The Career of Bryan Hurst (NHL 09: Be A Pro) -
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I'm starting to wonder if Rockford's general manager has ever talked to Rockford's coach.
It was another strange day as a first-year pro in the Blackhawks organization.
I guess I shouldn't worry about it. If I play well on the ice everything else should take care of itself.
It seems like we have been waiting an eternity for the season to start and players are starting to get restless at training camp. A fight almost broke out today between Bryan Bickell and Petri Kontiolla after they were jostling for a puck in the corner and neither one of them is a fighter.
A lot of veteran players are upset that they were cut from the Chicago Blackhawks camp and have been assigned to the American League farm team. A lot of the young players are sick of the two-a-day practises, the meetings, the weight training, the video sessions -- we just want to play somebody.
The practises start to wear you down mentally. We've had practises on the ice where there is no puck -- do you believe that? It's just the coaches going over various forechecking schemes and defensive coverages in our own end.
I spent a few hours with the team doctor yesterday doing baseline tests in the event that I get a concussion. They measure stuff like an a player's memory, vision, attention span and coordination. If I get a concussion they'll retest me and compare the results with yesterday's test.
Who knew hockey could be so boring?
The long wait for the season does gives us a chance to bond as a team. As rookies we are one step above an ant on the food chain.
While I was conducting my tests, Colin Fraser came into the room, grabbed a chart, looked like he was reading it intently, looked at me seriously and says:
"Bad news rookie, you have incurable stupidity. Good news is you can't get a concussion if you don't have a brain."
He exited the door before I even had a chance to respond.
It has been an odd mixture of tedium, bonding and learning. That is until I went into head coach Bill Peters office today.
"Bryan, I've watched your hard work at camp," Peters said. "You've had a decent camp for a rookie. I decided that you will start the season on the third line."
I couldn't believe it. Just a few weeks ago the GM had told me the organization expected me to score 70 points. How was I going to do that on the third line?
Last year only one player on this team, Martin St. Pierre, cracked 70 points and you better believe he was on the first line. How am I going to do that when the first and second lines are going to receive most of the ice time?
"You're going to get a chance to anchor the second power play unit," he continued.
Had Peters even talked to the GM? It's going to take a maracle to crack 50 points with that little ice time.
"You'll be the number one centre on the penalty killing unit."
Obviously, Peters didn't believe I had any scoring ability. He was going to use me in a checking role -- a role I had no experience playing in junior. They might as well have just put me in net for all the good I was going to do there.
"You're going to be our second shooter in shootouts."
Peters was a certifiable nut. I was furious. I'm not a good enough scorer to play on the top two lines but come the shootout, I am the second guy.
I left Peters office angry but I was smart enough as rookie not to say anything stupid. It was going to be a long season once it began and this wasn't the time or place to get into a war of words with my first professional coach.
I would show them starting in October that I was better than his lowly opinion.
Finally, tonight is my first professional hockey game.
I have to admit that I haven't been this nervous before a hockey game in a long time. It will be my first game in the American Hockey League and I know it's going to be a lot more challenging than junior hockey. The players are older, faster and much bigger. They're monsters compared to the teenagers I played against last year in the Ontario Hockey League.
But the biggest difference is the personality of the players. I've have been here more than a month and I've really noticed it. Most of the guys are positive, but some of the guys have a certain bitterness about them -- mostly the older guys who have had a taste of the NHL but haven't been able to stay there.
I guess when you have travelled first class on airplanes and stayed in four star hotels it's tough to go back on the bus in the minor leagues.
I talked to Matt Walker one of our defensemen who was drafted in 1998. He's played a bit in the NHL but he finds himself back here in Rockford to start the season.
He's warned me that skill isn't necessarily the biggest factor in determining who plays in the NHL and who gets sent down to the minors. A general manager is always more inclined to give higher draft picks a chance before other players because the GM has a lot invested in those high picks. They have to show ownership they are shrewd drafters and that the money spent on those picks hasn't been wasted.
He said I'll find there's a surprising amount of politics in professional hockey.
Walker is married now and has a couple of kids. He said there have been days when he's wondered if he would be better off quitting, going to college and getting a degree.
But he said the idea quickly passes because once you have been on the NHL ice and heard the roar of 17,000 fans, the experience is like an addictive drug.
You crave -- no you, need -- to feel it again and again. It consumes you and powers you. You wake up in the night and you can recall certains sound. The feeling of anticipation when you hear the fans clapping at the end of the anthem. The spontaneous chanting before a big power play, a standing ovation after a good penalty kill.
I don't want you to think it's all serious here. Wade Flaherty, our 40-year old goalie, has played in the AHL the last five years. He's just a joy to be around -- he's always joking and pulling pranks.
"Hey, rookie," he asked me this morning. "Do you have enough diapers for the season? I don't want you making a mess in my crease."
"I'm a forward, I don't plan to go into the defensive end," I joked.
"Oh, I forgot, you're going to get 60 assists," said Flaherty. He had obviously heard the GM's expectations that I should get 10 goals and 60 assists this year. "Tell you what, kid, if you get 60 assists I'll buy you a jock. I know you don't need one yet because you haven't hit puberty, but by the time you get 60 assists you'll need it. You should be 30 by then."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Wade."
"Just play good defense, kid. The points will come in time. But seriously don't wet yourself tonight in my crease. I like to keep a clean sheet."
He had nothing to worry about. I felt like I was going to vomit I was so nervous before the game but it passed.
My debut as a professional hockey player with the Rockford IceHogs yesterday was one of the best days of my life.
I was on the ice for both of our first two goals and I scored in the second period on a one-timer in the high slot to make it 4-1.
I was sitting there on the bench after the goal thinking wouldn’t it be great if my family could have been here for my first pro goal. They live in Ontario and I figured it was just be too far and too expensive for them to travel here.
Was I ever wrong.
As I was leaving the ice after the game to go to our dressing room , I heard a woman call my name from the stand. It didn’t hit me the first time, but then the second time I recognized my mom’s voice cry out “Bryan.” It was that unmistakable voice. The voice that called me in for supper from street hockey games as a kid; the urgent voice that called me out to the car on a frigid morning, worried that I would be late for a midget practise.
I looked up in the stands and there was my mom, dad and sister looking down at me. They were standing near the area where we leave the ice.
“Bryan, you must have your head in the sky,” said my dad. “Your mother has been yelling your name about a dozen times and I’ve been waving at you like I was signaling a plane to land.”
I was nearly speechless when I saw them there. I think the look on my face must have given my surprise away.
“You didn’t think we we’re going to miss your first pro game,” my sister said.
“Wow, you must have gotten great seats to be this close,” I said, struggling to find the right words.
“No, we were sitting way up there,” said dad, pointing toward the rafters. “We ran down here as quickly as we could once the game ended.”
“It’s great that you’re here. Did you see me score?” I asked.
“No, we were busy eating hot dogs,” my dad said sarcastically “Of course, we saw you score. Luckiest one-time ever.”
It was just like my dad to minimize my achievements. He is always worried when things go well that things might go too well, that I’ll turn into some egomaniac who won’t have time anymore for his parents.
“I’ve got to go back into the dressing room, but I’ll change as soon as I can and then I’ll buy you guys a late dinner.”
Now it was there time to look surprised.
There’s nothing like sharing the best moments of your life with your family. We had a great time over dinner and they shared with me the story of how they had planned the trip for weeks, secured tickets from the public relations office and drove 10 hours to make it in time for the game.
They’re leaving tomorrow. It was a short trip for them and most of it spent in a car, but it meant everything to me.
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