The Road to the Cup ~ Wattys 2015

The Stumbling Block and the Stepping Stone

Over the next few weeks the guys found their 'spark'. They were skating like Johnston and I were actually out there chasing them on every play. They took more shots on goal than seemed possible; they transformed every turnover into a scoring opportunity and the penalty kill was on fire, shutting the other teams down more than two thirds of the time. Their stats were every hockey nerd's wet dream and we were where we needed to be to end on top of the metropolitan division. Well, we were until Geno got hurt.

We were playing in the Bridgestone Arena in Nashville. Geno had just taken the puck from Fisher and was headed into Nashville's zone. Roman Josi and Seth Jones were on him in a split second. Geno plowed over Josi and kept going, taking a shot on Pekka Rinne. Rinne caught the puck and play stopped. Jones and Fisher went up to our Russian and started shoving him. The refs broke it up quickly and got the game back on track. No one had thrown any punches, but they were far from done. Geno had a target on his back, but we thought he could handle it.

Kunitz won the face off and passed to Geno. He sped up the boards, got nailed by Fisher, and went down. The other guys went after him, forgetting the puck and attempting to beat the shit out of him for wrecking Josi. Our guys skated over, but James Neal beat them there and I could hear him over the noise of the crowd, "Get the fuck off him!" He started dragging his teammates off Geno. "He had a clean hit! Get off him! You're going to cost us time and players, you idiots!" Sid, Kunitz and Cole were there helping Neal, and Fleury skated out of the net, ready to get involved. It was a mess. Once the guys and the refs got everyone off of Geno, we needed the medical staff to get him off the ice on a stretcher. The hit had been hard, and the attacks after appeared to have given him a concussion. Neal helped to the best of his ability and refused to go back to the bench until Geno was in the locker room. That surprised me. I knew that he used to play for Pittsburgh, but I wasn't aware of how close he still was with the guys on the team.

Nashville had several of their best players in the box, putting us on a power play. I could tell that my guys were mad, and they played with that anger. "Call a timeout," I told Johnston.

"What? Why? They're playing fantastically right now. They have so much energy and they're determined, why do they need a timeout?" He asked.

"They'll get in trouble. You know this as well as I do, when they're mad, they play sloppily. They'll draw penalties and turnover the puck. We can't afford that, not with their skill level," I jerked my head towards the Nashville bench.

"Alright, fine, but you explain it to them since its your idea," Johnston said before signaling for a timeout.

"What are we doing?" Beau asked as they all came to the bench.

"Calling a timeout," I replied.

"Yes, but why?"

"Would you shut up please? You all need to calm down out there. I know you're mad about Geno, trust me, I'm mad, too. But you must play with your heads! If you go out there blinded by your rage you'll draw stupid penalties and Nashville will take advantage of that. You have to play smart and think on your feet as if nothing happened. Let your anger fuel you, let it be your spark for tonight, but don't let it control you," I said. Sidney and the rest of the guys nodded. "I'm going to check on Geno right now, and if y'all do something stupid while I'm gone, you're going to feel it at practice," I threatened before turning and heading into the locker room.

Geno was lying on the stretcher still, with a few medical personnel scattered around the room. "We're just waiting to see if he'll wake up before the ambulance arrives, Coach," one of our trainers told me.

"Thanks," I replied, not sure what else to say. I had been fortunate not to have coached players who received concussions during our games before now. My experience with concussions came from having them, so I knew how Geno would be feeling when he woke up. I stepped closer to the tall Russian, who seemed so much smaller and less scary than usual now that he was quiet and lying down. I didn't like him like this; it scared me to see him lying so still on the stretcher. I stood silently next to him and placed my hand in his, hoping to draw him into consciousness and just be there for him when he woke up.