by Bob Mckenzie
Whitby was one of Ontario's fastest-growing communities at the time and the by-product was a severe ice-time crunch. Even in the few years since Mike's six-year-old season in Whitby, ice time had become a major problem. Whitby had just three pads-two at the Iroquois Park Arena complex just south of the 401 and one at Luther Vipond Memorial Arena in Brooklin-for its rapidly expanding population. Between the WMHA (they dropped Brooklin from the name), ringette, figuring skating, etc., there just wasn't enough ice to go around.
It got so bad the WMHA had to scale back its operation.
One of those affected was the six-year-old house league. When Mike played, there were six teams with seventeen players apiece, so approximately one hundred six-year-olds were accommodated. But for the 1995-96 season, there were only thirty-four slots for six-year-olds and thirty-four slots for seven-year-olds; they would play together in a four-team league of six- and seven-year-olds.
Everyone knew it was going to be difficult to get one of those thirty-four spots so the expectation was there were going to be long lineups and hard feelings.
House-league registration was set for a Tuesday in mid-August in the lobby of Iroquois Park. On the prior weekend, we were away at Mike's provincial lacrosse championship in Hamilton. The lacrosse provincials were always a hoot. Lots of games, not much sleep, lots of partying with other parents and by the time we got home Sunday night, we were exhausted, physically and emotionally drained.
I just wanted to go to bed, but I mentioned to Cindy that I better take a run by Iroquois Park just to make sure no lunatics had started lining up for the registration that would commence at 5 p.m. on Tuesday. You can imagine my surprise when I walked into the lobby and saw 6 people sitting in lawn chairs and chaise lounges with sleeping bags and coolers. Of the 6 people lining up, three of them were guys I knew who were registering '89s, the same birth year as Shawn. Thirty-four slots had just become thirty-one.
I did two things. One, I phoned Cindy and told her to drive down a lawn chair and cooler to me at the arena. Two, just barely under my breath, I conjured up about every English curse word known to man because I knew that the spot right in front of the Coke machine by the entrance to Pad One was going to be my home for the next forty-six hours.
Some people might say I'm crazy. Fine. It was a no-brainer for me. I figured Shawn had to play hockey. I wanted him playing hockey in the town where we lived. If this was how it had to be done, so be it. I was resigned to my fate.
The Town of Whitby dimmed the lights for us in the lobby overnight so we could sleep but the Coke machine illumination wasn't helping my cause. Slowly but surely that night, more and more people started to show up and camp out. I went from feeling bitter to fortunate that I was in a spot where I knew, if I simply invested the forty-six hours, Shawn would get one of the thirty-four spots.
On Monday morning, Cindy came down and relieved me for a few hours so I could go home and have a shower. Did I mention there was quite a heat wave going on at the time? It was hot and very humid. After getting cleaned up, I returned to my post and she went home. The line really started to grow on Monday once word spread around town. It went right out the front door of the arena and ran alongside the parking lot. The Town of Whitby was a little concerned with that many people being outside for that long, so they directed the line into a side door of Pad One. The lineup then started snaking through the dressing room corridor of the arena on Pad One and right out on the floor of Pad One.
Monday night was more like a party than Sunday night, which is to say there was a lot more drinking. It was the minor hockey equivalent of Woodstock. There were hundreds of people lined up inside the lobby, outside the building and then back inside through the side door of the complex. It was quite a night, especially when a mouse ran through the hallway near the dressing room corridor, sending many into the parking lot screaming.
The air-conditioned comfort of the main lobby, even with the Coke machine glow, was never as welcome as it was then. The registration wasn't supposed to start until 5 p.m. on Tuesday but the WMHA personnel started it earlier in the afternoon. Those of us who toughed it out for forty-plus hours in that lobby will always wear it like a badge of honor even though others might think us crazy. All I know is Shawn had one of the thirty-four spots; he better appreciate it.
As a side note, there were never again lineups for that length of time. The WMHA, in future years, went to a wristband system or a lottery. Iroquois Park Arena eventually went from two pads to a glorious six-pad facility, the envy of every community in Canada, and another new facility, McKinney Arena, was built with two hockey pads and a full-time designated figure-skating surface.
I always like to tell people I "lived" at Iroquois Park Arena when the kids were young. For two days, I actually did.
As house-league hockey players go, Shawn did fine. He wasn't the best kid on his team; he wasn't the worst. He enjoyed going to his games and practices but when they were over, that was fine, too. He was a happy-go-lucky kid who had a smile on his face whatever he was doing and took none of it too seriously.
On the bright side, he was now pushing off with both feet so I wasn't being traumatized on that front. But he had developed another annoying habit that was threatening to put me in a rubber room. On several occasions in games during his first house-league season, Shawn would skate onto the ice for his shift and line up facing the wrong way. He was usually playing on the wing and there he'd be, facing his own goalie for a face-off, with some confused kid on the other team wondering why Shawn was standing where he was supposed to be.
I don't know how many times I explained to Shawn how to line up. I gave him all manner of explanations. "Shawn, make sure your back is to your goalie."
"Shawn, make sure you can see the other team's goalie."
