Not every freshman has the kind of year Mike had at
SLU. Too many of them don't see enough action for no reason other than they're freshmen. I have friends whose kids'
college hockey experiences have been a complete and utter
nightmare; players who went to a school only to get there and
be told their scholarship would be honored but they wouldn't
be part of the team. I have friends whose kids' experiences in
major junior have been nothing but a bitter disappointment
and rejection.
But that, I'm afraid, is what hockey is all about at the
next level.
No system has the market cornered on anything, good
or bad. At the end of the day, when your kid arrives at the
next level, anything and everything could happen. It may not
always seem fair, but then, as I loved to tell my boys, life isn't
always fair. In fact, I've always maintained every league above
minor hockey-Junior A, B, C; major junior; college; and ultimately the pros-should have only one slogan because this is
the absolute truth once you get out of minor hockey: "We will
love your kid so long as he's playing well; we'll treat him like
gold…unless someone better comes along."
I hope that doesn't come across as too cynical or crass,
because it's not meant to be. In fact, that reality check should
reinforce to everyone to try to enjoy the journey, not get too
hung up on the destination. There are just so many ups and
downs for the vast majority of kids who play hockey at any
level above minor hockey. If you permit yourself, you can get
eaten alive by them.
For Cindy and me, the hockey has always been the bedrock
on which we try to build relationships and friendships. For as
much as we have loved watching Mike play college hockey,
the enduring payoff for our time in Canton, N.Y., has been
becoming such good friends with Tim and Teri Phalon, having
their family open their home to our family; getting to know
the Cunninghams and the Flanagans; sharing time and stories with the other Crazy Hockey Parents/road warriors like
the Bogosians or Fensels, the Generouses, amongst many others; getting to the Hoot Owl-"Scary, isn't it?"-for a night of
One Mo's. (It's a long story.) Or trading text messages with my
Colgate friend Don McIntyre or my Cornell pal Dan Whitney
or my cattle-ranching SLU alum Tom Gif
fi
n.
Oh, the hockey is important-I would never suggest otherwise and anyone who knows me would call B.S. if I did. But
if as a parent that's all you're taking from it, I have to tell you
something-you're missing the boat.
Nevertheless, maybe at some point before Mike graduates,
we'll go on a little father-son excursion, maybe see an East
Coast Hockey League or American Hockey League game.
Maybe I'll ask him: "Do you think you can play this?"
And he'll say: "I don't know. I think so, I'm not sure."
And I'll say: "Neither am I."
And then, all things being equal, we'll
find
out.
Mind you, one day-who knows when?-there'll be no
more next level, it will all be over.
And you know what? That's just
fine
, too, because it's been
quite a ride, a lot longer and more thrilling than either of us
ever could have imagined.
And hey, it's not over just yet.
35: Blowing the Whistle and Doctor, Doctor
I COULDN'T LET AN ENTIRE BOOK GO by without some
mention of my "friends" who wear the striped shirt.
There is, of course, no more thankless job in minor hockey
than that of the on-ice
official
. They take far too much abuse-sadly, some of it is physical-and I have been guilty, on
occasion, of dispensing some of the verbal variety. I can admit
that. But I'm also not shy about suggesting Mike, Shawn and
I, between the three of us, have been on the receiving end of
some mistreatment, too.
There was the ref in Barrie who started a tournament game
by saying to me: "I hope you're a better coach than you are a
broadcaster." I started laughing, thinking it was a pretty funny
line, until I realized he wasn't kidding. This particular referee,
who I had never met before, could not have been more blatant in his disdain for me and clearly took it out on the kids I
coached. Which is kind of pathetic.
Most of the zebras are good guys trying to do a good job.But it was quite obvious when we would get one who would
take great delight in making my life
difficult
. This was much
more likely to happen at home in Whitby than on the road.
What is it they say, familiarity breeds contempt?
I know this to be true because a guy I know started working as an OMHA linesman. He told me after the fact that there
were a couple of local Whitby refs who, prior to a game, would
sit in the referees' room and brag to their colleagues about how
they were planning to get a reaction from me or the other local
Whitby coaches who had some pro
fi
le. "Watch me get [
fi
ll in
the blank] going crazy," one of these refs would say before the
game. My buddy couldn't help himself one time. "Aren't we
just supposed to call the game?" he said. "I didn't realize our
job is to plan on getting the coaches upset."
