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  I have tried to be true to that concept, and have shared that philosophy over the years with my friends and colleagues. For example, Derek Sanderson and I were two celebrities among others at a golf event several years ago. After we finished up the round, I was taking my clubs to my car when I noticed that Derek was already in his own car, preparing to leave. I asked where he was going, and he told me he was heading home. I pointed out that he had played golf with only three people that day, so only three people had got to meet him. One hundred and twenty other folks had missed out. I said we should go back and meet some more of the group. To his credit, Derek did come back inside, and many more people got a little piece of him that day, as well they should. Unfortunately for Derek, he had left his car windows open when he walked back to the clubhouse with me. It rained cats and dogs while we were inside. Poor Turk had to ride home waterlogged, and I don’t know if he’s forgiven me to this day.

  Growing up, I would never have guessed my future would one day depend on talking to people. In those years after I left Chicago, I came to understand that talking to people didn’t have to be a torment. It was an opportunity—and one I couldn’t afford to do without. I was fortunate enough to become involved with some wonderful companies after my playing days, and those associations helped ease my transition. Companies like Bay Bank, Standard Brands (which would eventually become Nabisco), MasterCard, and General Motors of Canada all provided me with business opportunities.

  I’ve been very lucky to have known some outstanding business people who helped me along my path after my playing days were done—and again, I credit the skills and lessons I learned in hockey for much of my success in various business ventures. Then, in 1991, the world of professional sports would come calling again, when I joined Woolf Associates to help recruit players. Bob Woolf was a pioneer in the agenting business, and the company already had a sports and entertainment roster that included Larry Bird and Larry King, but one thing they didn’t have was hockey players (despite the fact that they were based in Boston). Along with some partners, I bought the company in 1996, and Rick Curran joined us in 2000. In 2002, I separated the hockey operation from the rest of the firm. That was the beginning of the Orr Hockey Group.

  It’s no secret that I didn’t have the best possible experience with an agent. Parents and players know that. I suppose there is some irony that someone who lost so much to an agent would become one himself. But on the other hand, I think parents recognize that my experience has shown me a side of the game that not a lot of people have seen.

  One thing we never do is handle clients’ money. Any player, whether he is a client or not, should learn from my experience and realize that he is ultimately responsible for himself and should not give complete control to anyone for any reason. The money a player earns during his career is his, and it is his duty to learn to protect that income. It could mean taking a class to understand how to read a financial statement, or developing the ability to ask appropriate questions about potential investments. After all, if a player’s hard work is squandered because of bad advice, it will be the player who pays the price. Professional athletes who accumulate wealth need to take the time to do their homework.

  As a business, we’re not just looking for good hockey players. We’re looking for kids with good character. I’ve said before that the mental part of the game is the toughest part. Talent can take you only so far. We’re also looking for parents who understand, because when you take on a player as a client, you’re taking on his parents, too. This is always a family deal. Kids in hockey have enough people telling them what to do. They don’t need their parents barking at them, and they don’t need me doing it, either. I often point to families such as the Staals, from Thunder Bay, Ontario, as shining examples in that regard. Both parents, as well as all the hockey-playing brothers, have the kind of personalities and characteristics that help to ensure their long-term success. When I get to work with families such as the Staals, my job becomes a real pleasure.

  I know I keep saying I have benefited from the lessons I learned from the game—the fact is, I am lucky to be able to work every day at a job where those values make sense. No one succeeds without a team around them, and everyone needs teammates to step up for them once in a while when they get knocked down. I’ve had clients win the Cup and had kids go first overall in the draft, and I am personally thrilled for them. That’s not just professional joy, that’s the real joy anyone feels when something great happens to someone they care about. And I’ve seen clients’ ugly contract disputes play out unfairly in the media, or taken calls from guys who got sent to the minors. And that feels personal as well. I always went to my teammates’ defense without question, just as they came to mine. That’s how I do business, too.

  I know I’ve been lucky twice: once as an athlete and once as a businessman. And both times, my good fortune was to have quality people around me. Success is important, there’s no point denying that. But the company you keep is more important. My greatest blessing may be that I have known both.

  Now, past disappointments have all but lost their sting. I’ve made up my earlier losses and recovered in other ways. I can’t say it was easy, or that it happened quickly. In fact, it took a generation to unfold. When I was struggling in Chicago, my sons were just little guys. There is not a father in the world who doesn’t want to do the best he can for his kids. The thrill of victory means more when you share it with those you care about—but then, the bitterness of disappointment tastes that much worse when you have to share that with those you love.

  Now, though, there are kids in my life again. When you talk about thrills in life, I suppose I’ve experienced my share as a hockey player. But the most overwhelming joy I’ve known is not winning a Stanley Cup or any individual award. I’m talking about the absolute thrill I’ve experienced in becoming a grandparent. There is no way to describe the feeling of holding a grandson or granddaughter, to see the looks on their faces and watch them grow. Many people tried to tell me about the joys of being a grandparent before it happened for Peggy and me, but I always assumed they were exaggerating. I understand them now, because I’m one of those fanatics who carries pictures of both my grandkids everywhere I go. It is, without question, the thrill of a lifetime to have someone call you Grandpa.

