Chapter 16: Mi Casa Su Casa-The Life of a Hockey Billet Family

The word, "billet" is a military term.  A billet refers to living quarters, originally a private home that was required to accept the soldier. In the hockey world it is used to describe both the host family and where a junior hockey player lives when he leaves home to play at the age of 16-20 years.  We became a billet family in the early 2000s.  

My friend, MF(Maynard Freeman) Schurman was the founder of the San Diego Gulls youth hockey program.  MF was a moose of a man.  He played a handful of games with Gordy, Mark and Marty Howe and the NHL Hartford Whalers in the late 70s.  He once nearly took my leg off in a senior league game with his slap shot.  MF owned the skate shop at the iceoplex as well as the San Diego Surf which was a junior B team in the Western State Hockey League.  The last two years of MF's involvement the league went to Tier 3 Junior A and now boasts 22 teams in 11 western states.  MF has since moved to the east coast where he coaches the University of Delaware D1 ACHA club program.  They won a natty title a couple of seasons back. 

Around 2001 or 2002 MF asked me if I could help him out by being a billet family.  It sounded like fun.  Definitely no way to make money.  The player pays $300 a month for room and board.  They eat nearly that much so it's at best a break even proposition in that regard.  A decade later and the amount they pay is still $300 a month.  My kids were ten and twelve years old.  We thought it would be fun.  It was.  At least it started out that way.

Our first billet.  The word is used freely.  Here it refers to the player..he was our billet.  The player would refer to us as his billet, billet house or billet family, or billet mom, dad, sister or brother.  Our first billet was Keith Tully.  We fell in love with Keith from day one.  He was a great kid.  He was seventeen, in his senior year of high school.  He was a goalie from Illinois.  The perennial league powerhouse, the Phoenix Polar Bears traded Keith to the Gulls.  The Gulls struggled.  They didn't win many games.  Keith would face upward of 70 shots in many games.  He broke a lot of goalie sticks over the frame of the goal in frustration.  He had good save percentage and attracted the attention of a lot of scouts.  He probably could have gone to school anywhere he wanted. The professional San Diego Gulls had their eye on him, but he was too young.  

Keith was a terrific role model for our kids.  He loved being around them and they loved him as well.  He and Max played a lot of floor hockey.  They played baseball.  Keith went to Bret's soccer games, even though he hated soccer.  He set the bar high and he was a tough act to follow.

Even though the Gulls struggled, Keith came back for a second year.  He graduated from our local high school, Scripps Ranch High and enrolled in community college in the fall. There was a girl friend.  There were many.  Most of them were psycho.  I forget this one's name, but her dad was an airline pilot. Keith was fascinated and developed a passion for flying.  He ended up quitting the Gulls half way through the season and started taking flight lessons at a local airport.  He abandoned goal tending and started playing senior league hockey with me as a forward.  Keith's temper didn't stop with his frustration at getting pelted as a goalie.  He got in more fights in senior league hockey than almost anyone I know.  

Keith's flying lessons progressed, he got his license and then moved away to become a flight instructor.  From there he started flying billionaires around in their private chartered jets.  After that he was hired by Continental Airlines which is now United.  This is about ten years later now and Keith is happily married, owns a home in Pennsylvania and recently had his first daughter....our first billet grand daughter!

No one could match Keith and they didn't for a number of years.  The next few year's billets were mostly forgettable, but three or four years later we got a kid named Kyle from Colorado.  Kyle was....awkward.  He didn't relate to us socially.  We did everything we could to include our billets and have them be a part of our family.  We served dinner at home every night from Monday through Thursday.   The next three days usually involved games and travel.  My kids had their hockey or soccer and softball.  Recently, my daughter and wife started going their own way on weekends...they were off to softball and soccer games and tournaments, often during the same weekend. And Max and I were off to his games around Southern California.  Our billet, in this case Kyle, would go on the road for a three game series in L.A. or Arizona. 

We have always eaten healthily.  Each season as we got our new player, my Kyle would ask their mother if they had any favorite dishes or recipes.  When my Kyle asked, awkward Kyle's mom what he liked for breakfast she said, "donuts."  

I'll refer to him as Kyle V.  so as to not confuse him with my Kyle, my wife.  Kyle V. liked junk food.  He had a car.  We suggested if he wanted anything he could drive down the road to the grocery store and buy whatever he likes.

Kyle V went to high school with Max.  Max was a freshman and Kyle V was a senior.  He didn't make one friend at school all season.  He got home after practice, holed himself up in "my office" and would spend hours and hours on his computer watching Japanese anime, often until two a.m. or later.  We tried to include him.  We invited him to come watch the kids play in their games.  Things just did not click.

I got a call from MF. He said that Kyle V's dad had called and reported that Kyle complained that we weren't feeding him.  We didn't keep enough food in the house.  We forced him to come watch Max play hockey.  blah blah blah....Hmm.  We'd never seen anything like this.  