There may be some who would suggest I actually got favorable treatment from some refs because they were intimidated
by my TV persona. I never saw it that way, but that's just me.
In all the years I coached minor hockey or lacrosse, I only
ever got one bench minor penalty for verbally abusing an
official
.
Honestly, though, I could handle the back and forth
between me and the refs; it's all part of the game. It was when
I thought they were targeting my sons for extra attention that
it really upset me. It still does.
I can't count how many times over the years a referee
would make a much more
fl
amboyant penalty call-the
demonstrative/theatrical pointing of the
finger
towards the
penalty box is a dead giveaway-or loudly use my kids' surname for dramatic effect when he banished one of them to the
box: "Let's go, McKenzie, two for roughing, McKenzie." I'm
not arguing my kids didn't deserve penalties-far from it-but
I am saying there were refs who visibly enjoyed assessing those
penalties a lot more than they should have.
But there is one Hall of Shame of
fi
ciating story I will leave
you with because it so far crossed the line that I still can't quite
believe it happened.
It was the sixth and deciding game of the
first
round of the
playoffs in Mike's major bantam AAA season. The winner of
the game between Oshawa and Whitby would move on. I was
away at the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics. I was on pins and
needles awaiting the result.
Oshawa beat Whitby that night; Mike's season was over
and that was Mike's last game of minor hockey. When I came
home from Salt Lake City a couple of days later, I was told by
Mike's coaches, including my brother-in-law John, that the referee had more or less verbally abused Mike from the beginning
of the game to the very end.
I asked Mike about it. He confessed that in all the years
he'd played hockey or lacrosse, he had never experienced anything quite like this. He said if he missed a shot on goal, the
referee would skate by and say, "Ah, did you miss the net? Do
you miss your daddy at the Olympics, too, poor baby?" This
torrent of abusive dialogue was, I was told, pretty much constant. By the time the game was over, Mike was overwrought.
I was going to let it slide. I mean, it was over and done
with, what could I do now? The more I thought about it,
though, the angrier I got. So, just for the hell of it, I called
the OMHA and talked to the referee-in-chief. I told him the
story. He said he would get back to me, but I wasn't holding
my breath. A week or two later, though, he called. He said he
had concluded an investigation-I was waiting for the "lack of
evidence" line-and after conferring with the linesmen who
worked the game with that referee, he determined the ref had
indeed acted inappropriately. This referee's behavior was so
reprehensible that his own linesmen in that game ratted him out. That tells you how bad it was right there. The referee-in-chief said the ref would be disciplined-he was scheduled to
work the all-Ontario midget championships in Peterborough
and was subsequently taken off that assignment.
The kicker to the story is that the next season in a Junior
A game in Oshawa, Mike was in an altercation and down on
the ice. A linesman jumped on top of him to restrain him and
rather zealously, I thought, put what amounted to a choke hold
around Mike's neck. The altercation was over as far as I could
see, but the linesman still was on top of Mike and had his arm
locked around Mike's neck. Mike was kicking his feet because
he was getting choked. I started to yell from the stands, it was
that obvious to me. Finally, the linesman let up. It was a day or
two after the fact, when I happened to look at the game summary, I realized the overly aggressive linesman and the ref who
had verbally abused Mike were one and the same.
At the end of the day, of
fi
ciating hockey is not an easy job.
I get that. I also know the vast majority of guys who do it are
doing it for all the right reasons-because they like hockey;
they want to stay involved; get a little exercise; they want to
contribute something to the community; and maybe make a
buck or two. To all those guys, if I ever offended you, I am
sorry. But there are also a few bad apples who are raging egomaniacs and power-hungry control freaks with an ax to grind.
Hey, maybe I should apply.
