CHAPTER 1
Cannon
Player.
Minor league coach.
Coach of the Pittsburgh Titans.
It’s been a hell of a journey, but I’m where I’m supposed to be, no matter what happened to get me here.
It’s the third game of the regular season. We won our first one, which was in Boston, but lost to Minnesota at home the day before yesterday.
Not how I wanted to start my new coaching career with the Titans, but I’m a transformative leader, using motivation and inspiration to effectuate innovation. A lot of old-style coaching leans toward expecting impossible standards of perfection and then aiming ridicule for mistakes and errors. My understanding is, this team’s former coach, Matt Keller, was quite the asshole.
I am the opposite.
I tend to take the position that failure is an intrinsic part of growth and improvement. Allowing failure helps players bounce back quicker rather than leading them to berate themselves for not reaching an impossible standard of perfection.
It might sound like my coaching style is too soft, but no one can argue with my record. That’s why Brienne Norcross, the owner of the Titans, and Callum Derringer, the general manager, hired me.
The loss to Minnesota hurt, but we’ve moved on. My assistant coaches have been working hard running five-on-fives to improve play and one-on-ones with the clips provided by the video coaches to address individual needs.
I’m a delegator, as many good head coaches are. It means letting go of control, which isn’t easy for some. But when I moved from player to coach, I learned very quickly that the head coach position has little to do with actually drilling down into specifics and more to do with keeping all the cogs of the monstrous wheel moving.
It’s why I’ve been at the arena preparing for our game against the Edmonton Grizzlies since six thirty this morning. I met with my assistant coaches, who, in turn, went to handle meetings with the equipment and medical staff. I moved on to a meeting with the media relations staff to discuss relevant information about tonight’s game. After that, it was back with the assistant coaches for updates on injured players. From there, I had pre-scout meetings and then reviewed video clips and analyzed the special teams’ objectives.
The assistant coaches ran the mid-morning skate, although I watched. Light drills for skill work and special teams practice, especially the power play.
After that, the other coaches cut loose for a few hours, but I stayed at the arena, going over five-on-five video reviews and taking another dive into the pre-scout reports to see if anything else came to mind. I made notes and suggestions for the assistant coaches, who in turn parceled out that information to the various lines, special teams, and the players individually.
Two hours before the puck was set to drop, we had our final round of meetings with a more focused emphasis on power plays and penalty kills. The assistant coaches addressed the team with a review of our entire game plan, focusing on our identity as a group and how we need to play as a team. I listened in, but that’s one of the big things I delegate. It’s essential for everyone to know it’s not my show but that the coaching staff is a cohesive unit.
And now, it’s game time. We’ve had our pregame warm-up, and in these last few minutes before we go out for the puck drop, it’s my job to wrap it all up with some inspiration and hype.
“We’ve got an even matchup tonight.” We’re in the locker room, the men gathered around with my assistant coaches—Maurice Dupont, Sam Thatcher, and Gage Heyward—standing behind me. “You stack our lines, our special teams, and our skills up against our opponent, Vegas would say the odds are evenly matched. But that doesn’t mean we accept that.”
Most of the men stare at me intently. A few nod.
“We never accept anyone telling us what we can or can’t do. What we will or won’t win.”
“Fucking right,” someone says from the back.
“We never accept defeat until that last buzzer sounds, and never forget when you’re on that ice that you have something the other team doesn’t.”
“You as our coach,” someone calls out, and everyone laughs.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Well, there’s that, but I’m talking about that gnawing hunger that I know every one of you has deep in your belly. The insatiable, gut-twisting ache to prove to the world that this team is a force to be reckoned with. That we don’t need to be pitied for our circumstances because there’s nothing pitiable about this team.
“In fact, I’m feeling a little sorry for our opponents this year because they’ll never have what we have. They couldn’t even begin to imagine the fire burning inside us to be the greatest we can be. So when you step out on that ice, you do it with the knowledge that we might stack up evenly on paper, but in reality, they’re no match for the Titans.”
Approval roars from the players as they clap their hands. I turn to leave with the other coaches so we can make our way onto the bench. It’s on the players to take the information and advice and apply it.
It’s up to them to go out there and grab that win.
♦
The atmosphere in the locker room after the win is almost carnival-like. I stay in the revelry until it dies down as the players get showered, changed, and head out for celebrations. Only then do I go to the media room to do the press conference to field questions, most of which are legit. There’s a dumbass one, though.
“Coach… given this is a newly built team after the crash eight months ago, do you think today’s win was a fluke?”
I’m irritated but keep a genial smile on my face. “I don’t know, Tim. Was our loss against Minnesota a fluke?”
I let him stammer for only a few seconds before calling on another reporter.
With the players gone—the last few headed over to Mario’s for some celebratory drinks—I settle in at my desk to record my game observations.
I watch a lot during the game, write down notes, and don’t give much individual direction to players. That’s a job my assistant coaches handle, and they do it well, as they know the mechanics of the game as thoroughly as I do. They know the pre-scouts. I’ll suggest a line change, but it’s the assistants who call it out, and if they feel something is better served, they’ll do that as well, with impunity. It’s important they know I trust their judgment as much as the players’. Sometimes being hands-off is the best way to build confidence.
I tap away on my laptop, adding notes. We left the upper slot weak during some clutch moments, but luckily, our goalie, Drake McGinn, was on fire tonight.
My biggest dilemma—and this has been an issue since preseason—is that our second line defenseman, Camden Poe, seems to be struggling. I watched video of him last season, and it’s not a new problem. He seemed a little off in everything, about a quarter of a step behind on a breakaway or a second too late getting his stick on a puck. It’s hard to define, but when you watch him game after game, you can see that he might not belong on our second line.
Camden is one of the three players who wasn’t on the Titans’ plane when it went down last February. While he seems to have coped well with the trauma and survivor’s guilt, it might be weighing him down more than we think. It’s something I need to discuss with him.