Things went along.  We tried to accommodate him.  One night I got a call from the kid's dad.  He told me that Kyle was upset.  He couldn't find anything to eat in the house.  Really?  I grabbed Kyle and while on the phone with his dad went into he kitchen. Kyle said there is no milk.  What's this?  Behind the nearly empty milk bottle was another full one.  Well, there's nothing to eat.  I pointed out to his dad, while Kyle was watching, the fresh fruit, the left overs from the previous few nights dinners.  We went to the cabinets and I showed him the soup, the noodles, bread, peanut butter and jam…everything.  There was plenty of food.  This was before smart phones, but I took pictures of everything and emailed them to his dad.  That was pretty much the end of the issue, but things never got comfortable in the house.

Kyle V got hurt in a game and spent nearly a month hanging out at the house watching his anime on the computer and eating his cookies and chips.  We ended up going to Vancouver for a tournament over the Christmas break.  While there, I got a call from MF asking me, "if I could take a new kid, he would find another place for numb nuts".  Sure!  Happily.  

The kid didn't say a word to me about it.  About two weeks later, in the middle of January on an early Saturday morning I woke up and went downstairs.  It was about 7a.m.  He was slinking out with the last of his stuff.  I asked him what was up?  He said, "uh, yeah, I was going to talk to you....I'm moving out"...No shit?  I told him a little notice would have been nice.  With that he was gone.  I did hear from MF that his dad wanted the balance of the months billet fee back since he was only there for 1/2 the month.  I didn't oblige.  I told him since he gave no notice and because he left the place, my office and his bedroom an absolute pig sty I would not be returning any money.  So that was that.  Things couldn't get worse.  Right?

About a week later we were expecting our new kid, Paul. Paul was driving in from Utah.  We were still getting over Kyle V and his awkward anti-social behavior.  We were hoping for the best with Paul.  MF assured me Paul was a great kid and we would get along fine.  Max and I drove about 15 minutes up the highway to meet him at a gas station.  We were waiting when an old Ford Bronco pulled in.  I walked up to greet the new fella when he opened the door to the vehicle.  Loud rap music blared, a pungent smoke billowed out.  A super friendly dude with metal piercings poking out of his chin, lips and eyebrows jumped out and shook my hand.  Definitely not anti-social.

Paul followed us back home to Scripps Ranch.  He came in and met my wife and daughter.  They didn't quite know what to make of him.  But he sure was confident and friendly.  A nice change of pace from what's his face.  

We were impressed with how outgoing he was.  He asked to borrow my laptop.  I gave it to him to use.  AOL was the big thing at that time.  he went on AOL instant messenger.  Up popped his buddy list.  The first category was "Girls I want to  f**K."  Nice.   I suggested he not let my wife see this.  

The next day he got up and found himself a job.  Again, we were impressed with his initiative.  As unconventional as he was we liked him.  He was friendly, outgoing, confident and funny.  His job was at a mall kiosk for a cell phone company.  You know, one of those annoying guys who bug you when you walk by them.  All in all he was an alright dude. 

 There is a list of rules that the billets need to follow..curfews, no porn, no smoking or drinking, no chewing tobacco etc.  One morning I came down to the living room.  On the floor by the couch was a bottle of dip juice.  Yuck. I had a word with Paul and he apologized and said he wouldn't do that in the house any more. Nuff said. 

About a month later we, my family, all headed up to San Jose for the California State championship playoffs.  We took the team bus.  That was about an eight hour bus ride.  I got a call from Paul on Saturday asking how the tournament was going.  I told him.  I will share with you a bit later. He asked when we would be coming home.  I told him it depended on how we did in our next game.  That was was all.  I didn't think much of it.

The next morning, Sunday, I got another call from Paul.  Again he asked when we would be home.  My antennae went up.  He seemed awfully concerned with when we were coming home.  I thought this was odd, so I called a friend near our house and asked if she would take a ride over and just walk in.  She did and when she got there she walked in on Paul and two girls.  They had been there partying all weekend.

I called MF and demanded he go right there and remove Paul and the girls from the house.  That was the last we ever saw of Paul.  It was the last we saw of nearly $1000 of jewelry as well.  Live and Learn.

We ended our billeting after this debacle.  We stopped for a few years until MF sold the team and the skate shop to Bruce Miller.  I'll tell you more about Bruce in a bit.  He became Max's bantam and midget coach for the next four seasons.  He also allowed me to be his assistant coach for the two seasons of midget hockey.  When Bruce bought the junior club from MF he changed the name to the San Diego Gulls.  They moved up to Tier 3 Junior A.  He was in desperate need of billet families and we consented to doing it again, but only if we could meet and approve of the players before hand.  

Despite these couple of bad apples, we loved nearly every one of our billet kids. Since Bruce Miller took over the team we've had nothing but great kids.  More about some of them later. I would frcommend this experience to anyone.

Since about 2007, when we once more started accepting billets and now, we've hosted six players.  Two times we've had a couple of boys at the same time.  At the time we started up again Max had moved off to go to prep school in New Hampshire and then played two years of junior hockey where he was also a billet.  During all that time, he and our billet boys never met.  There were times where he and our billet would literally pass each other in the sky as they were both flying home at the same time for Christmas break.  I have a few stories from Max's billeting experience but I don't have permission to publish them.  Sorry about that!  They are funny.