"Shawn, just wait until everyone else on the ice has lined up and go to the player on the other team who doesn't have anyone standing beside him."
I don't know how else I could have explained it; I don't know how many times I told him, but I do know how many times he ignored me.
This, I figured, was my payback for being stupid enough to line up for forty-plus hours. God was clearly telling me I was an idiot, but I wasn't listening to Him any more than Shawn was listening to me.
As time wore on in Shawn's first house-league season, he did manage to figure out the face-off configuration more often than not. But even the next season, when he went into the seven-year-old house league and played on the Whitby Select 7s, he occasionally lapsed and lined up on the wrong side.
There was one game in particular when Shawn lined up incorrectly. We were driving home-me and Cindy in the front seat, Shawn in the back-and I made my most impassioned plea ever to the little guy.
"Shawner," I said to him as we started the drive home, "buddy, you know I don't ask you for much. I don't expect you to take your hockey as seriously as Mike takes his hockey because you're different than Mike, and I'm fine with that. You don't prepare for games like Mike, and that's fine. You don't try as hard as Mike in your games and that's fine, too, because you're having fun and I like to see you have fun. But Shawner, you have to do me one favor, just one thing, please, for Dad. I lined up forty-eight hours to get you into hockey, I would do anything for you so I'm just asking you this one thing-can you please, please just promise me that you're going to line up on the right side of the face-off circle from now on?"
I looked into the rear-view mirror and saw he was looking at me. I was waiting for him to say something and I said, "So what do you have to say about that, buddy?"
"I'm hungry," he said. "What's for dinner?"
14: Talking the Talk, Walking the Walk: A Coach Is Born
IT WAS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME.
Most every Hockey Dad feels as though he's got what it takes to be a better coach than the guy who's doing the job.
Scotty Bowman could be coaching a kids' team and the dads would all stand around at practice or a game and say they could do better.
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The line combinations are never quite right; the practice drills could be better; the shifts are too long or too short; this player plays too much; that player plays too little; or maybe the wrong goalie is started. It's always something. Trust me, it's always something.
All that separates the Hockey Dads who endlessly critique their kids' coaches is that some of the very brave-or is it the very foolish?-decide to walk the walk and not just talk the talk.
So it was only a matter of time before I took the plunge to become a coach, or at least an assistant coach to start.
John Velacich's two-year stint as a rep coach with that group of kids was up and there were a couple of groups interested in applying to succeed him. I was part of one of them. So were my good pals Stu Seedhouse and Kevin O'Brien, both of whom already had a foot in the door, having jumped on board in the major novice year to help out John Velacich. Stu was an assistant coach under John; Kevin was the trainer.
To be honest, I think it's easier to become Pope than a minor hockey coach. By the time you fill out all the forms, get the obligatory police check, go through the interview process with the association, to say nothing of the coaching and training certi?cations (there's a weekend of your life you're not getting back), and let us not forget the anti-abuse semi-nar/clinic, well, let's just say a lot of time and effort, and some money, is required in order to become drunk with power and finally get to put together the line combinations you've been thinking of for two years.
Honestly, though, the best part about coaching kids' hockey is spending time with your buddies, the camaraderie that goes with time spent together before and after practices and games and "coaches' meetings" over adult beverages. As gratifying or as frustrating as coaching kids can be, and it can be both to extremes, it is best when done with good friends.
And Stu Seedhouse, Kevin O'Brien and I were like the Three Amigos, spending our winters together in the hockey rinks and our summers together in the lacrosse arenas. Our boys-Stu's son Steven, Kevin's son Kyle and my son Mike-played eight consecutive years of AAA hockey together and even longer than that in competitive lacrosse.
Coaching with Stu, who was named head coach of the minor atom AAA Wildcats, was terrific because it always seemed like we were on the same frequency on just about everything. Stu is a really bright guy, an engineer who is really high up the food chain for Ontario Power Generation (formerly Ontario Hydro) but a lot of fun to be around. Once he gets laughing he has a tough time stopping. Kevin has always been involved in industrial security/fire prevention and safety and as serious as he is about his profession, he's equally off the wall in everything else he does. He tells more jokes than a stand-up comedian, tosses out more puns than Ron MacLean and can generate as many groans as laughs, a real practical joker. If you were there that summer night at the Holiday Inn in Burlington, Ont., when, in front of about one hundred lacrosse parents, he stretched a condom over his head and, using only the air coming out of his nostrils, blew it up three feet tall on top of his head…now that's talent.
But for all the laughs we had, Stu and Kevin were great with the kids, too. Stu is a level-headed guy who rarely, if ever, loses his cool or raises his voice and really knows the game of hockey inside and out. From a health and safety perspective, the kids and parents couldn't have had a better trainer than Kevin, who is safety certified on so many levels that he actually teaches classes on how to be certified to administer CPR. Kevin's sporting expertise is more lacrosse than hockey but that allowed us, and the kids, to make fun of his skates (ancient) and how he skated (badly).
I should take a brief moment to tackle two subjects parents coaching their kids and minor hockey coaches being paid to coach kids.
