By Mike Schwartz

Some of the best hockey I have ever watched happened in my backyard. Just a sheet of ice, a fire in an old steel pit, and a handful of kids playing until they couldn't feel their toes. Nobody was keeping score or being scouted. There was no showcase at the end of it. They were out there because they loved it. That is the game I fell in love with too.

And lately I worry we are losing it to the idea that winning is the only thing. I didn't learn hockey from a rulebook. I learned it from the people who coached me, and later from the ones I coached.

There were standards, and nobody posted them on a wall or made a big speech. They lived it and you picked it up. No cussing. Respect your parents. Respect your teammates. Respect the game.

The rulebook tells you what you are allowed to do. It cannot tell you what you ought to do. The rest is understood.

You play hard and clean, and shake hands at the end. You don't run a kid whose back is turned to you, and you don't celebrate in a beaten opponent's face. You don't need a referee to tell you what a decent person already knows.

But somewhere along the way we started teaching kids the other way. That the celebration matters more than the play. That the way to win is to get under the other kid's skin.

I have never understood that last one. Why would I ever want to make my opponent play better? Chirp them, wake them up, make them angry, and all I have done is hand them a reason to beat me. A calm opponent is beatable. An insulted one is dangerous. And more than that, it's just not who we want our kids to be.

Ask any youth program what happens to them. By the time they are teenagers, most of them are gone. We tell ourselves they lost interest. I don't believe it. We adults put so much weight on winning that a nine-year-old could feel it. We turned a game they loved into a job they could fail at. That is my worry, but I don't think we are stuck with it.

There is a scene from the movie Gladiator where Maximus has just beaten a man in the arena. The crowd is on its feet, screaming for the kill. The emperor wants it, and everyone expects it. But he won't do it. He drops his sword in the dirt, walks away, and lets the man live.

Then something happens I did not see coming the first time I watched it. The same crowd that came for blood begins to chant his name for his mercy.

One man, with everyone around him screaming for the ugly thing, simply chose the better thing instead. It turned the whole crowd.

We can do that too. At a rink, on a bench, in the stands at an eight-year-old's game. It is not what it is — it is what we allow it to be.

Years ago, I stood in front of a team and read them a poem. It was 1986. We had just won the Alaska state high school championship. At the banquet, I read them these words. The poem says “he” and “little fellow.” But there was a girl on that team, sitting right there with everybody else. It was her poem too. 

There are little eyes upon you,

and they watch you every day.

There are little ears that quickly

take in everything you say.

There are little hands all eager,

to do everything you do,

And a little child who's dreaming

of the day he'll be like you.

You're the little fellow's idol,

you're the wisest of the wise,

In his little mind about you

no suspicions ever rise.

He believes in you devoutly,

and holds true all you say and do.

He will say and do it your way

when he's grown up just like you.

There's a wide-eyed little fellow,

who believes you're always right.

His ears are always open,

he watches day and night.

You are setting an example,

each day in all you do,

For the little child who's waiting,

to grow up just like you.

— Author Unknown

There are little eyes upon all of us. That is the whole reason any of this matters. Not the trophy. Not the scoreboard. The kids are watching how we act. And one day, they will act just like us.

John Wooden knew more about winning than just about anyone. He did not measure it the way we do:

“Be more concerned with your character than your reputation. Your character is what you really are. Your reputation is merely what others think you are.”

— John Wooden

What I hope for all of us who love this game is that we give the kids today what was given to us — a high standard of respect, less pressure to be perfect, and the chance to build character along the way. And every so often, that we send them out to a backyard sheet of ice, with a fire and no scoreboard, and let them play for the only reason that ever really mattered. The love of the game.

Mike Schwartz is a USA Hockey Coach Developer and former NCAA Division III head hockey coach. This is one in a series of articles for coaches and leaders, inspired by more than 30 years behind the bench. I hope you enjoy it and pass it along to another coach or leader in your life.