When we first started this venture my kids were ten and twelve.  The last few years my son had moved on and my daughter became a teenager.  That could have been a prescription for disaster but fortunately both she and our billets were good kids.  At least that's what I tell myself.  It was fun and interesting to watch as each year the hockey players coming in would be the same age, but my kids were a year older each season.

Chapter 15: I'm Blind, I'm Deaf, I Want To Be A Ref!

I'd never cared much for refs. I didn't like them as a player and learned to hate many as a coach and hockey dad and fan. I especially hated the ones with an attitude or those who seemed to act like they were more important than the game. If I thought a ref missed a call or made a bad call I would let them know it.   Idiots. 

Then I got kicked out of a game for being a jerk. It was a couple of years earlier. The Jaguars were playing a team at the Glacial Gardens in Long Beach, California.  Glacial Gardens is pretty much the center of the Socal hockey universe.  It is owned by Ron White, the godfather of Socal youth hockey. The facility had three surfaces.  Our game, on this day, was on the smallest rink.  It was tiny. Too small. 

I was behind the glass in the corner.  I was video taping the game and I had a clip board for recording stats.  Hitting from behind was a big thing and there was a new rule that year.  A penalty for checking from behind resulted in two and a ten.  A two minute minor penalty plus a ten minute misconduct. 

There was a girl reffing the game. She had either missed or let go a number of hits from behind, against both teams.  I was angry, not about any unfair advantage, but that someone was going to get hurt if she didn't crack down and start calling these hits. 

Just then there was another hit from behind against one of our kids in the corner.  I and a number of other parents were yelling at the ref.  I took my clip board and banged it on the glass a few times for effect. 

Next thing I know, the linesman is standing in front of me motioning.  He was ejecting me!   I did my perp walk with the rink security guy.  I think I have a problem. 

The problem was me. I needed to manage my emotions and not get so upset by what I deemed incompetence.  The next chance I got I signed both Max and myself up for the referee clinic to get trained and certified to officiate. This changed my life.  

For one thing, I realized how difficult it is to do that job.  When you watch a hockey game from the point of view of a player, coach or fan you have a bias, a vested interest in an outcome. Seen through this prism your perspective is colored by what you want to see. Someone hits, trips, hooks or punches you, of course it's an infraction.  When you do it to an opponent and he goes down you can claim you barely touched him. "How can you call that?"

I remember the first few times I reffed or even "lined" a game I couldn't even tell who was going which way. When objectivity is required everything looks different.  It's much more difficult to make a judgement call when you have no stake in the result.  A fellow official gave me a tip that was immensely helpful in "seeing" the game and sorting out who's who on the ice. He suggested that I do an internal play-by-play commentary in my head.  You know, like:  "the red team has the puck behind their own goal. The d-man makes an outlet pass up the boards to his winger...."   Etc.  this really helped me early on sort out the play.  Again, being neutral takes some time and experience to be able to make good decisions.  

It's also humbling becoming one of "them". I'd spent a lifetime hating on this group of policemen. Now I was one of them.  All of a sudden crazy uninformed screaming parents seemed silly.  I went on to work youth games at most levels and adult league.  I've had to deal with crying mites who refuse to go to the penalty box all the way to drunk grown men who I had to eject.  I officiated a game while Teemu Selanne watched his squirt aged son play.  He thanked me after the game. 

Officiating ice hockey has allowed me to learn innumerable life lessons about human nature, including my own.  Once I watched a series of plays where a forward was right at the edge of committing a penalty two or three times.  I didn't call anything.  Next he stepped in front of a player, interfering with a scoring opportunity.  I called interference.  By itself it was an iffy call. But in the context of what I saw it was the correct call.  He yapped and whined all the way to the penalty box.  I started to explain to him how he committed a number of borderline fouls that I'd let go before finally making the call.  He laughed and winked at me and told me he knew but he has to make it look good.  Great lesson for me.  No matter how legitimate the call it is human nature to dispute it.  It's not personal. No need to debate it.  This gave me tremendous freedom. 

Max also got his referee certification.  He's a very good official.  He's been working games since he was thirteen.  It's a fantastic work experience for any kid. It's a great way to make more money than any part time job he could have gotten. He's continued to ref through prep school, juniors and college. Where else can a kid earn $40+ for an hour and fifteen minute game.  How many hours  would someone have to work Jamba Juice to make the $120 or so you make doing a three game set? And the leadership and responsibility learned from dealing with whacko parents or uninformed adult players is priceless.  

There would be at least one more incident where I got upset with a ref while coaching.  It happens two years from this point. I'll get back to it in a chapter or two. 

