CrashingTheGoalie

by Ron Spence

They were my zen moments – hockeywise.

I was sitting on the visitor’s bench – in GM Place – watching a game, and would look around, and I was the only spectator in the building.

There were six of them playing, a half-rink game, and they were flying at it – Game 7 tempo.

This happened on numerous occasions, over a few years, but only when the Avalanche were in town.

The players were: Head Coach Bob Hartley, Assistant Coaches Brian Trottier and Real Cloutier, a couple of Black Aces, and a sometimes visitor – on occasion, colour commentator, and former NHL goalie Darren Pang.

The sequence of events that preceded these games went as follows: the Avalanche would hold their practice – game day or regular, depending; the players would gradually leave the ice and the media would wander into the dressing room to ask questions; the Head Coach would address a media scrum; and while this was all happening, one or both of the assistants would work the butts off of the players, who would be healthy scratches, or were going through rehab.

Then, the game would start, with the Black Aces dragging their butts, being exploited by the older coaches.

By this time, I was the only spectator left in the building.

For me of course, I enjoyed watching the mini-contest, for its intensity, and the skills of these men who were leading the world’s best team. Particularly, future Hall of Famer, Brian Trottier.

There was also a sense of irony that I’d enjoy.

I’d just been in the dressing room – with a total payroll of $59,523,921 [the season Hartley was fired] – and here out on the ice, were some guys who weren’t making $2 million plus between the four of them, and were playing their hearts out.

The talent, of course, had left the building via bus or cab, and were eating their per deim lunches in their hotel rooms, in preparation for their afternoon naps.

But, most of all, for me it was the quiet – sitting at the bottom of this large building – with only the sounds of the skates cutting the ice, the sticks striking the pucks, the pucks hitting the boards, and the occasional shout.

These were my hockey zen moments.

They would recognize me as the guy who watched them play. And, whenever I would be standing outside the Colorado dressing room, Bob would smile, and come over and shake my hand.

Unfortunately, he would call me, “Sir,” which I didn’t really like, because I am a decade older than him.

And, I write this piece because I have probably talked to, and interviewed some forty or fifty NHL coaches during my hockey ramblings, and can say that no one loves the game more than Bob Hartley.

And, I hope that Bob is awarded the Islanders’ Head Coaching job, and gets to resume play with Brian Trottier, who is the Director of Player Development.

Of course, Brian lives in Pittsburgh, and won’t be on the Island all of the time, but I know that Bob and Brian would find time for a quick game.