“Listen up,” Coach says, voice commanding attention. “Most of you already know Dr. Banks, our team psychiatrist, but for those who don’t, the doc is available to support you with any mental health challenges you may be facing. I encourage all of you to take advantage of his services. It’s going to be a long season, and we need to stay sharp physically and emotionally.”
There’s a murmur of assent, and Banks steps forward to explain his role in detail. He’s far more personable with the team and coaching staff than he’s been with me this morning, but that’s no surprise.
The man oozes boys’ club.
When he finishes, Coach Carlyle addresses the team again. “I’m happy to share we’ve expanded our support staff to include a full-time mental performance coach.” He gestures to me. “This is Ava Washington. She’ll be working with the team on a day-to-day basis. Ava’s focus is to help us build mental toughness,teamwork, and a leadership mindset so we can get out there and win games.”
There are a few shouts of “Hell yeah!” and a couple of guys thump the wooden stalls in a show of support.
It’s a good sign, and I’ll take it.
Coach turns the room over to me, and I step forward, projecting confidence.
“Thanks for the introduction, Coach.” I focus on the players, meeting each of their eyes in turn. Except for Knox. I pass over him quickly in order to avoid distraction. “I’m excited to partner with the Gliders this season, and I’m looking forward to seeing what we can accomplish as a team.”
I quickly run them through my credentials and experience. It’s standard practice to build rapport and establish myself as an expert. A few ears perk up at my resume.
“I’ll be scheduling one-on-one sessions with every player on the team to determine how I can best support you individually. I’ll also be leading regular group exercises.”
The players groan, but I don’t take it personally.
A lot of these guys probably grew up being told to just get out there and play the game. They haven’t had the opportunity—or the encouragement—to analyze their feelings or the way their mental health impacts their on-ice play.
I clap my hands together and they fall silent. “Coach has agreed to let me kick off this morning’s practice with a group team building activity, and because I want to ensure it feels like a safe space, I’m going to ask the coaching staff to leave us to it.”
Coach nods, albeit begrudgingly. “We’ll see you on the ice in thirty minutes.”
Once the coaching staff is gone, I turn back to the players. “My goal is to get to know all of you, and for you to get to know one another. Being part of a team means learning to bevulnerable and trusting that the guy beside you has your back on the ice.”
Dr. Banks clears his throat, impatience radiating from his stiff posture.
Thanks for the support, boss.
“You’re all incredible hockey players. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “Our goal this season is to make you an incredible team.”
They remain silent. They don’t give me so much as a grunt of approval.
It’s fine. I’ve worked with challenging teams before.
I mentally scrap my planned icebreaker.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to play a game called common threads. Each member of the team will be given sixty seconds to rant about something that’s bothering them—no taking shots at teammates—and the rest of us will listen and respond.”
Dr. Banks and I do a quick practice round to warm the group up, and then I ask for a volunteer to start.
One of the younger guys raises his hand. “I’ll go first.” He smirks. “Just like in the draft.”
Conor McGinnis. Twenty. Center. Rookie.
And apparently he can strut sitting down.
McGinnis leans forward and looks around the locker room. “Back at school, I had a social media manager who could skate circles around the Gliders admin. My girl could do banging edits, seamless transitions, and she never posted my bad side.” He gestures to the left side of his face. “She knew to only post my good side.” He turns his head. “It’s not that hard, but tell it to admin. They insist on showcasing my bad side, even though I’ve brought it to their attention half a dozen times. It’s like they’re trying to ruin my brand, and the season hasn’t even started yet.”
“Get the fuck outta here, Ginny!” One of the guys—I’m not sure which—throws a glove at him. His reflexes are lightning fast and he deflects it, sending it flying into a neighboring stall. “If your biggest concern is your pretty face, you aren’t working hard enough.”
“Screw you, Bates. My stats prove otherwise.”
I hold up a hand, and the group falls silent, per the rules. “What I’m hearing is that you value good communication and listening skills. It’s frustrating when you feel like you haven’t been heard.”