Chapter 14: Peewees-Second Verse Same as the First

Second verse, same as the first.  A little bit louder and a little bit worse.   With a state title in our pocket and the first year of peewees behind us we looked forward to next season.  Players spend two years at each level.  At this level age difference means everything.  The first year kids are the freshman and the second year kids are the seniors.  Then the next season everyone moves up.  The younger kids are now the big men and the older kids become the underlings at the next level, bantams in this case.  Puberty is kicking in. Kids mature at different rates.  Some kids who were big and strong stop growing and others shoot up, gaining a foot in height almost overnight.  It turns out our kid would be a late bloomer.  

Joe Noris moved up with his son to coach the Jaguars bantam team. Max and a handful of his Jaguar team mates had another year at the peewee level. Word has it the Gulls hotshot coach, who I now love, was telling everyone these boys would be playing for him in the upcoming season. Sounded good to me.  Besides the Jaguars were a declining organization.  The Gulls were, if not already, becoming the predominant youth hockey club in town.  

Once again the tryout process began.  Once again, skating, drills, scrimmage and the letters were passed out.  They went to the returning players.  They went to Max's Jaguar team mates.  Max did not receive a letter on the first night. Are you freakin kidding me.  There I went again.  Upset. Offended.  Looking for alternatives.  If they didn't want him who might?  

The next morning we drove up to Anaheim.  We went to the Junior Ducks AAA tryouts.  They loved Max.  Offered him a roster spot right off the bat.  Whew!  Validation. 

We went back to the Gulls tryouts later that day.  The club president handed me an envelope with a letter.  Better late than never.    

The California style of play is greatly influenced by roller hockey.  In fact, for a number of reasons, including hockey, we were considering moving back to New England at the time. I spoke about this with Joe Noris and he pointed out that even though you might get more ice time in the east, roller hockey can be a powerful complement to ice hockey in California.  Joe owns a roller rink and has been a big proponent of the sport.  My kid had only recently started playing roller. 

Hockey in California tends to emphasize stickhandling,  dangling and puck control.  Roller hockey is more of an individual game than ice hockey.  Ice hockey tends to stress more of a passing, skating and positional game.   

I mentioned in an earlier chapter that from an early age I stressed to my son the value of head-manning the puck to the open man. My own experience of playing in New England and in Europe reinforced this notion.  When I was a lid the last thing you wanted was to be called a puck hog. The roller boys of SoCal got a different message.  Hold on to the puck as long as you can. Try to take the puck to the net and take a shot.  Pass only as a last resort. 

Max had only recently started playing roller hockey.  he was a "puck distributor". He was very good at moving the puck quickly to the open player.  In the process he became "puck shy".  We had innumerable conversations in the car discussing and contrasting "puck hogging danglers" and discussing the need for balance...I tried to impress on him that those puck hogs would be better if they learned to mix it up and move the puck and he would be better to hang on sometimes, make a move, take the shot. It took while to sink in...over the years and, admittedly with the exposure to roller hockey,  he has struck a very nice balance.  My message to him was that either extreme becomes predictable and easy to defend. Mix it up. Keep your opponent guessing. 

So Max made the Gulls, the coach liked to run the show.  That was understandable. I was still in the doghouse coaching wise but I wanted to help if I could.  I ended up handling video and stats.  I ended up really getting into video and it has become quite a hobby for me. You can see some of my work from the last few years on my YouTube channel.  It covers mostly junior and prep school hockey from the last few years. There is also some summer showcase stuff from various camps including the Chowder Cup and Hockey Night in Boston. 

The Gulls coach wanted stats on everything.  I delegated various tasks to different parents.  We kept track of plus/minus, shots, hits etc.  one dad took on recording hits.  His son was a defenseman.  After the first game he turned in his sheet. Kids were credited with three, four or eight hits here and there.  His son had 28. We stopped tracking hits after that game. 

The team had a tournament weekend up at Lake Tahoe. Two things about that trip are memorable. First, one of the boys decided to take a leak on the rocks in the sauna.  It was near our hotel room and we got to enjoy that aroma for the entire stay. Boys will be boys. 

The other thing that happened involved the coach, who I love, but that wasn't always so.  I wanted to help him where I could.  Like I said, I was handling the video and stats.  He was starting to warm up to me, to let me in.  I was happy to do whatever I could to help. 

The weekend was over. Most of the boys and families were flying back home on the same flight.  So was the coach.  We all got to the airport in Reno and were waiting for our Southwest Airlines flight back to San Diego.  I think we had to stop over in San Francisco. 

Some of the boys went to Burger King. Apparently, although I did not know, the coach headed for the airport bar.  We were still in Reno awaiting our flight. Eventually our flight number was called and we boarded. By we, I mean my family and the others hanging out at the gate.  

We boarded the plane and made our way back to the very last row.  I got comfortable in my seat and do what I normally do. I dozed off, even before the plane took off.  I woke up in flight. We landed in San Francisco.  One of the Dads, Rick Hatch got a phone call. It was from the coach.  

