For The Love Of the Game: Coaching Youth Hockey

I pull up to the rink just before 8 a.m. on a snowy Sunday morning, the day after a pub crawl in the middle of winter. I grab my coaching bag, water bottles, pucks and coffee. I duck into a small, dingy locker room in a cold rink and immediately my senses are assaulted by what seems to be a case of Axe Body Spray.

The kids have decided it would be a good idea to douse each other with the stuff before the game today. Perfect.

Before I can plop our pregame Munchkins down on a bench, before I can even remove them from my bag, I'm assaulted by a dozen 11- and 12-year-olds. I allow the rabid creatures their catch, just happy to escape no worse for wear. And then one of the boys reaches into his pocket, pulls something out, and every one of the kids unleashes a blood-curdling scream.

I look down and see a green, plastic snake curled in the palm of his hand. The kind of toy you get from a vending machine in a grocery store for a quarter.

My brain rattles inside my skull. They're having a laugh. I don't get it, but I love these knuckleheads.

This is my job. I'm a youth hockey coach. And although I don't get paid a single red cent for it, it's the best job I've ever had.

This winter will be my third year with Parkway Youth Hockey, which serves West Roxbury, Roslindale and Jamaica Plain. Tryouts for travel teams are held in March of the previous season, but House League and Learn to Skate signups for this year open on Sept. 15. For the uninitiated, they're great ways to get started in a life of hockey. Spots for these programs generally fill quickly, though.

I got involved in the fall of 2009, when I emailed then president and JP resident Nick McCummings to see if they had a spot for me and one of my best friends, Mike Romei. He hooked us up with PeeWee coach Paul Healy, and the rest is history.

Every year, without fail, Mike and I are asked some variation of the same question: Who are you and why are you doing this? It's a fair inquiry. We're both young guys, we have no kids and we both have day jobs.

And let's be honest here: nothing about my getting involved had much to do with the kids, at first. I absolutely love hockey, I figured free ice every week to screw around would be fun, and frankly the opportunity to act like an 11-year-old again was too good to pass up.

Hockey has always been a huge part of my life. As a fan, as a player, as a reporter and now as a coach. One of my most fond memories as a kid was watching the NHL All-Star game every year with my big brother. In a time before cable TV (I know, crazy) it was the only game we got all year. We'd lie on the floor of our living room and argue about who loved hockey more. Still do, actually, and I'm still right.

Youth hockey changed my life, in large part because of my coaches. Some were old, some were young, but they all had one thing in common: they were just dudes who really loved hockey, not unlike myself or my Parkway colleagues. They kept things fun, they taught me how to play and they taught me about life.

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received came from a coach. I'd just made a mistake (although time has faded whatever error that was) and came back to the bench steaming mad. Cursing myself and kicking the boards while I sat and stewed. My coach came over and said: "You made one mistake, let's not turn it into two by dwelling on it. Forget about it."

It's an invaluable lesson I've applied throughout my life.

If I'm being completely honest, though, there's an even more personal reason I coach.

My parents divorced when I was 10. For reasons that aren't worth getting into in any great depth (and aren't uncommon for any of the millions of kids affected by divorce every year) I had a tough time. I felt isolated. Confused. Lost. Forgotten. Sad. Guilty. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Angry.

It's therapeutic for me, being around these kids. Most of them come from ideal situations: close familial units with parents and siblings who are completely in their corner and make enough money to live nice, comfortable lives. They're kids as kids should be, yet to be weighed down by the realities of life. It is outrageously fun being surrounded by people whose top priority is turning every single possible situation into something fun and silly.

To put it simply: it's a privilege.

I am fully aware, however, that these best-case scenarios are not always the way it goes. And I remember what it felt like to be that age in less than ideal circumstances. Countless hours spent sitting in my room or the basement, pegging something on the upcoming calendar to get me through that day or week or month or year. I remember how important it was to have a place I felt I belonged. To have adults outside of the drama in my life who I felt cared, who I could always count on. To have a place — that single, solitary, special place — that was consistently excellent.

The rink.

To this day, every single second I'm on that ice feels every bit as good as it did when I was a kid. Every. Single. Second. And my experience with youth hockey was good enough that hardly a day goes by where I don't watch, play, coach or talk hockey. Summer, winter, you name it. It gave me a purpose then, and it's given me a lifelong passion. I'm thankful for that.

It is for this reason, for the boy I was in the place I have long since left, that I am diligent about being there. Practice or game. Freezing rain or heavy snow. Pub crawl or no pub crawl. I know I need to show up, Munchkins in hand, because of the kid who might be basing so very much on seeing his coaches a few hours a week. On the ice, doors closed, parents in the lobby, school and life and whatever weighs on a young mind a million miles away.

It's a responsibility I take very seriously.

The season is just starting, but I've felt it coming for weeks. Maybe months. I feel it on my skin and in my bones as the late summer air turns crisp and chilly overnight. I hear it in my voice as the season gets closer. I see the smile tugging at the corners of my lips, itching to get out.

Coaching applications are complete, team selection meetings have taken place, ice times have been scheduled. There's only one thing left to do.

Let the fun begin.