The tale of Wilf Cude is legendary within goaltending circles, and for good reason, especially among old-school netminders who have an appreciation for the game’s history. But even the youngest goalies can appreciate the pressures that caused Cude to crack.
Cude, a native of Wales who grew up in Manitoba, had a nice 10-year NHL career during the 1930s and early ’40s playing for five teams, primarily with the Montreal Canadiens (though he had a cup of coffee with the Boston Bruins in 1931-32). At 135 pounds, Cude was likely the smallest man to ever tend goal as a professional, and he often was used as a spare throughout his career, loaned to whichever team was suddenly in need of a goalie. He even managed to play in two All-Star games. However, it isn’t Cude’s playing career that was his claim to fame (or infamy). It was the way he left the game.
As the story goes, Cude sat down to a pregame dinner with his wife, his nerves more raw than his steak. Suddenly, and without warning, he picked up the slab of beef and flung it across the room, barely missing Mrs. Cude. The steak plastered against the wall, almost defying gravity. Reportedly, Cude told his wife: “If the steak comes down, I’m through.”
Cude was an ex-goalie an instant later when the sirloin hit the linoleum. Tell any goalie that story, and you’ll likely get a nod of understanding and a wry smile. Almost anyone who has ever played the position can empathize, and sympathize, with the diminutive Cude. Goaltending means dealing with immense pressure, and often taking on that emotional weight alone.
Over the ensuing decades, Cude became the poster boy for goalies as lovable oddballs. He had plenty of company. There have been numerous “colorful characters” who have taken up the tools of ignorance, goalies like Gump Worsley, Terry Sawchuk, Glenn Hall, Gilles Gratton, Ron Hextall, Ed Belfour, Roman Cechmanek, Pelle Lindbergh, Garth Snow, Patrick Roy, Ilya Bryzgalov, and even Boston’s own Tim Thomas and Tuukka Rask (check out some of his tantrum videos on YouTube). Some were Hall of Famers, despite their quirks. Some were merely eccentric and left little mark on the game.
Eddie Giacomin, who won the Vezina with the New York Rangers in 1971, was consumed by the position.
“When the puck goes by you, you’ve made a mistake, regardless if you’ve seen it or not,” he once said. “Because it’s a matter of inches, this game, and I could have been standing one inch to the left or one inch to the right. I don’t know how many games I would walk into that dressing room and say, ‘I blew this game tonight.’ I might have made five breakaway saves, but that one that went in is the one that eats you. And boy, it ate me up. Nobody wanted to win more than I did. Nobody. And I would like to say, ‘Yes, I could leave it at the rink.’ But to be honest, no, I could not leave it at the rink. It was 24 hours a day for me.”
Of course, the most obvious reason for goalie trauma “back in the day” was the fear of getting hurt, due to the lack of decent protection. Until Montreal Canadien Jacques Plante had the guts to defy convention and stand up to his coach, Toe Blake, in 1959, goalies didn’t even wear masks. Bobby Hull, who owned a devastating slap shot made even scarier by the banana curve on his blade, would gleefully recount how he could see the terror in a goalie’s eyes whenever he wound up.
Equipment improvements have taken much of the fear factor resulting from those “impact” injuries out of the equation, though a rock-hard puck can still hurt if it hits the wrong spot. But there remains the ever-present pressure to perform, to keep the puck out of the net. To win. And that pressure often leads to isolation.
“For goalies, we spend so much time by ourselves, in that crease in practice,” said Massachusetts product Mike Morrison, who played at Maine before eventually making it to the NHL with Edmonton, and then Ottawa. “In a way, you almost feel different your whole life, because you’re not really like one of the guys. You don’t get to hang out and shoot the (bull) with the guys in the line during a drill, or on the bench.”
Brian Daccord, owner of Stop It Goaltending, recalled one tough loss during his playing days in Europe.
“The anxiety was never about me. The anxiety was about letting everyone else down,” said Daccord. “I remember walking out of the rink, after getting lit up. There were seven busses full of fans, and they haven’t left yet. I see all these people, and I’ll never forget that feeling. They had traveled four hours. And I remember looking at these people in these seven busses and thinking, ‘I personally ruined the game for everybody that night.’ ”
The reality is that it wasn’t until fairly recently — many point to the 1990s — when the particular strain and stresses that often plague goaltenders were addressed, or even recognized, in any meaningful way. Even today, many coaches and executives fail to grasp goaltending’s unique stresses, and goalies fail to advocate for themselves.
“It’s such an ego-driven sport, especially at this position,” said Morrison, noting that goalies are expected to solve problems themselves. “That’s the biggest stigma when it comes to seeking help.”
Instead, goalies internalize the game’s pressures. And it doesn’t really matter what age they are.
“So many of the younger kids are thinking about what their dads and coaches are thinking,” said Steve Brown of Fuel Athletic Success Training in Woburn, Mass.
