Chapter 144 - The Game
Today’s Chapter is based on the book “The Game” by Ken Dryden.
Ken Dryden was a Canadian professional ice hockey goaltender who played for the Montreal Canadiens in the 1970s, leading the team to six Stanley Cup victories. He won numerous awards including the Conn Smythe Trophy, Calder Memorial Trophy, and five Vezina Trophies, and was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame in 1983. After retiring, Dryden pursued a multifaceted career as an author, lawyer, university professor, team executive, and member of the Canadian Parliament, serving as Minister of Social Development from 2004 to 2006.
Here’s what I learned:
The Art of Goaltending
“Only a goalie can appreciate what a goalie goes through.”
— Ken Dryden
One of Ken Dryden’s biggest lesson in his autobiography is his deep dive into the unique psychology of a goaltender. As a matter of fact, being the goaltender of the Montreal Canadiens, the most historic franchise in the NHL, is often mentioned as the toughest job in hockey. Yet Dryden excelled at it winning six Stanley Cups in his eight years career. He strips away the glamour and reveals the position for what it is: a solitary, reactive and mentally gruelling endeavour. He argues that a goalie’s primary opponent is never the shooter, but the chaos within his own mind.
He explains that “Playing goal is not fun. Behind a mask, there are no smiling faces, no timely sweaty grins of satisfaction. It is a grim, humorless position, largely uncreative, requiring little physical movement, giving little physical pleasure in return. A goalie is simply there, tied to a net and to a game; the game acts, a goalie reacts. How he reacts, how often, a hundred shots or no shots, is not up to him. Unable to initiate a game’s action, unable to focus its direction, he can only do what he’s given to do, what the game demands of him, and that he must do. It is his job, a job that cannot be done one minute in every three, one that will not await rare moments of genius, one that ends when the game ends, and only then. For while a goal goes up in lights, a permanent record for the goal-scorer and the game, a save is ephemeral, important at the time, occasionally when a game is over, but able to be wiped away, undone, with the next shot. It is only when a game ends and the mask comes off, when the immense challenge of the job turns abruptly to immense satisfaction or despair, that the unsmiling grimness lifts and goes away.”
“If you were to ask a coach or a player what he would most like to see in a goalie, he would, after some rambling out-loud thoughts, probably settle on something like: consistency, dependability, and the ability to make the big save. Only in the latter, and then only in part, is the physical element present. Instead, what these qualities suggest is a certain character of mind, a mind that need not be nimble or dextrous, for the demands of the job are not complex, but a mind emotionally disciplined, one able to be focussed and directed, a mind under control. Because the demands on a goalie are mostly mental, it means that for a goalie the biggest enemy is himself. Not a puck, not an opponent, not a quirk of size or style. Him. The stress and anxiety he feels when he plays, the fear of failing, the fear of being embarrassed, the fear of being physically hurt, all are symptoms of his position, in constant ebb and flow, but never disappearing. The successful goalie understands these neuroses, accepts them, and puts them under control. The unsuccessful goalie is distracted by them, his mind in knots, his body quickly following.”
— Ken Dryden
In my opinion, the reason why goalie’s biggest opponent is themselves, is because of how reactionary it is. This internal battle necessitates a state of hyper-focused flow, where conscious thought recedes and instinct, built on thousands of hours of practice, takes over. Dryden describes this state beautifully: “Once, as I was told I should, I kept a ‘book’ on all the players I knew, with notes about wrist shots, slap shots, backhands, quick releases or slow, glove side or stick side, high or low; about forehand dekes or backhand dekes, and before a game, I would memorize and rehearse all that was there. But when my body prepared for Thompson’s backhand before I knew it was Thompson, I realized that what was in my book, and more, was stored away in my mind and muscles as nerve impulses, ready, able to move my body before I could. And once when I couldn’t see a shot, yet felt my body move, I resisted its move, unwilling to move foolishly for something I couldn’t see. Then, as I noticed pucks I couldn’t see go by me where I was about to move, but didn’t, I let myself go and stopped them. It’s what others call anticipation or instinct, and while both may be accurate, to me neither suggests the mysterious certitude I feel. It’s the feeling I get when I use a pocket calculator—pushing buttons, given no trail of figures, no hints to let me know how I got to where I did; no handwriting I can recognize as mine to let me know it was me who did it. I get only the right answer. It’s why I work all day to blank my mind. It’s why I want a game to get close enough to absorb me. I don’t want my eyes distracted by clocks and out-of-town scores. I don’t want my mind divided by fear, my body interrupted with instructions telling it what it should do. I want eyes, mind, body, and puck to make their quickest, surest connection.”
Furthermore, what makes goaltending even more challenging is the fact that you are under your coach’s control on when you get to play. Being ready mentally on a short notice is incredibly difficult.