Apparently the coach started drinking and after a few beers lost track of time and missed the flight. No one was aware until the phone call to Rick.  Rick was trying to calm him down as he was quite upset.  He made some suggestions to the coach about catching another flight. Then he asked if there was anything else he could do.  The coach replied,  "Yes, here's a thing you can do for me...go and  order a tall glass of  go f**k yourself?"   I tell this story, not to embarrass the coach.  I'm not sure if I mentioned it, but I love this guy.  I tell this story because this is one of my favorite quotes of all time. 

It was another great season. This was a very talented and, might I say, well coached team.  There are a couple of kids from this team playing minor pro and D1 hockey.  One of them was a very talented player who scored over 200 points that season.  All time leading scorer for the Gulls organization at any level. 

Another player, one of the roller boys scored his 100th point.  I heard a parent congratulate him after the game on this milestone.  She asked him how many assists he had and he responded that it didn't matter, all he cared about was goals.  Wow. Really!!??

Near the end of the season, just before playoffs, Max joined the Anaheim Junior Ducks in Quebec for the Tournoi International de Hockey Pee-Wee de Quebec. Max billeted with a wonderful French Canadian family and roomed with goaltender, Jason Torf. Jason attended Cushing Academy and is now the goalie for the Air Force Academy.  Another member of that team was Luke Moffatt.  Like was from Arizona.  He is now playing at the University of Michigan and was drafted by the Colorado Avalanche in 2010. 

The Ducks did so-so in the tournament, losing to the Hershey Bears and beating a team from Finland and a team from Connecticut.   The Connecticut team was sponsored by my old friend Whitey Bensen's.   I was happy to see our boys and my boy could compete with players from my old stomping grounds. 

One night in Quebec City , which is a beautiful city, which is a beautiful city by the way, the fathers and sons were given tickets to go watch the Quebec City Ramparts of the Q(Quebec Major Junior Hockey League). Their opponent was the Rimouski Oceanics.  The Oceanics featured a 16 year old kid named Sidney Crosby.  That was pretty special to be able to watch Crosby as a junior.  He looked like a man among boys even though he was up against players 4 years his senior.  

One cold snowy afternoon we were doing some souvenir shopping in Quebec City.  A person could easily mistake this place for Paris.  It is the most European city I've ever seen in North America. We bumped into Tracee  Chelios, Chris Chelios's wife and one of their boys. I know she is good friends with my buddy, Jaye Park.  You may recall Jaye as the friend who shared shifts at Thursday night pick up with Chelios when he was a kid in San Diego.  So we said hello and had a nice chat.  

We returned from Quebec to rejoin the Gulls heading right into the state playoffs. We managed to win a second straight title and again lost in the Pacific District regionals. All in all it was a very positive season.  Peewees were behind us.  On to summer hockey and Bantams. 

Chapter 13: Our Own Miracle On Ice

Next up, summer hockey, then Peewees.  Max got an invitation from Michael Callahan.  Mike coached one of our big rivals from L.A., the Paramount Panthers.  Another Dad coach. This would be the beginning of a fun and valuable experience.  That would be of skating with rivals and making new friends.  The invitation was for Max to go with the Panthers to play in a peewee tournament in Edmonton.  It involved going up to L.A. for a number of practices and exhibition games.  This was my first experience of being a California hockey dad and witnessing our kids holding their own against Canadian teams.  We were usually dismissed as being a bunch of surfers, only to surprise our opponents with our skills.  Our team had the coach's son, Mitch Callahan, who was drafted a couple of years ago out of the WHL by the Detroit Red Wings.  He currently plays for Grand Rapids in the AHL.  We also had Beau Bennett on the team, but he didn't end up playing in the tournament.  He was in the Stampede Challenge tournament in Calgary at the same time.  He made it to the final game in Edmonton, but not in time to play.    You may recognize Bennett from the Pittsburgh Penguins.

The San Diego Junior Gulls organization had some big plans for our talented crop of 1991 birth year players.  These boys would be first year peewees. They recruited a hotshot, a full time professional coach.  The first non-dad coach we'd experienced.  He was from Northern California, played D1 hockey and was the tournament director for a national roller hockey organization.  He also coached a roller team out of Escondido. 

I love the guy today.  But it wasn't always so. My initial experience was at an evaluation clinic he ran at the iceoplex.  It was a school night. Max was in the 6th grade.  There must have been eighty skaters there that night.  After the session was over players could stick around to meet one on one with the coach for his evaluation.  Later, that same night Max and I were called into the small refs room where the meetings were held.  It was nearly 11:00 pm on a school night.  Finally we get to see the master, who proceeded to spend most of the interview giving us his background.  When he finally got around to giving Max his evaluation, he actually mistook him for another of the eighty-something skaters.  Mom wasn't happy when we came rolling in around midnight.

The tryout process for the Junior Gulls was always stressful for our family.  It is a three day process.  They were held in May or June and happened over a Friday night, Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning.  The kids get on the ice, skate, do a few drills then scrimmage for the balance of the session.  At some point during the tryout, the coaches who are observing the players from on high, send down the club president, with big 8 1/2 x 10" envelopes.  The envelopes contain letters of intent.  The letters are offered to the parents of the players while the boys are out working their butts off.

