Leo

Lucky stood at the end of the dressing room before morning practice and addressed the team.

“Gentlemen, as you know, Bob Pankowski is still recovering in hospital. The latest update is that he’s already begun his rehab, so that’s a good sign of progress.” He paused, and there were a few nods and grunts of appreciation.

“Great news,” one player piped up. It was Rico Aleppo, the winger that Barber had been shitting all over at last night’s game. Last night when I finally got to the hotel, I’d gone through team roster on the programme and matched every face to their stats.

“Unfortunately, Bob won’t be able to return to coaching for a long time,” Lucky continued. Nobody looked particularly shocked at this news. Pankowski was on the last year of his contract, and with the team’s iron grip on last place in the league, there was no chance he was getting renewed. “Anyway, as you know, we’ve made a few changes in our management and ownership group in the past month. We’ve got a new commitment to winning here at the Vice. And as part of this commitment, I’m proud to say that we’ve been able to land a new coach who’s going to lead us on that road. He’s won championships at every level he’s coached at—Canadian university finals, the Memorial Cup, and the World Juniors. And he’s going to do the same thing here.”

During Lucky’s big build-up, I tried to remain expressionless. Personally, I didn’t like to overpromise. The Vice were no championship team, but if we were going to put money into facilities and new players, then we could be a helluva lot better next season.

Lucky turned towards me. “Guys, I’d like you to meet your new coach, Leo Gauthier.”

There was enthusiastic applause. Every player in the room knew what a coach coming in right now meant; they had a few weeks to impress me for next year’s contract. Guys were going to be on their best behaviour for the rest of the season—in front of me at least.

I moved forward. “Thanks for the great welcome, guys. As we know, there’s not much time left in the regular season. And to face facts, many of you will not be in this room next year.”

There was a shocked hush after I said that, but I believed in honesty when it came to player communications. “But each remaining game is a chance to improve your skills and habits and become better players. We may be out of the playoffs, but our remaining games are still going to count. We’ll be playing teams still trying to make the playoffs or improve their positions, so we can measure our best games against theirs.

“I will be meeting with every one of you this week. As well, if you have questions, come and see me. I have a revolving door policy. Also, I’m a straight shooter. Since we have so little time together, there’s no time to bullshit. What I’m most proud of in my career is not winning championships but helping every one of my players to maximize his on-ice performance. It’s the only way we can win—as a team, with every man playing at his peak.”

A few players nodded, but most looked skeptical. Maybe they’d heard similar things in the past, or maybe they were beaten down. Losing did that to teams. They lost their enthusiasm for the game and began to shut down mentally.

“Okay, let’s get out on the ice and get warmed up.” I pulled out my skates and laced them up. Ian Lee sat beside me. He was the offensive coach, and J.P. Tellier ran the defense.

“You just got in last night, right?” he asked. “Are you set for practice already? J.P. and I could run it if you want.”

“It’s okay, we’ll do a general practice. I’m not going to work on anything specific, but from what I saw last night, third period fitness is an issue. So I want us to really pick up the pace today.”

“I didn’t know you were at the game,” he commented. He looked worried, as any assistant might when a new head coach came in.

“Yeah, I missed the first period, but I saw the rest.” The rest being an enormous beat-down that we ended up losing 6-2. I had heard they were bad, but the Vancouver Vice were the biggest gong show that I had ever seen. Half of the team would have been cut back in Albany, and even the decent players didn’t know a system from their big toe. The assistants were right to be worried, since by all rights they should have been able to take over the head coaching duties for a month, but apparently they’d had a head coach who told everyone when to wipe their asses.

Today wasn’t going to be a bag skate, but damn close. I wanted to see how players reacted to new physical challenges this late in the season. We went through basic drills but at increasing speeds.

“Faster,” I yelled. “Game speed.” It was like these guys were skating through mud. I whistled it down. “Okay. Last drill. Suicides.”

There was a low groan from some of the players. I took note of who they were. I split the team in two and positioned them at the opposite ends of the ice. “Black team. Blue Line. Hard, go hard. Now White Team. Blue Line. Hard!”

They sprinted back and forth, with little rest between, but most of the guys were slacking. I whistled to stop the drill.

“Full speed, boys. I want to see one hundred percent effort.” I called out the numbers of the guys who had been working their asses off. “You guys are done, hit the showers. Everyone else, again. At full speed.”

It took another fifteen minutes to get the rest of the team finished. Tellier reported back to me, “Some guys are puking back there.”

