On Loving the Game John Loved

A reflection on loving the game of hockey, inspired by Meredith Gaudreau's beautiful tribute to Johnny.

I was 436 miles from home, flailing through my fifth year at Penn State, when I got the call that my dad was suddenly headed into an open heart surgery no one saw coming.

You know when you hear something so shocking that you need to physically do something about it? I remember asking myself: “What’s the closest thing to home, here?”

I darted from my actual apartment towards Pegula Ice Arena, home of Penn State’s four-year-old D1 hockey team. The brand new, state of the art rink often left a back door cracked open for a young blogger who loved to just be there. Well, maybe it wasn’t left open for her, but no one ever made her leave.

I sat there in the media room for hours waiting for that surgery to end. I was comforted by the sounds of sharpening skates, of stupid college hockey lingo echoing through the hallways, of practice slap shots pounding the boards. My dad made it through, and so did I. I never had to say a word, and yet I never had to go it alone.

From growing up running around my big brothers’ practices –  to struggling through my own – to moving across the country and finding solace in a rink across the street from the second largest college football stadium in the world –  to traveling the continent with the Carolina Hurricanes – to moving back home just in time for my niece’s first practices – hockey has always left the back door cracked open for me. 

This game is a relatively healthy form of escapism when I don’t feel ready to face something in the real world. A Nikita Kucherov goal feels just as familiar as a Maple Leafs first round exit, which feels just as familiar as a Penguins team captained by Sidney Crosby. It’s all very reliable, and sometimes that’s enough. When it isn’t enough, I’ll stew in the hockey escapism long enough to find something that gives me enough hope and strength to actually face The Thing. 

Hurricanes head coach Rod Brind’Amour once told me his approach is less about proving the haters wrong, and more about proving the believers right. The unprecedented success the team has had under him and this positive philosophy gives me hope.

Something as micro as Macklin Celebrini scoring his first goal in his first game gives me hope. Something as macro as the Panthers losing it all – then winning it all – gives me hope. I love that a 1-0 game can be just as juicy as a 7-6 game, and that you never really know which one you’re going to get. I love when something totally crazy happens, and I love the mundanity of game 63 in the background while I’m chatting with loved ones.

Broadcasting legend John Forslund once told me he keeps the “noises of the game” – the icings, the gliding skates, the clingings of the post – at a high volume in his earpiece. For whatever reason, that gives me hope. I guess we’re all here loving this game for our own reasons, in our own ways. However we need it, the game is there for us.

Of course, I’m thinking about all of this in light of the Blue Jackets’ perfect tribute to Johnny Gaudreau last week. His wife, Meredith, said words that I will keep coming back to this season and forever.

“I don’t want anyone to be sad, I want everyone to be inspired by the life that John lived,” she said. “That means love your family first and foremost, and when it’s time to drop the puck, let’s love the game that John loved.”

For all of the criticizing and bellyaching I do when it comes to the NHL, I’m still here. I still love the game that has given me everything, and I wanted to take this week’s newsletter to thank Meredith Gaudreau for the reminder. In the spirit of loving the game John loved, I asked a few media colleagues what they love about hockey.