I've always tried to be realistic about my son's skill level.  During those days I would have placed him in the middle upper half of group of kids who should have been offered roster spots on the team.  Up until this point, I had always heard about the "politics" of hockey, but I'd never experienced it first hand.  Well, here it was.

It turns out that the first group of letters of intent went out to all of the kids who played on the coach's roller team.  Max was not among them.  I thought...oh well, that's the way that is.   Even, the goalie on the roller team was offered a spot and he was trying out as a forward.  He'd never skated out before.  There was always tomorrow.

We came back the next day for the second tryout session on Saturday afternoon.  Again, the boys warmed up, skated, did some drills and then scrimmaged.  Again, the club president circulated among the parents handing out letters of intent.  I saw her give one to the parent of a set of twins whose grandparent was a club board member.  No offense, but these boys weren't very good.  Other less talented players with obvious connections were given envelopes.

I was upset.  And to be honest, offended.  

I made a new friend in the month or so before the tryouts.  His name was Dan Hansen.  Dan was in the Coast Guard and was moving to San Diego to run their recruiting office.  I met him one day when he came to the rink to check out the talent and find out about youth hockey in San Diego.  I'm a friendly guy.  We hit it off.  He had a kid who would be moving to San Diego when his family came out from Florida.  Dan's son's name was Rory.  We would hang out watch the kids skate in some of the pre-tryout clinics.   Rory was a stud.  He was a year older than Max.  He was offered a letter the first night.

When I saw the handwriting on the wall after twins were offered their spots on the team, I decided enough was enough.  I talked to Dan and told him I was going to take Max back to La Jolla and go to the Jaguars second day tryout that was happening a little later.  

I never thought I would ever have anything to do with the Jags again after last season's debacle.  But, My buddy Dave Corbin's son Alex was going to be their goalie.   Dave has always been a champion for Max and he told me that the Jaguars were going to be good this year.  They were coached by Joe Noris.  I've mentioned Joe earlier in my accounts.  Joe played a couple of hundred games in the WHA(World Hockey League) and 55 games in the NHL for Pittsburgh, Buffalo and St. Louis.

I played Thursday night pickup with Joe and I always liked him.  I told Dan, Rory's dad that I was going to head over to La Jolla and have Max skate in their tryout.  He came with me.  

Rory and Max both made the Jaguars that night.  Joe only wanted 12 skaters.  He didn't want to have to deal with the parents of a fourth liners when they weren't getting enough ice time.  They had a great team.  Joe happened to be another dad coach.  His son Johnny was talented.  Joe was probably the best dad coach I'd come across.  He was fair and didn't favor his son the way so many others have.   In addition to Johnny, this team included:

C.J. "Chad" Ruhwedal-now playing with the Buffalo Sabres in the NHL(USHL, Umass-Lowell)

Jon Parker-now playing with the Rochester Amerks in the AHL(WHL)

Rory Hansen-just graduated from Western New England University

Kory Grahl-just graduated from Western New England

Garrett Taylor-out of hockey due to injuries(WHL and USHL)

Gregory Park-now playing at Northern Arizona University-ACHA, club team

Alex Corbin, Goalie-now playing for San Diego State University-ACHA, club team

Pat Mercer-probably the best player on the team-pursued a golf career

Max Balaban-just finished freshman year at Plattsburgh State

Emil Kedbrant, Goalie,-returned to Sweden where he played at the junior level

Tom Plotkin-played at the University of Iowa, ACHA, Club team.  Tom died tragically in 2011 while studying  in India.  He was studying abroad in an outdoor leadership program.  He was on a 57 day hike when he twisted his ankle and fell 300 feet into the Ganges River.  His body was never found.  Tom was a great kid and this broke everyone's heart

Nick Whaley-played a few years of Tier 3 Junior hockey-now out of hockey

AJ Hatch-went to the dark side, Roller Hockey.  Now out of hockey

Johnny Noris-plays roller hockey and surfs 

That was it..twelve skaters and two goalies.  I mentioned this earlier, but the Jaguars ended up having an above average season that culminated in "Miracle On Ice" caliber day...or as I like to put it, they had a great season that day.

We made the playoffs and met up with the Anaheim Junior Ducks for a 6:30 a.m. semi-final game.  Just like the 1980 USA team met the Russians in the semi-final of their Miracle On Ice Olympics, we faced the overwhelming tournament favorite.  I wasn't coaching, but I was helping Joe out with some behind the scenes aspects that year.  We'd played the Ducks twice during the season and they handled us fairly easily.  I arranged an unofficial exhibition game against them to be played the weekend before the state tournament.  The Ducks were pretty much unbeatable...They went 20-0 in our So-Cal hockey league.  I believe they may have suffered one defeat in an exhibition game against a team from Northern California called the Gold Rush.  But it would appear to all concerned that the Gulls didn't have a chance.  As I said earlier, the Ducks parents already had their flights reserved to Nationals.