I shook my head. “They could have been done sooner, but they’re not very fast learners, are they? When I say one hundred percent, I mean it. Let’s see if they get that this week.”

My new office was a mess of paper, binders, and a surprising amount of food. Apparently, Bob Pankowski spent a lot of time at the rink. Not to blame the victim, but it didn’t look like he had been living the healthiest lifestyle. As I was clearing the desk for my laptop, there was a knock on the open door.

“Hey, Coach.” Rico Aleppo poked his head in.

“Come on in,” I said.

He sat down in the rickety chair across from me. He stared down at his hands and began cracking his knuckles.

“What’s up, Rico?” I asked him.

“The guys call me Lepper,” he said.

I nodded. “Okay, Lepper.”

He continued, “Well, I, uh, wondered. What’s going to happen to Coach Panner? I mean, you’re here now, so he’s not going to come back, right?”

I was surprised by his question, but it was probably a delaying tactic. Nobody wanted to point out to the new coach that he’d been sucking.

“Well, I don’t know. I can find out for you, if you want.”

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

There was another silence, so I decided to jump right in. “I’ve been looking at the stat sheet, and you seem to be having some challenges lately.”

He looked up at me. “I am? You’ve already noticed this?”

I wasn’t going to mention that he’d missed a chance to get called up. “Everyone’s season is going to have some ups and downs. Have you made any changes to your game lately? Equipment? Routine?”

Lepper flinched and then resumed his close examination of his hands. “Uh, nope. I haven’t changed anything….” His voice trailed off. “Well, there is one thing. I’m trying to play a more whole game, you know, like be better in my own end.”

That certainly wasn’t something I’d noticed last night. He was struggling at both ends of the ice. He was slow and hesitant, which made him ineffective.

“I haven’t been able to see enough of your game to pinpoint the issues, if there are any, but I recommend going back to old habits. Try to play the style that got you here and not make any sudden changes. Of course you want to be a complete player, but you’ve got soft hands and you want to use those. This team needs goals badly. We’re going to be playing a team game, which means everyone plays to his strengths.”

Lepper nodded. “It’s a little confusing to switch coaches in mid-season.”

Maybe he had been one of Panner’s favourites and now he was struggling. A coaching change was like that: a way for some guys to get out of the doghouse and play better. But the opposite if you played well under the old system.

“After a few games, I’m sure I’ll have more to tell you.” He looked worried, so I added, “Relax, Lepper. Every player goes through ups and downs during the season. It’s inevitable.”

Lucky walked in. “Goats, do you—oh, am I interrupting something? The door was open, so….”

Lepper shook his head. “No, I’m good. We’re done here.” And he took off.

“How did practice go?” Lucky asked. It was clear that he still missed the game and was eager to get in on the ice level activities. That was fine with me, since I could bounce ideas off him.

“Slow. I’ve seen faster Peewee practices.”

“Yeah, I know. They used to do a lot of standing around. Bob was big into the whiteboard.”

I shook my head. I liked the whiteboard too, but for team meetings. Practices should be fast-paced and intense. You couldn’t simulate game conditions but the closer you got, the more useful the skills.

Lucky reached over and closed the door. The office was so small, he didn’t even need to get up from his chair.

“It would be good to set some seeds for next year. You know, decide who you want to keep. Maybe sometime over the next few weeks?”

“I know already.” I began studying the available stats and video as soon as he hired me. Last night’s game and this morning’s practice had confirmed all my ideas. “Ignoring contract considerations, I’d keep Fairburn, Ramsey, and Dominick. Period.”

“Shit.” Lucky fell back against his chair. “That’s it? And you know this already?”

I shrugged. “You want to make a quiche here, you’ll have to break some eggs. And now is the best time, while I’m still completely objective.”

I tried hard not to get sentimental about players, but it was tough. There were always guys you liked because of their work ethic or personality. And some guys were going to be assholes but good players. The closer you got to the team, the tougher these things were to determine.

Lucky shook his head. “Well, that’s a starting point. In that case, I’ve got some bad news: just between us, we’re going to be trading Dan Ramsey over the summer.”

“Okay, it’s not the end of the world.” He wasn’t that good, only one of the better ones. Besides, in the AHL, one thing was certain—your best players were going to get called up. That’s why we needed a deeper group.

“So, you might not want to waste a ton of your time on him,” Lucky concluded.