“As a goalie, I am in Bowman’s hands. I play when he says I play; I don’t play when he says I don’t. Much of my happiness, much of the mood I carry with me away from the rink, come from when and how often and against whom I play, and that depends on Bowman.”
— Ken Dryden
The Art of Coaching
“There are no true leaders in sports, business, or life who are not excellent communicators.”
— Nick Saban
As mentioned previously, Scotty Bowman was an important figure in the success of Ken Dryden. In fact, Dryden’s portrayal of coach Bowman reveals that effective leadership isn’t about rigid systems but about understanding people and adapting to their strengths. In a word obsessed with formulas for success, Dryden believes that true leaders prioritize flexibility, trust and pragmatic decision-making.
Dryden mentions that “Not long ago, I asked him [Bowman]his most important job as coach. He sat quiet for a moment, his face unfurrowed and blank, thinking, then said simply, “To get the right players on the ice.” In an age of “systems” and “concepts” and fervid self-promotion, his answer may seem a little unsatisfying; but though misleadingly simple, it is how he coaches. No one has ever heard of a “Bowman system” as they have a “Shero system.” Fred Shero’s Flyers, a good but limited team, needed a system. To be effective, they needed to play just one way, and to play that way so well they could overcome any team. Bowman’s team is different. Immensely talented, immensely varied, it is a team literally good enough to play, and win, any style of game. For it, a system would be too confining, robbing the team of its unique feature—its flexibility. Further, Bowman understands, as Shero did, that the flip side of winning with a system is losing by that system. So Bowman, a pragmatist with the tools any pragmatist would envy, coaches with what he calls a “plan.””
As such, Bowman often built his team in a way to balance out skill with toughness.
“Quick players are often small, and in smaller rinks against bigger teams, are frequently subject to intimidating attack. Bowman knows that Lafleur, Lemaire, and Lapointe, players whose skills turn the Canadiens from a good team to a special one, must be made “comfortable,” as he puts it; they must be allowed to play without fear. So never farther than the players’ bench away, to balance and neutralize that fear, Bowman has Lupien and Chartraw, sometimes Cam Connor, in other years Pierre Bouchard, and of course, Larry Robinson. With a game-to-game core of fourteen or fifteen players, Bowman fine-tunes his line-up, choosing two or three from among the six or more available to find the “right mix,” as he calls it, for every game we play. He believes that a championship team needs all kinds of players, and that too many players of the same type, no matter how good, make any team vulnerable.”
— Ken Dryden
Furthermore, Dryden mentions that one of the reason for Bowman’s success as a coach is his ability to understand his players. He explains that “He knows each of us too well; he leaves us no place to hide. He knows that we are strong, and are weak; that we can be selfish and lazy, that we can eat too much and drink too much, that we will always look for the easy way out, and when we find it, that we will use it. He knows that each of us comes with a stable of excuses, “crutches” he calls them, ready to use whenever we need them. The team with the fewest crutches will win, Bowman believes. So he inserts himself into our minds, and anticipates these crutches—practice times, travel schedule, hotel, the menu for our team meal—then systematically kicks them away, leaving us with no way out if we lose. And when we don’t lose, we get our revenge, we pretend that we did it ourselves. We want him to have no part of it; and he lets us. He never challenges the integrity of the team. Just as he will allow no player to stand above the team, he will not stand above it either. The team must believe in itself.”
And more importantly, Bowman vows for meritocracy among his players, where everyone is held accountable.
“Being a nice guy doesn’t count; going to optional practices, coming early, staying late, doesn’t count. As Pete Mahovlich, Cournoyer, and Henri Richard have discovered, what you have done before counts only until you can’t do it again. No politics, no favors, it is how you measure up to what you can do, how you help the team, how you perform—they are what count. It is thin comfort.”
— Ken Dryden
This reminds me of Alex Ferguson, considered one of the greatest football managers of all-time. Ferguson believed that football management is not only about football tactics but “a study in the frailty of human beings.” This makes sense considering that at a club like Manchester United, you have players of various backgrounds; big players, wealthy players and even world-famous players. And, it is the manager’s responsibility is to rule over them and to lead them to become a successful football team. As Ferguson once said, “There is only one boss of Manchester United, and that’s the manager.”
As a matter of fact, Ferguson explains that “The minute a Manchester United player thought he was bigger than the manager, he had to go. I used to say, ‘The moment the manager loses his authority, you don’t have a club. The players will be running it, and then you’re in trouble.’” Ferguson reiterates that the authority is what counts and a manager cannot have a player taking over the dressing room.
“The most important thing in my job is control. The minute they threaten your control, you have to get rid of them.”
— Alex Ferguson
While one can see a football manager being in a position of power, Ferguson explains that to be a successful gaffer, one must be in control of the situation rather than to just use brute power. He explains that “Power is useful if you want to use it, but I don’t think it resonates with footballers, who are mostly working-class men. But control was my aim. I could use my power if I wished, and I did, but when you reach the station I attained at United, power came with it naturally. The big decisions you make in those jobs are usually seen by outsiders as exercises in power, when control is really what it’s about.”