That happens at the highest levels as well. Andrew “Razor” Raycroft won the Calder Trophy as Rookie of the Year for the Boston Bruins in 2003-04 (29-18-9, 2.05 goals-against average and .926 save percentage). It was, said Raycroft, a dream season. It didn’t last.
You could make the argument that no single player was hurt more by the NHL’s 2004-05 lockout than Raycroft. Coming on the heels of his Calder campaign, the lockout forced Raycroft to play overseas. Meanwhile, club officials completely misjudged the post-lockout marketplace and were left with a decimated defensive corps. Led by a 37-year-old Brian Leetch, Boston’s blue line of Andrew Alberts, Nick Boynton, Hal Gill, Brad Stuart, Milan Jurcina, Kevin Dallman, Dave Tanabe and Jiri Slegr didn’t strike fear in many opponents. Then Boston traded Joe Thornton and finished a miserable 29-37-16. Raycroft was held accountable. That offseason, he was dealt to Toronto for Rask.
What many people forget, or might not have known, was that Raycroft tied a Maple Leafs record for wins in a season during that 2006-07 campaign (37-25-9 overall, with a 2.99 goals-against average and .894 save percentage). In the final weeks of the season, when Toronto was squeezed out of the playoffs, Raycroft said he was consumed with “that internal battle, feeling the pressure and feeling the whole weight of the city on your shoulders.”
Making matters worse, Raycroft wasn’t getting any emotional support. In hindsight, he regrets not having the courage to talk with someone.
“I wish I had just verbalized that, that it was weighing on me,” he said. “They had guys around to do that, but at that time there was still that stigma of where, especially as the number one goalie in Toronto, you didn’t want to show any weakness at all. You didn’t want anyone to see that it was really difficult.
“But looking back, that would have made a huge difference in my time there,” said Raycroft. “If people are struggling, if goalies are struggling, there’s a reason for it. You just don’t go from knowing how to play to not knowing how to play. And I wish I had just been able to recognize that in myself, and been able to verbalize it.”
Similarly, Morrison said the Senators had Massachusetts-based sports psychologist Max Offenberger on staff. “I wanted to talk to him so bad, but I was deathly afraid to go into that office,” said Morrison, concerned that the coach or team executives might think less of him for consulting with Offenberger.
“Everybody has such an ego, and thinks that they can do it themselves,” said Morrison. “When it comes to the brain, you can’t. And the higher you go, it is so much less about skills and talent. It’s all brain.”
Despite coming within a whisker of making the playoffs, Raycroft fell out of favor with the Toronto front office. They brought in Vesa Toskala, and Raycroft spiraled downward. He started only 16 games (going 2-9-5), as the Leafs again missed the playoffs.
“Being in the NHL, it’s everyone’s dream. I heard that a lot,” he said. “I told myself that. You should be grateful to be in the NHL. But I didn’t feel good about being in the NHL. It didn’t make me feel good. So I went the other way on it. It was easier for me not to play. I didn’t want to be in the NHL any more.”
The next year, he was playing for Colorado. Raycroft’s experience, said Brown, was a classic example of a goalie “constricting” after losing their confidence.
“When we get anxious, we constrict. With the nervous goalie, you’re actually going to physically see that,” said Brown. “You’re going to see them get tight. You’re going to see them get small. They don’t come out as far, they’re not as aggressive. Everything gets tighter. And as their bodies get tighter, their minds get tighter.
“When athletes are at their best, what happens? They expand,” he said. “They’re feeling really good. Their thoughts are, ‘Hey, let’s take on this challenge. Let’s get out there and embrace this.’ Everything is about taking risks, taking chances and being relaxed and comfortable and confident. So it’s that constant struggle between contraction or constriction, and expansion.”
To combat anxiety, Brown suggests a “training program” that encourages players to address potential obstacles in a non-threatening environment, learning to deal with them before they become unmanageable. During practice and games, Brown wants athletes to stay in the present and work consistently on every aspect on their game, including the mental and emotional side.
“You have to start small, and incremental, and you have to continue to build those skills,” he said. “The simplest thing you can do is look at the things you can control and the things you can’t.
“What you can control is your effort. What you can control is how much you put into practice,” Brown said. “Where are you going to put your resources? That’s not always the easiest conversation, because there are a lot of different things that we bring to that table. And there’s a difference between when you’re older, and when you’re younger.”
Coaches at every level — every coach, not just the goalie coach — have a responsibility to get to know each player and to try to understand when their players are struggling and why, said Morrison and Raycroft. And if coaches suspect something is amiss, they need to talk to the player.
“The biggest thing for young kids these days is to try and find a way to say (to them), ‘It’s OK. Forget the technical side of it. What are you feeling like?’ ” said Morrison.
