Retired NHL goalie reflects on what it’s like to play with a championship on the line

Sometimes I consider myself pretty lucky. My career was winding down. It went down a thousand different paths. But in two of my final three seasons of professional hockey, I had the opportunity to play for a championship.

Let me tell you this: there is absolutely nothing like walking into an arena with a trophy in the building. Whether it’s the Stanley Cup, or in my case, the AHL’s Calder Cup, there’s a tension in the air that’s almost hard to describe.

It took me 12 seasons of pro hockey to finally have a crack at winning. And when it finally came, the opportunity was surreal. 

Even at the minor-league level, the intensity was something I’d never experienced before. My first chance was during the 2017 Calder Cup playoffs, and both arenas sold out for every contest. They even had to add grandstands in Syracuse for our Crunch home games. And Van Andel Arena in Grand Rapids—home of the Griffins—was full to the brim.

The War Memorial in Syracuse was the loudest noise I have ever experienced. Well over 110 decibels. Louder than a Motorhead concert. And Grand Rapids was right there in terms of volume.

With every game pushing closer to the eventual series outcome, the stakes ratcheted up. Mistakes were magnified. Scrums got nastier. And each team’s star players stepped into the spotlight.

But one thing I’ll never forget about that series was walking off the bus into Van Andel Arena for Game 6. Our Syracuse team was down 3-2. We had to beat Grand Rapids—in their building—and force a Game 7. Otherwise, we were headed home empty-handed.

It’s funny because looking back, I don’t think any of us really thought Game 6 was going to be the end. Athletes are wired to think they can accomplish anything. And we’d already gone to Game 7 earlier in the Calder Cup Playoffs against the Toronto Marlies and came out victorious. We believed.

But the thing is, in the back of my head, I knew walking in that it might be the end for our squad. We’d battled so hard to get there. And despite being picked up by the Crunch at the trade deadline, I’d become so close with those teammates. It hurt to think about the season coming to an end.

So I did my best to put those thoughts out of my mind. But man was I nervous going in. I’d never been so close to winning a championship. And at 34 years old, with my career already on the back nine, I thought it might be my only chance.

I had friends in the building from my hometown of St. Louis. My wife and kids had crossed the Canadian-American border twice to be there. 

And in the blink of an eye, we lost Game 6.

It was crushing. I failed in front of everyone. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

I stayed on the bench and watched the Calder Cup be presented to the Griffins. I did it because it’s not often you get to see something like that in pro sports. And I believe in losing with grace. Grand Rapids earned it and I wanted to be respectful of our opponents.

But deep down, it was fuel. Because it hurt so much to see that trophy lifted by a team other than ours. All summer I kept seeing highlights of the Griffins’ triumph over the Crunch. And every time, I felt that rage inside. That twinge of anger. That burning desire to get back to what I love and prove everyone wrong.

Somehow, someway I landed in the right spot the following year. I signed with the Dallas Stars organization, and despite a rather uneventful regular season, we found ourselves in the Calder Cup Finals against the Toronto Marlies. The same team I’d knocked off in Game 7 of the second round the year before.

Sure enough, I found myself in the exact same position as the 2017 Calder Cup Finals. Down 3-2 in games to the Marlies, we went to Toronto needing a win in Game 6. And I felt all the same feelings. 

But this time, we did it. And it might have been the best game of my life. I stopped 43 of 45 shots. We won, 5-2, and forced Game 7 in Toronto.

That’s when everything changed. Game 7 brought an entirely new set of emotions. There was one game left for the Calder Cup. Win or lose, we were going home. Finality was around the corner.

To me, it actually felt like a huge burden had been lifted. Those Game 6 matchups where we had to win to keep the season alive—weren’t easy to prepare for. And losing one of those games was even worse because it felt like there was still time left to get the job done. Even though we lost fair and square, it felt like the season ended prematurely.

The day before Game 7 I started to have thoughts I’d never encountered before. What happens if we win? Who gets the Calder Cup first? Who do I pass it to? I thought it would have been foolish not to think about these things. I’m a sucker for symbolism. And I think superstitions are a waste of mental energy. So I wanted to be prepared.

I thought about my family. My daughters, who were three and six years old at the time: how cool it would be to take part in the celebration. My past coaches—one of whom vowed to ride his motorcycle to the party. I tried to wrap my brain around who to thank should we win the next day. And on and on.

I brought along a St. Lawrence University flag to skate around with my Stars teammate and fellow SLU grad, Gavin Bayreuther. We needed that picture. And I knew I wanted to hand the trophy to Brent Regner, who I’d shared the ice in four different professional cities. It would have meant so much to pass it to such an amazing teammate and friend.

Even now I get teary-eyed thinking about it. But that was the day before Game 7. It was the right time to compartmentalize those thoughts. Because walking into the building for the final game of the AHL season was reserved for focus. I knew the plan. I was ready. Our entire team was.

I left those dreamy thoughts at the door and went to work. The nervousness was there. But I already felt proud. I knew we belonged there. We had a chance to win, and at the end of the evening, only one team would hoist the Calder Cup.

It wasn’t our day. We lost Game 7.

Two years in a row I lost in the Calder Cup Final. But oddly, I felt OK. I mean, sure, I was crushed that we didn’t win. But the 2018 series felt so different from 2017. With the Crunch, I didn’t play my best. I knew it. I still had room to improve.

But the 2018 Calder Cup Playoffs with the Stars was the finest stretch of my career. I knew it was the best hockey I’d ever played. And I knew that our Texas team put every single drop of energy into that run. It was a satisfying feeling even if we came up short.

Disappointment is real when you fall short of your dreams. It still stings. And this coming from someone who never had the chance to play for the Stanley Cup.

But there’s something so special about team sports. No matter the level played, winning a championship is something that can never be taken away. It’s why hockey players are willing to put everything on the line. Sometimes things just don’t go your way.

I learned so much about myself during those postseason runs. And I know it’s helped me later in life. But it’s funny how different a Game 6 can feel from a Game 7 despite having the same elimination implications.

Preparing to potentially win a championship is a wholly unique experience. I actually found it enjoyable to take a step back and assess what was truly important. I take comfort in those memories despite never having the chance to skate with a trophy.

My career finished nearly four years ago. But the memories are still vivid. And every time I see the Stanley Cup handed out, it brings me right back to the most exciting—and nerve-wracking—time of my life.

I miss it. But I’m glad I lived it. And I’m excited to see the next Stanley Cup champions.