Apologies first. It wasn’t my intent to focus my first two installments of “At the Buzzer” on, of all people and teams, Ken Dryden and the Montreal Canadiens. I’ve cheered for two professional hockey teams in my life — the New York Rangers while I was a snot-nosed kid growing up in New Jersey, and the Boston Bruins, after my family moved to New Hampshire following my sophomore year in high school. Both those allegiances make me a card-carrying member of the “Hate the Habs” fraternity.
But I always respected Dryden, not only as a supremely talented goaltender, but also as a thoughtful observer of the game. All facets of the game. As I delved into the inaugural “At the Buzzer” column, which highlighted the need for unstructured play (based on a chapter in Dryden’s wonderful treatise on hockey, “The Game”), I realized I had too much material. Moreover, two distinct themes emerged. The first was the need for kids to enjoy more free time.
This is the second of those themes: What do kids do with that free time? Once again, I’m leaning on Dryden, and specifically, his admiration for teammate Guy Lafleur. So I’ll put aside my own prejudices for all things “Bleu, blanc, et rouge” to see what we can learn from this dominating cast of characters. And we can learn plenty. After all, Dryden won six Stanley Cups in eight years with the Canadiens. Even though he was literally surrounded by an All-Star cast, there’s simply no denying that level of success.
Click here to read Part 1: Dryden’s ‘The Game’ never has been more on point
But even among that team of hockey greats, Lafleur shone the brightest. One reason, said Dryden, was Lafleur’s innate drive, and his unparalleled affection for the game. In “The Game,” Dryden writes about walking into the Montreal Forum well before a late-morning skate. Here’s how he introduces his Hall of Fame teammate: “Entering the corridor to the dressing room, I hear muffled, reverberating sounds from the ice, and before I can see who it is, I know it’s Lafleur. Like a kid on a backyard rink, he skates by himself many minutes before anyone joins him, shooting pucks easily off the boards, watching them rebound, moving skates and gloved hands wherever his inventive instincts direct them to go. Here, far from the expedience of a game, away from defenders and linemates who shackle him to their banal predictability, alone with his virtuoso skills, it is his time to create.”
As a longtime coach, hockey dad and someone who played the game until my hips gave out 10 years ago, I’ve experienced the sport from many different angles. I’ve seen just about every kid imaginable, from the happy-go-lucky kid who is just thrilled to be on the ice with friends, the much-too-serious youngster who resembles a young adult, the reluctant “athlete” whose parents are pushing him (or her) beyond their abilities. I’ve seen kids with tremendous natural talent, and those who were unfortunately at the end of the genetic line when talent was distributed. It’s a coach’s primary responsibility, especially at the younger ages, to make sure that they’re all having fun.
Wins and losses always matter. That’s the reason we play games. But before high school, “development” is even more crucial. In fact, cultivating a joy for playing the game may be the most important goal of all. And that starts early, as Dryden explains: “When Guy Lafleur was five years old, his father built a small rink in the backyard of their home in Thurso, Quebec. After school and on weekends, the rink was crowded with Lafleur and his friends, but on weekdays, rushing through lunch before returning to school, it was his alone for half an hour or more. A few years later, anxious for more ice time, on Saturday and Sunday mornings he would sneak in the back door of the local arena, finding his way unseen through the engine room, under the seats, and onto the ice.
“There, from 7:30 until just before the manager awakened about 11, he played alone; then quickly left. Though he was soon discovered, as the manager was also coach of his team, Lafleur was allowed to continue, by himself, and then a few years later with some of his friends.”
How many coaches, and parents, would allow that to happen today? This isn’t a rhetorical question, and I don’t mean to imply that it never happens. In my neighborhood, we have a family with five young boys, and their backyard rink is buzzing throughout the winter. It’s a universal tale, but one that is being told less frequently.