  Eleven

  STATE OF THE GAME

  I joined the National Hockey League in an era that included legends like Gordie Howe and Jean Béliveau on the ice, Punch Imlach and Harry Sinden off the ice, and Foster Hewitt and Danny Gallivan above the ice. It was a six-team league when I started, but by the time I finished, the league had expanded to eighteen—and it’s nearly double that now. Back then, guys made a very good working-class salary playing the game. Now third-line players are millionaires. At a glance, it would seem that it’s a different game.

  But it’s not. What makes hockey great—what makes a team great, or an individual player, or a specific game—is no different today from what it was when I was a kid. You win by skating. You win by controlling the puck. You win by standing your ground. One key ingredient binds all these together and ultimately determines success or failure. Passion. That is something that doesn’t change over the course of a career. It doesn’t change from generation to generation. Many times over the years, I have seen how passion can change a game or a series. I’ve seen careers built on it, teams built around it. When you’ve got it, you can do anything. When you don’t, you’ll be lucky to get anywhere at all, even with all the talent and coaching and dry-land training in the world.

  Like most kids, when I started skating at age three or four, it was just for the pleasure of being on the ice. I’m told my first game of organized hockey was at age five, though I have to admit I can’t remember it. But what I do remember is how much enjoyment skating and playing hockey brought me almost instantly. There wasn’t a day that went by when I wouldn’t somehow find my way to the ice. Those long hours skating during those co
ld, dark days of winter instilled in me something I couldn’t do without. They turned me into who I am. I was shaped not by what anyone else wanted me to be. I was shaped by my own passion.

  There is no question in my mind that any success I enjoyed in hockey can be traced back to that passion. It is a simple word but a very important concept in all aspects of life. I’ve heard it said that if you really want to be a successful parent, you should just find out what your children have a passion for and then back them in that area. Maybe that’s easier said than done, depending on what the passion might be, but the parents who stifle their kids’ passion are going to find life even harder.

  Too often, I see talented players have their passion slowly drained from them as their life in athletics becomes what can only be described as a means to an end. Some get it taken from them early, and we never get to see the player they might have become. Too many simply walk away from the game. How do they end up in that state of mind? Whenever I have an opportunity to meet leaders in a profession or business, I always hear the same kinds of stories and philosophies about what got them to the top. They talk about getting up each morning and heading to the office, or rink or ball field or whatever, and making a conscious decision to try to be at the top of their game. Fortunately for me, no one took away any of my passion for hockey.

  That kind of attitude doesn’t mean you are never going to make mistakes. It doesn’t even mean you’ll achieve a personal best every day. That’s not very likely. But if you try, the negatives are going to be outweighed by the positive things you accomplish. If you can do that, your passion won’t just propel you along. It will make everyone around you better as well. That is one of the indescribable things about being on a team fueled by passion. When every guy in the room is inspiring everyone else, there is almost nothing you can’t do.

  That passion is the constant in the game, and that’s why hockey hasn’t really changed. The arrival of composite sticks and mandatory helmets doesn’t change anything fundamental. In fact, so little has changed that the player I admired most when I was a kid is the fellow I admire most today: Gordie Howe.

  There have been many players before him, and many players since, that fans might argue were better than Mr. Hockey. Here’s all I can say, having played against him. If you wanted to play a finesse game, he had world-class skill. The numbers don’t lie: Gordie finished in the top five of all scorers in the league for twenty years in a row. Nothing could stop him. He could control the puck in traffic. He had a deadly shot from anywhere in the offensive zone. So he could beat you with skill, no question. And if you wanted to play a grinding game, he was built like an ox and could make his living patrolling the side boards in every area of the rink. Similarly, if you wanted to rough it up, he was happy to oblige. (He used to say he considered himself a religious player in that he felt it was always better to give than to receive.)

  He had the whole package. Basically, he could play any style of game you wanted, on any given night, and play that style better than you. How do you top that? In addition, Gordie was able to do something I never could, and that was stay healthy in a very physical sport for a very long time. It’s not as if he played around the edges and avoided corners in order to keep his health. We all know what a warrior he was, so when you add his longevity to his impressive list of abilities, he is clearly the one player who stands above the rest. Have there been guys with softer hands? Probably. Have there been better skaters? Maybe. But has anyone played with a more powerful, more sustained passion for the game? No. After his career, Gordie has remained loved by his fans because of the kind of man he is and the values he stands for. There will never be another one like him. It was a privilege to face him as an opponent, and I count it as one of my life’s great honors to be able to call him a friend.