We played the exhibition game.  We lost 5-0.  The best player on the Ducks was a kid named David McKenna.  They had a play they ran off of the opening face-off where McKenna, a forward would line up as a defenseman.  When the puck dropped, their center would tie up ours, McKenna would rush through the face of circle, pick up the loose puck, bust through our defense and go in all alone on the goalie.  He scored at least two goals in this game using that play.  Joe studied the play. The exhibition game also gave Joe a chance to study their break out and see that we could stop it by having our defense pinch on their wingers on the boards.

After practice the next week, we played the Miracle On Ice documentary of the 1980 USA Olympic team for the boys.  Our rally cry became:  "Beat those Commie bastards".

And beat them we did.  Between Johnny Noris's hat trick and Alex Corbin standing on his head we pulled off our own miracle, ending the Ducks dream season with a 6-3 defeat.  

Yay..now we got to face the Finns, er I mean the Gold Rush in a few hours for the Championship game.  The Gold Rush were coached by Ernie Hicke and his son Shane.  They've had their share of controversy during their coaching careers together.  Ernie played 520 NHL games for the Minnesota North Stars, the Islanders, California Golden Seals, the Atlanta Flames and the L.A. Kings for eight seasons in the 1970s.  We played the Gold Rush earlier in the tournament and lost 5-2. Not this time though.  Thanks again to Alex Corbin's outstanding performance in net we won, again by a score of 6-3.  We were the champions.  

The next stop was the Pacific District regionals.  We beat a team from Spokane that featured a fantastic player named Tyler Johnson.  Tyler played for the USA u-20 Junior team twice and just finished this past season with the Tampa Bay Lighting with 3 goals and 3 assists in 14 games.  We lost in a heartbreaker by one goal to the California Wave in the regional championship game.  End of a great season.  

Next up:  back to the Gulls and another state title.

Chapter 9: On Becoming a Hockey Dad

 Max wasn't yet a year old.  We bought him a tiny little pair of skates and headed up to Mira Mesa to take him out for a public skate.  It was really Kyle and I on either side of him holding his mittened hands and pulling him around the rink.  He enjoyed it.  The next winter we were back in Rhode Island and then Connecticut at Christmas time.  Not even two years old and he was skating on Lake Phipps.  It was a beautiful crisp cold winter day.  There was not a soul around.  The ice was like glass.  I took him out and let him hold himself up by pushing a chair on the ice.  He looked better than I did my first time out there.  He was a natural.  

A year later we took him to the ice rink at the University Towne Centre(UTC) mall in La Jolla.  We enrolled him in a "learn to skate class".  This didn't work out so well.  He wanted me on the ice with him, but that wasn't allowed.  So he stood there crying in the corner for most of the sessions.  

A new rink was built in Escondido, It was originally called "IceFloe".  It was built by a family that was taking advantage of some California energy laws.  The rink was actually built as a cogeneration power plant.  The local utility company was required to purchase excess power produced by the rink.  Ultimately the scheme didn't work out and the rink was sold to Ice-O-Plex.  

We took Max up to the new rink to sign him up for Mini-Mite hockey.  There really wasn't much of a program and I ended up running it for a few dozen little four and five year olds who showed up every Friday evening for their weekly practice.  It was your basic cluster bee-hive mass of post-toddlers stumbling and bumbling all chasing the puck at the same time. 

I stressed to my little one the importance of not following the pack and of passing the puck when he got it.  He took this to heart, somewhat to his detriment for much of his youth hockey career to come. I'll explain later.  

The mini-mite program was a family affair.  There were almost as many dad/coaches on the ice as there were players.   All the mom's gathered at the glass with their cameras and video camcorders. 

As I mentioned the practices were on Friday nights. This was after a long hard week of preschool and fighting Friday evening rush hour traffic to make the 30 minute trip that usually took an hour.  By the time we got these rugrats on the ice they were usually in full A.D.D. Mode.  

There was one little boy named Garrett who had no ability to pay attention.  I was truly worried about him. He would not, could not pay attention or listen. He was in his own world.  One night we we decided to have him be the goalie. The kid transformed before our eyes.  He was focused. He knew what he was supposed to do and he did it. It was a mini-mite miracle. 

One night we got on the ice and there was a new dad skating around. I skated over and said hello, introduced myself. His name was was Kirk McCaskill. "What do you do Kirk?" He replied, "I'm Retired". "Where do you live Kirk?"  He lived in Rancho Santa Fe. A very exclusive community.  

He was wearing green UVM hockey warmups.  We started talking. I found out he knew Kyle Bensen, from West Haven. I think they roomed together at Trinity Pawling. He also told me he had played hockey at Vermont.   I was curious why this guy in his early thirties was retired so I asked him what he retired from.   

He retired from Major League Baseball. He'd pitched for the Angels then the White Sox. He attended UVM because they allowed him to play both hockey and baseball. He was a Hobey Baker finalist in hockey.  He was drafted by the Winnipeg Jets in 1981. He played one season of pro hockey for the AHL Sherbrooke Jets. He dressed but did not play in one NHL game. 