“There is nothing unique to this story; only its details differ from many others like it. But because it’s about Lafleur it is notable. At the time, there were thousands like him across Canada on other noon-hour rinks, in other local arenas, doing the same. It was when he got older and nothing changed that his story became special. For as others in the whirl of more games, more practices, more off-ice diversions, more travel, and everything else gave up solitary time as boring and unnecessary, Lafleur did not.”
This goes beyond author Malcolm Gladwell’s “Rule of 10,000 Hours” from his book, “Outliers.” It’s more than the young Beatles playing endless sets in Germany, more than a young Bill Gates spending endless nights programming. It is more than just duty, or obligation. It is something approaching love.
“When [Lafleur] moved to Quebec City at fourteen to play for the Remparts, the ice at the big Colisee was unavailable at other times, so he began arriving early for the team’s 6 p.m. practices, going on the ice at 5, more than thirty minutes before any of his teammates joined him. Now, many years later, the story unchanged, it seems more and more remarkable to us. In clichéd observation some would say it is a case of the great and dedicated superstar who is first on the ice, last off. But he is not.
“When practice ends, Lafleur leaves, and ten or twelve others remain behind, skating and shooting. But every day we’re in Montreal, at 11 a.m., an hour before (coach Scotty) Bowman steps from the dressing room as signal for practice to begin, Lafleur goes onto the ice with a bucket of pucks to be alone.”
We all know those players, or students or employees who do “just enough.” They put in the effort at practice, submit their homework on time, finish the project they’re given. But how many will take the extra time to make sure the end product is truly something special? That extra effort requires dedication, a dedication driven by a passion for the task.
“But without such time a player is like a student cramming for exams. His skills are like answers memorized by his body, specific, limited to what is expected, random and separate, with no overviews to organize and bring them together.
“And for those times when more is demanded, when new unexpected circumstances come up, when answers are asked for things you’ve never learned, when you must intuit and piece together what you already know to find new answers, memorizing isn’t enough. It’s the difference between knowledge and understanding, between a super-achiever and a wise old man. And it’s the difference between a modern suburban player and a player like Lafleur.”
Coaches talk about players who appear to be “naturals,” who have a “feel for the game” that they’re born with. For many of these players, it’s not necessarily “natural” at all, but a result of commitment. As a writer, if I had to look at the keyboard, thinking about each letter stroke, it would take me forever to finish a story. A musician who has to “find” every piano key or guitar string can’t keep pace.
Similarly, a hockey player who is unsure of his (or her) basic skills, who has to think through every move before acting, is going to constantly be behind the play. What Lafleur, and others like him, did was develop such an incredibly refined skill-set that they didn’t have to “think” at all. They could simply react.
“For a special player has spent time with his game. On backyard rinks, in local arenas, in time alone and with others, time without shortcuts, he has seen many things, he has done many things, he has experienced the game. He understands it. There is scope and culture in his game. He is not a born player. What he has is not a gift, random and otherworldly, and unearned. There is surely something in his genetic makeup that allows him to be great, but just as surely there are others like him who fall short. He is, instead, a natural.”
Is Lafleur an anomaly? He apparently was on Dryden’s Canadiens team. But he’s not unique among extraordinary players. There are examples across the sports world of young phenoms who were not content with their god-given talents. They were willing to put in the long, and often lonely, hours to constantly hone whatever talents they were born with. Basketball legends Michael Jordan and Larry Bird immediately come to mind. So do football running greats like Barry Sanders and Gale Sayers. Wayne Gretzky, Bobby Orr and Mario Lemieux are my hockey “Holy Trinity.” These are players who took their natural gifts and sharpened them into generational talents.
“Stepping outside yourself you can think about it and decide what must happen, but you possess no inside story, no great insight unavailable to those who watch. Such movement comes literally from your body, bypassing your brain, leaving few subjective hints behind. Your legs, your fingers move, that’s all you know. So if you want to know what makes Orr or Lafleur special, watch their bodies, fluent and articulate, let them explain. They know.”
Longtime “Goalie Guru” columnist Brion O’Connor tackles general hockey topics each issue with “At the Buzzer.”
