Dave Poulin: The road to hockey success can be full of surprises. Take heart

In Grade 5, our class was given the Robert Frost classic “The Road Not Taken” to read and interpret. I remember it like it was yesterday. I also remember I had no clue what it was about. None.

I spun something about a guy walking in a forest and received a very average mark. Then I listened in amazement as more scholarly classmates seemed to understand that the poem dealt with choices made, and how our lives would be affected as we made them. Some actually thought they knew what they wanted to “do” and what they wanted to “be.” It was way too complicated for me at the time. Little did I realize that I was already on a road, and it would take me a long way.

I have enjoyed a terrific life in hockey. There was a definite starting point, but the road to today certainly wasn’t straight or perfectly paved, and it wasn’t always clear. But I kept going, and somewhere along the way I learned that the ability to keep going was the single greatest skill I could have.

The importance of sharing my story now comes after yet another derailment of a major event as the Memorial Cup, the Canadian junior hockey championship, was cancelled for the second straight year. There was no other choice, with no season in Ontario and limited schedules in the West and East. Elite 16- to 20-year-olds will miss another opportunity to showcase their skills and develop in hopes of reaching the next level.

Fear runs rampant with lost opportunity, as the pandemic forces yet another bend in the road. That’s true for all sports, but in my world hockey is always closest to home. It’s what I do and what I’ve lived my entire life.

I have heard from many concerned parents over the last year, certain that their child will never fulfil the dream by playing at the highest level because of the year they have missed. I am here to tell you otherwise.

It can still happen. It will just be different. Everyone has had to adjust. How that’s handled moving forward will determine what’s possible. The road was never going to be perfect.

This was my hockey journey, which might help:

Growing up in Timmins, I was a figure skater at the great McIntyre Arena, and didn’t play organized hockey until I moved to the west end of Toronto at nine. Through my youth while playing house league for Erindale, I was tiny and a really good skater — my two most notable traits. I eventually worked my way up to the Metro Toronto Hockey League, or rep hockey as we called it, along with two good friends: Steve and Eddie. We travelled as a line — take one, take all. I was always the smallest and the last to make the team, then went on to lead the league in scoring only to be told I was too small to play at the next level. (For reference, my high school wrestling coach encouraged me to try out, guaranteeing a spot. It was the open spot: 88 pounds.)

At 16, I went back to house league, joined my friends and just played hockey. I spent another year and a half at that level. In retrospect, I likely would never have worn an NHL jersey if I hadn’t.

I learned again just how much I loved the game. And I did grow. All of a sudden I wasn’t the smallest kid anymore. Progressing through the juvenile ranks — yes, I played juvenile — I was invited to join the Tier 2 Junior A Dixie Beehives, where my game continued to improve.

One of the best players on our team was rugged defenceman Billy Shutt, who was also a straight-A student and heavily recruited by NCAA colleges. One day a letter landed in his locker with a big, gold ND emblazoned on the envelope. When he told me he had already decided he was going to Michigan State, I asked if I could have the Notre Dame letter. My cover letter back started with: “Thank you for your interest in me as a hockey player …”

I accepted a scholarship offer to attend Notre Dame within two hours of arriving for my recruiting visit, skipping scheduled visits to five other schools. It wasn’t anything Robert Frost had taught me. It just felt right. At that point I had no intention of playing pro hockey and was simply thrilled that somehow my hockey skills were funding my education at a great school.

I was a very good college player for four years, but never at the truly elite/can’t-miss level and was passed over in consecutive NHL drafts. During my senior year, I landed a job in international sales at Procter and Gamble, one of the most coveted positions coming out of the business school.

Fate intervened once again that spring, however, when I was invited to play in Sweden with Rogle BK. (I convinced Procter and Gamble it would add a great layer to my international sales job — they agreed.)

It was in Sweden that everything clicked. My play accelerated to a level I had never reached before. It was the most important piece of my development to that point, an unscripted move like all the others.

Planning this journey would have been unfathomable. It would have been unrealistic. This wasn’t a viable route to the NHL. Except it was. It was my route.

The Philadelphia Flyers scouted me in Sweden, which opened the door for a 16-game tryout with their AHL affiliate in Portland, Maine. On April 1, 1983, I was called up to play my first NHL game for the Flyers at Maple Leaf Gardens. I scored two goals that night and never looked back.

My loop was complete. The figure skater had become an NHL player. It happened because somehow it was meant to. Hard work, good luck, timing, mentors, support and belief. I kept going.

Your story continues to be written. This chapter has been like no other and there’s no championship to play for, no scouts to see you, and no tangible evidence that you’ve gotten better. Your road was never going to be perfect.

And somewhere along the way I’m sure that “The Road Not Taken” in your story will have its say.

Dave Poulin is a former NHL player, executive and TSN hockey analyst based in Toronto. He is a freelance contributing columnist for the Star. Follow him on Twitter: @djpoulin20