Mindset
“Change the way you look at things and the things you look at change.”
― Wayne Dryer
Perspective…
I am often asked, as I was again this past week while back home in Ottawa for a workshop, “Do you miss working in the NHL?”
For those reading who may not know my history, I worked in the NHL as an Athletic Therapist and Strength and Conditioning Coach from 1998 to 2009. My first year in the league was with the New York Islanders organization, but after a chaotic season and an uncertain future, I accepted the same role with the New York Rangers.
After two seasons with the Rangers, and a management and coaching change following my first year, I found myself out of a job in the spring of 2001.
Uncertain of what was next, I spent that summer roaming Manhattan and, somewhat randomly, took a Pilates instructor certification for fun.
Then, in August of 2001, I was hired by the Montreal Canadiens and returned home to the city where I had gone to school and built much of my early career through the 1990s.
My first days with the organization were marked by learning that our captain, Saku Koivu, had stage-three cancer, followed shortly after by the events of 9/11. Suffice to say, it was a heavy beginning to the next chapter of my life.
Back to the workshop.
This time the question came a little differently:
“Do you regret leaving the Canadiens now that the team is doing so well?”
If you are not a hockey fan, or specifically a Canadiens fan, you may not realize the organization has spent much of the last thirty-plus years trying to rediscover its former glory. Since their last Stanley Cup in 1993, there have been flashes of competitiveness, but very few moments where the team was truly considered a serious Cup contender.
But right now, they are deep in the process of creating something quite special. The youngest team in the playoffs, a rookie coach, Marty St.Louis, who continues to impress as he grows into his role, and a feeling around the city that something magical might just happen sooner rather than later.
However, when I arrived in 2001, the organization had been dealing with three straight seasons of over 500 man games lost due to injury. To put that in perspective, the league average was around 250. It is hard to win when much of your starting lineup is in the clinic instead of on the ice.
Part of why I was hired was to help reduce that number.
Over the years, we brought the team average down to roughly 180, including one season as low as 108. We improved availability significantly, but improved health does not automatically equal championships.
Those years were a mixed bag. Aging stars. Injured stars. Inconsistent drafting. Moments of hope mixed with stretches of frustration.
One season, though, it felt like something special might happen.
Sheldon Souray had returned from wrist surgery and was having a tremendous year. Alex Kovalev was fully engaged and playing brilliant hockey. Saku Koivu, after his cancer recovery, was in his prime as a leader and player.
We went up 2-0 on Carolina in the playoffs and the city was alive.
Then Saku suffered a serious eye injury.
We lost four straight.
Carolina went on to win the Stanley Cup.
That is sport sometimes. Tiny moments that change everything.
I remained with the Canadiens until the summer of 2009. The year before, my wife and I had welcomed our first and only child into the world. I was already forty-five years old, and suddenly life felt different. Priorities shifted.
I had an opportunity to move into Olympic sport, and I decided it was time to leave professional hockey behind.
So when people ask me if I miss it, the answer is layered.
I absolutely reflect fondly on the camaraderie, the relationships, and the incredible energy that surrounds a city when a team is winning. There is truly nothing quite like playoff hockey in Montreal. I experienced it a handful of times, and when that city comes alive, it is unforgettable.
But I also remember the heaviness.
Nostalgia has a funny way of softening the edges of reality. Professional sport is far more losing than winning, and when things are not going well, everyone around the team carries that burden.
The Islanders, to put it politely, were a gong show. My first season in the league became an exercise in humility and disappointment. A twenty-seven-day training camp in Lake Placid instead of the normal seven. Missing key players. Constant instability. A season that felt cursed from the start.
The Rangers had resources and star power, but also disappointment. We missed the playoffs. There were coaching and management changes. Mark Messier returned. Theo Fleury arrived. Mike Richter tore his ACL again. Expectations were enormous, but success never followed.
Then suddenly, no playoffs and no job.
Life in professional sport is a strange mix of glamour and grind. Beautiful hotels, charter flights, incredible restaurants, and world-class arenas blended with relentless pressure, exhaustion, uncertainty, and emotional swings.
When you are winning, it can feel magical.
When you are losing, it can feel very dark.
To put it into perspective, if I had stayed in the NHL from 1998 until today, I would have spent twenty-eight years in the league and never won a Stanley Cup. I would have experienced the Final only once.
The current Head Athletic Therapist of the Canadiens, Jim Ramsay, who I worked with in New York, has spent thirty-six years in the NHL and has only reached the Final once as well.
The former Head Athletic Therapist in Montreal, Graham Rynbend, dedicated close to twenty-seven years to the organization and never won one either.
That is how hard it is to win.
Winning is not everything, but it certainly makes life feel lighter.
I loved my years in the league. They were meaningful, unforgettable, and helped shape so many experiences and relationships that followed.
Do I miss it?
No, I do not.
I look back with clarity now. I know exactly what it was. I grew tremendously through those experiences, and there are countless stories I could tell about my life in the game, but I will leave most of them where they belong.
Would I enjoy being there right now while the team is finally building momentum again?
Of course.
But in order to experience the possibility of winning now, I would have had to live through twenty-eight years of everything else that came before it.
I chose a different path.
And I have no regrets.
Now, I simply cheer for the people I know who continue the pursuit.
And even now, there is still a lot of real estate between today and someone hoisting the Stanley Cup.
Nothing is guaranteed.
So I will enjoy the ride from my couch.
Go Habs Go.