By consequence, Ferguson mentions that it is important for the manager to stand up for himself. He gives examples of his days at St Mirren where the captain made a gesture behind his back in a team photo that was published in the local newspaper. The next Monday, Ferguson called him into his office and informed him that he was going on a free transfer. He explained to the player that “For a start, doing a V-sign behind a manager doesn’t tell me you’re an experienced player, or that you’re a mature person. If I’m looking for a captain I’m looking for maturity. That was a childish schoolboy trick. You have to go.”
Furthermore, to be able to control his players, it was important for Ferguson to build a strong manager-player relationship with all of his players. He explains that the core component of this relationship is to make players accountable for their own actions and mistakes, without discouraging them. Football is a results based industry and a winning culture could only be maintained if every players play their part.
If a player was not performing at the level he is required, Ferguson explains that it is the manager’s role to confront the player. But to do so, it was important to balance criticism with encouragement. As mentioned above, criticisms, fines or punishments should remain inside the locker room and not to be made public to the media.
“I would have felt I had betrayed the one constant principle of my time as a manager: to defend. No, not to defend, but to protect them from outside judgments.”
— Alex Ferguson
A good way to do this is to try to look for a moment through the players eyes. Ferguson elaborates that “You were young once, so put yourself in their position. You do something wrong, you’re waiting to be punished. ‘What’s he going to say?’ you think. Or, ‘What’s my dad going to say?’ The aim is to make the biggest possible impact. What would have made the deepest imprint on me at that stage of life?”
The Art of Excellence
“If you don’t have time to do it right, when will you have time to do it again?”
— John Wooden
For many, winning the Stanley Cup is the ultimate goal. But for Ken Dryden’s Canadiens, winning was the baseline and this created a psychological landscape entirely different from that of other teams. Excellence, he discovered, is not a destination of pure joy but a continuous, often burdensome, state of being. The unrelenting pressure to be the best transforms the emotional texture of success. The thrill of victory is replaced by the relief of not having lost; the joy of play becomes an obligation to perform.
“I’m as good as my last game and no one can forget it.”
— Ken Dryden
This team was not just good; it was historically great, and in setting such a high standard, it created a trap for itself. Dryden explains that “Sated by success, we have different expectations, and the motivation and feelings we get from a game have changed with them. Joy becomes obligation, satisfaction turns to relief, and the purpose of winning becomes less to win, and more not to lose. Even the games we played with ourselves, when there seemed no other games to play, have changed. For three years, too good for the league, we competed against ourselves—most wins in a season, most points, fewest losses. We chased records and broke them, then chased our own records and broke them again. Then two years ago, we won sixty of our eighty games, lost eight and earned one hundred and thirty-two points. Last year, we won one fewer game, lost two more, and earned three fewer points. This year we will do worse. Like long-jumper Bob Beamon, proud of our records, we have a feeling that we have gone too far. We have set a standard we cannot match, so, competing against ourselves, we lose. It would seem enough to win, to compete against the rest of the league as others do, but our cranky feelings tell us otherwise. There is a different quality about this team, a quality we might deny, one that oftentimes we wish we didn’t have, one that in the inflated rhetoric of sports sounds inflated but is not. It is excellence. We are not a “money team” like the Leafs of the 1960s, aided and abetted by a generous playoff system. We must win and play well all the time; we cannot wait for May. So unhappy with ourselves in the best of times, we play through a less than perfect season.”
This burden gets worse considering the immense history of the Canadiens franchise, a legacy literally etched on the dressing room walls for every player to see. Dryden writes “Across the room, there is something else. For journalists, it is la différence, the glimpse that tells the story. Large, photoed heads of former Canadiens players now in the Hall of Fame gaze down at the room from a horizontal row, and beneath them, their words in French and English to each of us below: NOS BRAS MEURTRIS VOUS TENDENT LE FLAMBEAU, A VOUS TOUJOURS DE LE PORTER BIEN HAUT! TO YOU FROM FAILING HANDS WE THROW THE TORCH, BE YOURS TO HOLD IT HIGH!”
“It is part of the Canadiens’ heritage passed from Selke to Pollock, through Dick Irvin, Blake, and Bowman, to the Richards, Béliveau, Lafleur, and the rest. A good season is a Stanley Cup; anything else is not.”
— Ken Dryden
Beyond the Book
Read "What Can One of The Great Coaches of All Time Teach You About Leadership?" by Farnam Street
Read "How to Do Great Things" by Farnam Street
If you enjoy reading my newsletter, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. You’ll be able to keep this newsletter going! Here’s what you get when you upgrade:
Voting on polls: you’ll get to vote on who I should write about next.
Requesting biographies: you can request a biography for me to read and write about next.
Supporting my next book purchase: all payments received will be used to purchase a new biography.