satisfy the
many demands of legendary tough-guy coach John Brophy, for
whom John played in four of his six pro seasons. John won a
Turner Cup championship playing for the Peoria Rivermen in
1985, playing through the playoffs with a broken orbital bone.

John
finally
decided to give it up in 1987 and start at a
career at Ontario Hydro, where he still works today (although
he did put up some very good numbers as both an assistant
coach-
first
to Stan Butler and then Bill Stewart-and head
coach of the Oshawa Generals).

I'm sometimes asked by people who I consider to be the
best player who never played a game in the NHL. The answer
for me is too easy-it's my brother-in-law, John Goodwin.

I've made his story-the abridged version anyway-part
of my story here for the very simple reason that it is. I mean,
between how my parents raised me, my own less-than-stellar
experiences as a player, witnessing John's life in the game,
to say nothing of my career path and my involvement with
Mike's and Shawn's hockey, well, I never really had a chance
to be anything but…

You know…Crazy Hockey Dad.

EPILOGUE

NOW THAT THE STORY is all down here in black and white
hopefully, as promised, an unvarnished look at the good, the
bad and the ugly of multiple lifetimes in minor hockey-I am
not quite sure what to make of it. I look back at all of it and ask
myself, what would I change?

Honestly, probably not a lot.

Hey, if I could snap my
fingers
right now and Shawn's
headaches were gone, you know I would do it in a heartbeat.

He wouldn't have had to stop playing hockey and lacrosse at
age fourteen and he wouldn't feel like he was cheated out of a
lot of really good times in what should have been the best and
most carefree years of his life.

I don't blame hockey for what happened to Shawn. I blame
plain old dumb bad luck. Lots of people get a cross to bear in
life; Shawn's was concussions and a migraine-related condition that was triggered by one of them. It could be a lot better;
it could be a lot worse. I'm not pleased with how it ended for
Shawn-in a stupid minor hockey
fight
that didn't mean a damn thing-but if it hadn't happened in a hockey game, I really do believe it would have, given Shawn's propensity for hitting his head even outside of organized sports, happened while he was doing something else-riding a bike, snowboarding, wakeboarding, whatever….

If I were able to do it all over again, I would like to think I'm wise enough now to not pick up Mike by his hockey sweater on the bench in Kitchener that day, to not send him crying into the house by threatening to cut him and that I would not run down those stairs to foolishly get into it with Larry Labelle. But, truthfully, I couldn't guarantee you I wouldn't. You do what you think is right at the time, by you and your family, and hope like hell it all turns out for the best. That's the hard part of being a parent. Besides, in real life, you don't get do-overs.

But here's what I do know to be true. Cindy and I love our
kids more than anything in this world. I'm
confident
they feel
the same way about us. Our family unit is amazing, the bond
between all of us is so strong.

The best times in life are when the four of us are all
together as a family and, whatever it says about us, those
times have often been set against the backdrop of something
hockey-related.

My only fear in writing the book-and telling the crazy
stories that entertain, amuse or irritate you-is you may not
fully realize how many wonderful occasions there were when
we were all just together having a
terrific
time. No
conflict
.

No morality plays. No metaphors for life. Those stories aren't
going to sell a book or keep you interested for long, but most
of what our family experienced in sporting endeavors, and in
everything else we did for that matter, were warm and tender
family moments, the memories of which will last a lifetime.

I will tell you this-for all the speci
fi
c errors in judgment
I may have made, I feel no need to apologize for giving our
kids a lifestyle that revolved primarily around minor sports,
especially hockey. For the longest time, there were only two
seasons in our house-hockey and lacrosse-and we embraced
them both, highly anticipating the shift from one to another.

It really is a way of life-you either get it or you don't-and
I believe with all my heart the boys have no regrets in that
regard. Neither do I.

For us, it was never meant to be only about hockey as
much as it was the whole value system and the virtues by
which we wanted our kids to live their lives. Whatever foulups, bleeps and blunders I committed, when I think of the
lifetime of friendships and relationships Mike, Shawn, Cindy
and I have experienced directly as a result of the boys playing
hockey and lacrosse, I can't imagine trading any of that for
anything. And neither can they, I'm sure, to say nothing of so
many others who have willingly and passionately embraced
the same so-very-Canadian lifestyle that we tend to wear like
a badge of honor.

As for the judgment of whether I'm capital-C Crazy, it's not
so
difficult
to make that call. If you are someone who is not
immersed in the minor hockey culture, it's a no-brainer-you
will say, "Dial 9-1-1, this guy is certi
fi
able." But if you've spent
any amount of time in the rinks over the years, you will have
read the stories I've written here and say, "Pffft, that's nuthin',
I know a hundred guys crazier than him."

In the end, it doesn't really matter. I'm comfortable with
it either way.

Besides, it's probably fair to say I'm in the twilight of being
a Crazy Hockey Dad. There's a part of me that is actually looking forward to spending more time with Cindy, and the boys,
at our beautiful second home on Balsam Lake, far away from
the din of the lacrosse and hockey arenas.

As long as Mike plays, though, I won't be relinquishing
my title, trust me on that. And if, after Mike is
finished
playing, I still need my
fix
, I can always live vicariously through a
new generation of Hockey Dads. My near and dear friend and
TSN colleague Pierre McGuire is just getting started on his own
magical ride with his son Ryan. They have much to look forward to as they author their own father and son story.

I used to think when our boys were all done, Stu Seedhouse,
Kevin O'Brien and I might go back and do the whole minor
hockey coaching thing all over again with a new crop of kids.

You know, the Three Amigos ride again. But I don't honestly
see that happening. Been there, done that; our time has come
and almost gone.

We're much more likely to get together over a few cocktails
at the lake and
reflect
on the good old days and what turned
out to be quite the odyssey for all us.

Where the boys are concerned, I would like to believe Mike
will be able to take what he's learned from playing the game
as long as he has and apply it to his life in such a way he'll be
successful in whatever he chooses to do. I would also like to
think Shawn will be able to take all the adversity he has had to
overcome and use that experience to make him stronger and
better in his pursuits.

There are no words and not enough of them if there were
to say how proud I am of my family: Mike, for having a passion
and work ethic that do not allow him to give up on being the best he can be; Shawn, for picking himself up time after time
because of physical ailments and emotional scars no teenage
kid should have to deal with; and, last but not least, Cindy, for
being an incredibly supportive mother and wife, who is always
there for everyone in the family.

As for me and what I've learned? Oh, that's easy.

Don't let your foot get in the way of the coin toss….
Seriously, though….

When the game is over, regardless of what has transpired
on the ice or whatever emotions may be welling up inside you,
be sure to give your kid a hug and make sure he's okay, make
sure he's healthy. As long as that is the case, it's all good, really
good, because he's going to get another chance to go out and
do it all over again.

You can't ask for any more than that. At the end of each
day, it's all that really matters, in hockey as in life. I know that
now.

And, believe me, there is nothing crazy about that.