I understand the former can be a problem at times because there are occasions when a parent-coach will favor his child and that causes hard feelings, but there are likely more occasions when a parent-coach is a little harder on his child to ensure there isn't that accusation of bias. I know that is how Stu, Kevin and I always operated. In any case, the minor hockey system would cease to exist without parents who coach and my experience has been, more often than not, especially at the younger ages, it's a positive to have parents involved.
As for the recent trend and now somewhat common practice of paying minor hockey coaches a salary, which was unheard of when I first started coaching, I think it's mostly ridiculous. The argument in favor of it is that by paying people you end up with more qualified coaches and they do a better job, but I don't necessarily see evidence to support that.
Actually, I see the opportunity to make a buck as drawing more undesirables than qualified people, guys who are in it for all the wrong reasons. Minor hockey is an expensive enough proposition for parents without paying coaches anywhere from $20,000 a year to two and three times that.
I fully understand the need to sometimes offer financial remuneration to one individual who oversees an entire minor hockey organization or someone who acts as an organizational mentor for a bank of volunteer coaches. That makes sense, because you're hiring just one super-qualified individual whose references and background check out and he is able to coordinate a large group that makes everyone better.
But to give individual minor hockey coaches five-figure salaries to coach kids' hockey teams? There has to be a better way than that.
It is not, after all, professional hockey.
I don't know where exactly the following was taken from, so I apologize if it appears here without the proper credit.
I only know I got it as an e-mail from a friend many years ago and truer words were never spoken when it comes to the relationship between minor hockey coaches and parents. Here you go:
A store that sells quality hockey coaches has just opened. The store has six floors and the quality of coaches available increases as the shopper goes up each floor. There is, however, a catch. As you open the door to any floor, you may choose your quality hockey coach from that floor but once you go up a floor you cannot go back down unless you directly exit the building.
So the father of a ten-year-old up-and-coming NHL superstar goes shopping to find a quality hockey coach for his son. On the first floor, the sign on the door reads: Floor one-these quality hockey coaches enjoy coaching kids (not afraid to use discipline when necessary). The parent reads the sign and says, "Well, that's better than my child's last coach, but I wonder what's on the next floor?"
So up the stairs he goes.
The second-floor sign reads: Floor two-These quality hockey coaches enjoy coaching kids (not afraid to use discipline when necessary) and have a detailed game plan for the season. The father says, "That's great, but I wonder what's on the next floor?"
And up he goes again.
The next sign reads: Floor three-these quality hockey coaches enjoy coaching kids (not afraid to use discipline when necessary), have a detailed game plan for the season and possess a tremendous amount of hockey knowledge and experience. "Hmm," the father says, "that's great but what could I get if I go higher?"
On the fourth floor, the sign says: Floor four-these quality hockey coaches enjoy coaching kids (not afraid to use discipline when necessary), have a detailed game plan for the season, possess a tremendous amount of hockey knowledge and experience and run a great practice. "Wow, that's very tempting," the father says, "but I have to know what's on the next floor up."
Up one more he goes. Floor five-these quality hockey coaches enjoy coaching kids (not afraid to use discipline when necessary), have a detailed game plan for the season, possess a tremendous amount of hockey knowledge and experience, run a great practice and believe strongly in fair play and making sure each player gets equal ice time. "This is incredible," the father says, "but I just have to see what's on the next floor." So he ascends the finally flight of stairs and comes upon the finally door with the finally sign: Floor six-congratulations, you are visitor No. 3,458,987 to this floor. There are no quality hockey coaches available here. This floor exists solely as proof that hockey pa
rents are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping Quality Hockey Coaches Mart, and have a nice day!
15: Falling into the Trap, in More Ways Than One
AS A COACHING STAFF, we were probably a little, or a lot, naïve, idealistic and intent on trying to do things the right way, but what we knew for sure before we started is that we would be doing it that season without the best player in Whitby.
Liam Reddox had decided to leave Whitby to play in the Metropolitan Toronto Hockey League (MTHL, now known as the Greater Toronto Hockey League or GTHL). He wasn't actually moving-he and his family were still residing in Whitby-but at the time it was possible to transfer out of the OMHA to the MTHL (it has become much more difficult to do that now; not impossible, but difficult). The OMHA is a residence-based league for the most part. You are supposed to play where you live and towns compete against other towns. The GTHL consists of as many as a dozen AAA organizations (Toronto Young Nationals, Toronto Marlies, Toronto Red Wings, among others). Any player in the GTHL is free to play on any team that wants him, regardless of where in the Greater Toronto Area he lives.
My personal preference has always been for my boys to play where they live, alongside many of the kids they go to school with or play summer sports with. But I also understand if a player or parent has an issue with the coach, or does not want the extra travel of going to OMHA centers east and north of Toronto; the OMHA system doesn't offer a lot of flexibility. Each to their own, I say. In Liam's case, I fully understood why he was leaving.
Liam was such an elite player, so much better than any of the Whitby kids; he clearly longed to play with the best players in the province on one of the very best teams. He wasn't going to be able to do that in Whitby. He could, though, achieve that by going into the city because the GTHL is well known for having two or three stacked teams. I understood the motivation.