  It’s more than just friendship, though. To me, Gordie Howe represents all that is good about our game. I don’t want to sound like one of those old-timers who always looks back nostalgically at the game and assumes everything was better in the old days. Certainly, there are many aspects of hockey that time and experience have helped shape and improve. There is no doubt that, for the most part, guys shoot the puck harder these days. For the most part, and for a number of reasons, the games are faster. Goalies are more athletic. It’s fair to assume that the average player is bigger, stronger, and in many cases more skillful. Players are generally better coached than they were back then. They are in better shape. We cannot discount those facts.

  Having said that, I think it’s fair to ask if all of this adds up to make hockey better. From a purely personal point of view, I have to wonder if any coach today would let me play the style of game I was comfortable playing during my time in the league. Today, so many defensemen are told, beginning at a very early age, that the only smart play to get the puck out of the zone is the simplest play. Don’t take risks. Just chip the puck off the glass and out. For me, that is just boring.

  Sure, modern players may have better conditioning than their predecessors, but they are hardly ever on the ice for more than forty seconds. They may have impressive skills, but for the most part they are forbidden to make anything but the safest play. While coaches might be better at their craft, they may have helped shape the game in a way that isn’t always for the better. Think of the number of times you watch a game and for long stretches nothing really happens. The games I watch today tend to be played in tight spaces along the boards, where there is less risk of a turnover. There is little or no emphasis on creativity, because, above all else, the game is about systems.

  There are two things I think may be stifling the game. First, I keep hearing from people close to hockey that the size of the contracts players are signing has fundamentally changed the game. If you give someone everything he wants, the reasoning goes, you have taken away his motivation. And if that contract is “long term and guaranteed,” it affects the attitude a player brings to the rink. At first, I resisted this notion, because I couldn’t bring myself to believe that a professional player wouldn’t want to be the very best he could be, night in and night out. Not just for himself and his own pride, but for his teammates, the fans, and everyone else associated with his organization. But the more you examine the idea that money can change a player’s attitude, the more the evidence starts to present itself.

  When I know what a player is capable of yet only see it every third or fourth game, it concerns me. When I see a player doing very little for a prolonged period, then suddenly have a “career year” as his contract is about to be renegotiated, that sends up some red flags. I watch a lot of hockey, and I see a lot of ups and downs. I suppose the logical question to ask is, “If it isn’t the money that has changed attitudes, what is it?”

  I can’t speak for everyone, and there’s no way I would accuse a whole generation of players. I work with some real warriors, who play through pain, who stick up for their teammates when it would be easier to skate away, who would carry their teams on their backs if they could. That’s the way it should be. That’s the way that hockey players are. Still, I do sometimes wonder whether, overall, there is the same urgency in the game that there used to be. Understand one thing: the amount athletes make today doesn’t bother me in the least. What concerns me is whether they earn it every night.

  The second point to consider involves the fundamentals surrounding the game. The reality is, for the huge majority of young players, there will never be a paycheck from hockey or the possibility of a spot on the Olympic team. The numbers are overwhelming. Putting kids into hockey in order to make them into millionaires is a bad investment—not just because the odds are against you, but because hockey is not an investment.

  I’ve been asked many times what my most special memories of hockey are. Certainly, there are a few easily identifiable ones from my time in Boston, but if I was forced to single out one specific thing, it would undoubtedly be those days skating and playing as a child. It is no exaggerati
on to say that those hours on the ice in Parry Sound are every bit as precious as my happiest hours with the Bruins. No parent can guarantee their kids the joy of winning a Stanley Cup, but they can guarantee them the opportunity to find their passion for play.

  Mine are the kind of memories that I wish for every child who laces up a pair of skates, because it is in those times that we learn our passion for the game. Unfortunately, many people don’t get to hold on to a passion like that. How many folks go to work every day and hate what they are doing? I am not so naïve to think we can all drop what we are doing in order to pursue a lifelong passion. But I do wonder why anyone would want to turn childhood into preparation for a job.

  My two sons never really got into hockey as kids, but they were certainly active in other sports, whether it was baseball, soccer, or football. As their parents, Peggy and I both watched as Darren and Brent gained valuable experiences through their time in minor sports. I never pushed them into anything, but I didn’t want them to miss out on the kind of people they would meet playing on teams, or the lessons that would serve them well into adulthood. I fear that not all children involved in minor sports can say the same thing.

  As a former player, and as someone who is still close to the game, I meet some truly fantastic people. But I do wonder why some kids take up the game in the first place, and why some people decide to become coaches in minor hockey. Most of the time, the answer is easy. A lot of people love the game the same way I always have. But sometimes it’s not as obvious. Sometimes kids don’t seem drawn to the game the way my friends and I were. Sometimes they seem pushed into it. And in my view, if a kid has to be pushed into hockey, he might as well be playing something else. He or she might want to play another sport. Or maybe it’s music. Or drama. What’s important is that kids are doing something they love and that they are with their friends.