What they want is a place where that movement actually means something. A roster where players aren’t just surviving the demotion or coasting on raw talent. A room built for men who still want back in the NHL—and are willing to earn it the right way.
Structure. Conditioning. Accountability.
Cam put it simply: “If a guy leaves here better than he arrived, we did our job.” Levi added: “If he goes back up and sticks? Even better.”
Not a holding pen. A proving ground.
And that’s what hooked me.
Not just the guys—though it matters that they’re still competitive enough to care.
It’s that they’re not done proving things. Neither am I.
I’ve worn one hat my entire adult life. Center. Captain. Franchise piece.
I’ve been the guy on the ice for years. Maybe it’s time to prove I can run it from the bench without losing the edge thatgot me here.
For them, this isn’t a vanity project. It’s work. Structure. Standards. A room that means something.
They didn’t pitch hard. They didn’t need to.
I can tell Cam and Levi didn’t build this arena to park money. They were players before they were businessmen. Competitors I respected enough to study.
Cam—left defense, loud and funny off the ice, ruthless along the boards. Levi—favorite goalie in half the league, glove hand impossible, mouth just sharp enough to get under your skin.
We weren’t teammates. But twice we shared an All-Star bench. Same sweater. Same skills drills. You learn a man fast in that setting. Who coasts. Who competes. Who leads without needing to shout.
Same draft class. Same mileage.
They know what it costs to step away from the game you built your identity around.
Now they’re building something new. And I’m here to see if I belong in it.
The formal interview happened two days later over video—in December, still raw from the roster announcement. Their offer came while I was in Anguilla.
And now I’m jogging toward a building with their names on the paperwork—and possibly my future somewhere inside it.
Tomorrow the U.S. men take on Canada for Olympic gold.
Funny how the game keeps moving whether you’re in it or not.
By the time the arena comes into view, my legs are warm and my pulse is steady.
It’s larger than you’d expect for a town this size.
Inside, Cam and Levi are already on the ice—but not alone.
Acluster lines the boards. Not scouts. Not press.
Town.
Maybe fifteen people. Winter coats half-zipped, coffeecups in hand. Some standing like they wandered in on a whim. Others planted like they’ve been here since dawn.
A woman with a clipboard near the lower bowl — though she barely glances at it. Eyes up, moving fast between the page and the arena around her. She says two words into her phone, points toward the Jumbotron rig. Two people change direction before she finishes the sentence.
A fireman in a CFFD sweater near the far tunnel, phone out, eyes moving methodically around the upper bowl. Doing a quiet walkthrough of some kind.
An older woman perched on the home bench with the imperial posture of someone who has opinions about everything and the credibility to back them up.