He retired after that season to pursue his successful baseball career which allowed him to retire to Rancho Santa Fe at the age of 34.  I hooked him up with my senior league. He was an incredible beer league player. All roads…

One last point about Kirk. One scout 

was asked to describe his hockey career. He said that Kirk played hockey like he pitched...about once every four games. 

Max was becoming a pretty good skater at the ripe young age of four and five.  It was then that I formed my little thought experiment.   He was starting hockey at such a young age.  I didn't start skating until I was twelve going on thirteen.  I always wondered how much better I would have been had I started playing earlier.  So I kept an eye on Max.  I'm still watching. 

After a year or so of house league mite hockey I started to notice as some of the kids got older and better they moved on to something that would come dominate our family and our finances for the next decade or so.  

Travel hockey!  Sheesh, if I'd only known, I might have saved the money and stuck it in a 529 college savings plan.   But noooo.   My kid was gonna get a D1 scholarship.  Maybe even go pro. So we poured thousands of dollars down that drain.   

I'm joking. Kind of. My goal for my son was for him was to have fun, enjoy himself and play as long as he wanted, seeing how far he would go given his young start.  I'd already heard about and witnessed kids "burning out". These were the kids who started young and were pushed relentlessly by their parents. There are people, and I admit I've been one, who lived through their kids.  I would deny this, but I have family members who might think otherwise.  Of course the other hockey parents and I could live in denial of this with the silent agreement never to acknowledge this sad fact to each other. 

The next year we graduated to a travel tournament team.  I say we, not only because I was living vicariously through my kid, but because while he played, I coached. 

Steve Terry and I coached the San Diego Dragons. Steve was the guy I was in Finland with at the same time 25 years earlier. 

The Dragons were a fun team.  They played out of the rink Mira Mesa. The other team playing there was the San Diego Stars. Those boys were a year older than our kids. 

My friend Jaye Park coached the Stars.  Jaye and I played Thursday night pickup together. He was the one who shared his shifts with Chris Chelios years earlier.  There was a kid on the Stars that Max would go on to play with off and on over the next decade. He was called CJ.  

CJ was a smooth skater. A natural.  He wasn't big. He wasn't fancy. He was smart. He could do just about anything but for some reason he seemed to always find a way to not finish.  A few years later CJ and Max and twelve  other very talented peewees would play for ex-pro Joe Noris on the La Jolla Jaguars.  They, not we, as the era of dad coaches was ending(although Joe's kid was on the team), played at the shopping mall at UTC in La Jolla. Early in the season after a couple of games, a very mature CJ and his buddy Kory went to Joe and offered to play defense. The team turned around and by the end of the season shocked the California youth hockey world by defeating an undefeated Anaheim Junior Ducks to win the state Peewee championship. We laughed because the Ducks parents were so sure they would win it all that they already had their plane tickets to nationals. 

There has always been a big debate in San Diego among the elite youth players as whether to stay home or go play for the AAA tier programs in Los Angeles.  It was clear that if the local kids stayed home and stuck together they could be competitive with anyone. 

The L. A. Programs have been putting out NHL draft picks at an impressive rate.  Bennett , Blum, Etem, Zucker and others with more to come. Our boys played against these kids in those early days. 

A lot of good San Diego boys made the trip and paid the $25,000 a year to play for L.A. Selects or The Wave or L.A. Hockey Club or the Junior Kings.  Some are still playing. Jon Parker is with the AHL Rochester Amerks in the Sabres organization. Some are playing college hockey.  One hit the jackpot. 

CJ was the poster child for making the case that you didn't need to leave home to go far. CJ played AA hockey for the San Diego Gulls, the premier youth program in town. He played there every season until his last year of youth hockey when he did finally play one season for the Jr. Kings. The argument made by the San Diego youth hockey coaching community was if you are good they(the scouts) will find you. 

CJ  had a good year with the Jr. Kings then signed with Sioux Falls in the USHL, the premier junior league in the U.S.  After two solid seasons in Sioux Falls he was offered a scholarship to attend Umass-Lowell.  Fast forward to this past season. CJ who is now called Chad and Umass-Lowell were defeated in overtime by Yale in the semi-finals of the NCAA Frozen Four. Had they won Chad would have faced Quinnipiac for the championship on Saturday.   As it was his season was over.  

At least his college season was done. On Saturday morning, rather than preparing to play for the NCAA championship, Chad Ruhwedel was signing an entry level contract and played in his first NHL game with the Buffalo Sabres that same afternoon.   He played in each of the last seven games for Buffalo. Watch for him next season. 

Back to the Dragons. By this time Kyle and I had our second child, our Daughter-Bret. I know, I know, Bret is a boys name. It was a deal I made with my wife. The day Bret was born I had a game that night. The deal was I could go play and Kyle could name our child.  So my wife with the boy's name gave our daughter a boy's name. 

By the time Max was playing for the dragons he was seven and Bret was five. Funny enough besides me and Max the dragons had; a Max, a Kyle, a Steve and a Brett(two t's) on the team. 

This is a good time for a break. Let me get my thoughts together and I'll be back in a bit.