“Can I make a suggestion? Why don’t we showcase him? Make him look good and get his stats up. When we trade him, we want everyone to think he’s carrying the team and we can hardly bear to part with him.”

It took a moment for that to sink in, but Lucky saw the possibilities right away. “So, increase his value. How?”

“I’ll give him good linemates, offensive zone starts, and favourable match-ups. We don’t have much time, but you can point out how he thrived under a new coach.”

“Jesus Christ. You are one sneaky bastard. I would never have thought of something like that. I knew I got the right guy when I got you, Goats.”

Lucky was too much of a straight shooter to consider all the angles. But the best part was that he bought in. Sure it was a little devious, but Rams would play better on a better team, so it wasn’t like we were ripping anyone off.

“But not a word to anyone. If this leaks out, there’s no point in doing it,” I warned him. If he shared this with Amanda, it might not pass her sniff test. My first impression of her was that she was very smart, but a little naive and idealistic about business.

“Okay. What about coaches?” Lucky wondered. “Are we keeping both the assistants?”

“Well.” I considered this. When we met early this morning, Tellier had been throwing up a lot of roadblocks, telling me how things had always been done. He spoke to me in French, trying to imply that we were buddies because we were both from Quebec. That didn’t rub me the right way. However Ian Lee seemed more like he had been enthusiastic once, but he’d had the spirit crushed out of him. He’d offered some ideas that weren’t half bad. “Tellier’s out. I think Lee is a possible.”

Lucky peered at me. “I’m almost afraid to ask this, but would you make changes to the management group?”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’m not going there. I know who signs the cheques.”

“I’m sure you’d prefer to have people with more experience,” he said.

“You know what I like? The fact that you’re open to ideas,” I replied. “I think the key is knowing your limitations and using them. Like Amanda does.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She uses the fact that she’s young and a woman. Like last night, the way she got the Millionaires guys to give her a ton of information, because she kept asking questions in this respectful way. They revealed stuff to her because they were showing off a bit.”

Lucky laughed. “I can’t believe you’ve noticed that already.”

I looked down at the roster. My main concern for next season was player personnel. You couldn’t make a silk purse from pigskin. There would be contract and financial considerations, so we might end up with some of these guys anyway. So the real issue would be getting a better performance out of them.

The current team reminded me of a book I’d read on the lifting of Communist rule in Eastern Europe. People were used to rules and restrictions and many of them found the new freedom terrifying. Pankowski hadn’t been a popular coach, but once players got used to being told what to do, they were like sheep. And sheep needed direction.

“Hey, Goats. What limitations could I leverage?” Lucky’s voice was genuinely curious.

“Well, you’re a popular guy from your playing days—which weren’t so long ago. So you’ll be able to get meetings and calls returned. But you’re inexperienced, so other GMs will try to take advantage. Let them think they are.”

“How is getting suckered going to help the Vice?”

“Well, we’ve been talking analytics right?” Lucky had hired a young guy to crunch numbers for us. Apparently he had been some kind of blogger before and was happy to get paid to do the same thing.

“Yeah.”

“We may end up asking for guys that teams don’t put a ton of stock in. You might make a better deal than someone who’s supposed to be more savvy.”

There was a long pause while I shuffled papers from the desk. Many of them were dated from three years ago. Merde.

“I have to tell you, I’m not completely sold on analytics like Amanda and Greg are,” Lucky confessed. “I prefer to judge guys by character. That always worked in my playing days, you figure out the guys you can count on.”

“Do both. Use the analytics to narrow down the field, then go in and talk to your finalists.”

I liked to see a guy play too. His skating was key for me. And character was important. You wanted guys with the right attitude who didn’t give up. You wanted to know how they faced adversity. Smarts were important too. That didn’t mean going to university, but more that they thought about the game in bigger terms. You could only coach so much, and every night a player was going to face some completely new challenge. You wanted guys who would make the right decisions more often than not.

Lucky nodded and then excused himself to take a call. It sounded like Millionaires business. My talk with the Millionaire’s brass had gone well last night. No promises were made, but there was definitely a possibility of getting more involved with the NHL coaching staff if—big if—I could improve the Vice.

He finished his call. “Want to catch dinner? We can talk some more.”

“Yeah, sure.” I gathered up my laptop and the few papers I needed from the mess. “Could we get some of this stuff cleared out?”

Lucky nodded. “Sure. I should have thought of that, but it seemed a little disrespectful while the guy’s still in the hospital.”

That reminded me of Lepper’s question. “What’s going to happen to Bob after he gets out?”