Actually, I've occasionally thought I might like to get my
referee's card one day, although I acknowledge it's probably
just a
fl
ight of fancy. (Mike and Shawn both of
fi
ciated minor
lacrosse brie
fly
, but didn't like the responsibility and abuse
that went with it.) But I think it would be a fascinating experience and a tremendous challenge. I would love to see if I have
any feel for the game in that capacity. Now, wouldn't that be
fun for the coaches, players and parents to see me skate out in
the stripes with a whistle in my hand?
The
finally
word on of
fi
ciating, though, goes to my buddy
Kevin O'Brien, who came up with the best "chirp" of an of
fi
cial I've ever seen or heard. This one was so good that even the
ref who was being chirped burst out laughing. Just one warning, though, your timing has to be impeccable.
"Everyone here who thinks the ref is doing a lousy job,"
Kevin would yell from the stands, "put up your hand."
If the line is delivered in a dead-quiet rink just as the ref
makes the signal to say the visiting team can't make a line
change, tell me you can't see the sheepish smile on the ref's
face as he slowly lifts his arm above his head.
Priceless. Just priceless.
As
difficult
as it is to deal with some referees, the hardest
part of having kids playing minor hockey is the whole injury
experience.
Injuries are, unfortunately, unavoidable. If your child plays
sports, he or she will get hurt at some point. What you come to
realize very quickly-or at least you should-is that a bad game
or a game where Junior misses a shift or gets into the coach's
doghouse pales in comparison to the child getting hurt and
not being able to play at all, whether it's for a game, a week, a
month, a year or forever.
Shawn had the obvious problem with multiple concussions/headaches, though most of them weren't experienced in organized sports. But Shawn also had a whack of other injuries from
hockey and lacrosse. We have a collection of crutches and splints
and braces around our house. Most of them were for Shawn,
who banged up his knee almost as often as he did his head. He
has had tears of the anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) and medial
cruciate ligament (MCL) and even the lesser-known lateral cruciate ligament (LCL)-no knee surgery was ever required-and
when he skates now, he wears a brace for support.
Even in a noncontact sport like volleyball, Shawn managed to get injured. When he was in Grade 7, he jumped up to
spike a ball at the same time as his teammate. The teammate's
karate chop spike got more of Shawn's baby
finger
than the
ball. The result was a broken
finger
, with the portion above
the knuckle jutting out at an almost ninety-degree angle from
the base. It was really quite horrendous. He nearly passed out
from the pain but never cried, not even when at the hospital they repeatedly gave him needles to freeze it before setting
it. Finally, Shawn got fed up with the needles-the freezing
wasn't taking-and he stoically told them to "just set it."
Mike battled his way through a lot of injuries, too, but
let's just say he was a tad more verbal than Shawn in expressing pain and suffering. Mike was much more likely to cry or
scream or yell or curse, but like his brother, he would never
want to let an injury keep him down.
In addition to his broken arm in lacrosse and his one
notable concussion, Mike has had separated shoulders (one
in lacrosse; one in hockey), a fractured ankle, a sports hernia
that required surgery-not to mention a painful cortisone shot
with a really big needle that was inserted near the pubic bone
(I break out in a sweat just thinking about it)-and too many
soft-tissue injuries to count.
Like many who are so deeply embedded in the minor
hockey culture, the McKenzies subscribe to the age-old, macho
philosophy that you don't lie on the ice when you're hurt;
you do everything possible to get to the bench on your own.
Within reason, you play hurt and battle through injuries, but
that does not, of course, include trying to play through a concussion, which is simply not possible.
But of all the things that qualify me as a Crazy Hockey
Dad, my obsession with and fanaticism about getting my kids
the best possible medical/injury treatment is probably right up
there at the top of the list.
If your child is injured playing sports and all you do is
visit the local hospital emergency room or your GP or family
doctor-all due respect to all of them-there is a pretty good
chance your child may be on the sidelines longer than they
might otherwise be.
I believe it is paramount to seek out specialized medical
treatment from those who live and work within the sports medicine community. It's just a matter of
find
ing these people. Once
you do, you are on your way because they generally operate
within a network of other health-care experts (medical specialists, chiropractors/active release therapists, physiotherapists,
massage therapists, nutritionists, strength and conditioning
trainers, homeopaths) who can also be a huge help in healing
and getting the injured athlete back playing.