“Cripes. I have no idea. I’ll ask Amanda.” Lucky shook his head. “I feel shitty about this, but Bob wasn’t the most popular guy, so nobody has really worried about that.”

“How’s Bob doing?” I asked as we walked back to Lucky’s office. Incredibly, his office was even smaller than mine. Half of it was taken up by an expensive ergonomic chair.

“He’s better, I hear. Amanda’s been going to see him regularly and giving me updates. I’ve been meaning to drop by, but I keep putting it off. You want to go tonight? We’ll do dinner afterwards.”

“Sure.” It was a chance to pay my respects.

We took Lucky’s SUV and headed to Vancouver General Hospital. Bob Pankowski had a private room with a wide view of Vancouver. The team might be skimping on facilities, but they treated you right when you got sick. Or maybe they had a good health insurance plan.

“Hey, Coach,” Lucky said. “How you doing?”

Pankowski scowled at him. “About as good as you’d expect. Hospitals aren’t my favourite place.”

Lucky pulled over a couple of chairs for us. “Bob, this is Leo Gauthier. He’s taking over the head coaching job.”

“Jesus, the body’s not even cold yet,” Pankowski said, but he didn’t look surprised that I was here. He nodded at me. “I’ve heard of you. Big deal coaching prospect, right? Have you turned around the team yet?”

“Not yet. But I’d appreciate any guidance you have.”

“Can’t. I’ve been told not to think about work.” He motioned to the TV. “I’m not even allowed to watch hockey.”

Man, if the three of us couldn’t discuss hockey, what the hell would we talk about?

“I hear you’ve started rehab already,” Lucky said. “How’s that going?”

Pankowski patted his chest. “Because of the stent, I have to take it pretty easy. Around here they think that walking is the best exercise. Got me out of bed every five minutes to do one lap. Ridiculous.”

“Now, Bob, that’s not true,” scolded the nurse who had just walked in. “As a coach, you know you have to use it or lose it. Are these your sons?”

He snorted. “Not likely. This is my boss and my replacement.” He placed a scornful emphasis on the words.

“I’ll only be a minute, gentlemen.” She was a tiny Asian woman who bustled around taking his blood pressure. She looked over at Lucky and her eyes widened. “You’re Lucky Luczak! Man, do the Millionaires ever miss you. They’re struggling even to make the playoffs.”

I smiled. I had wondered how much of a hockey city Vancouver was, but there were lots of fans. They just weren’t Vice fans. As the two of them discussed playoff chances, I watched Pankowski. Anyone would look like crap lying in bed in a hospital gown, but he looked old and frail. He’d really let his fitness go. It was easy to think that skating around at practice was exercise, but it wasn’t. I worked out regularly, and I was still at playing weight.

His office had given me insights into his personality. It was sloppy, full of paperwork and tasks not completed—like he was struggling to stay on top of things. The team played that way too—with a desperation to stay in the game, all the while knowing they were doomed. They focused on an antiquated defensive system, and they didn’t even do that well. Bob struck me as someone who might have been a good coach once, but he couldn’t evolve. Players today were different; they had attitude and expectations at all levels. You had to harness that to get the most out of them.

To me, it was attention to detail that made the difference. Begin with the first building blocks like fitness, skating, skills, and nutrition. Then add on proper practice, mastery of plays, and continuing to do the right things in our system. There would be many call-ups and injuries during the year, so the system might have to be adapted. But as long as everyone was on the same page, winning would follow. It always did.

Pankowski’s eyes met mine. I was surprised at the fear I saw there. He knew it was the end of his coaching career. He’d driven this team off a cliff, and now his reputation was shot. He scowled at me, and I tried to ease the situation.

“Bob, if you do think of anything, call me and we can jaw about the team. I know how invested you are in their success.”

“Did you even play NHL hockey?” he asked, knowing full well I hadn’t. How many times I had I heard exactly these words? Old-timer prejudices were something I’d seen at every level of hockey.

I shook my head. “I played university and in Europe. But I never played in the NHL. Like you did.”

“Damn straight I did. How the hell can you expect to coach a professional team without being in the show?”

“Bob,” the nurse chided him. “Please try to stay calm. Stress management is going to be a key part of your lifestyle from now on.”

He sighed and deflated onto the bed. “If you can teach them some team defence, you’ll be way ahead.”’

My plan for team defence was controlling the puck more in the offensive zone, but I figured that telling him that would blow out his arteries completely.