Living a Legacy

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Justin Vaive was a standout in his four years as a RedHawk. The son of NHL veteran Rick Vaive had to find his own legacy at Miami playing for Coach Enrico Blasi.

By Hannah Miller

Escaping from their locker room as if it were ablaze, they fly onto the ice, a blur of red and white. The fire extinguishers below their bench send smoke cascading out ahead of them—as if they were in the clouds. The blades of their skates crash onto the frozen surface, forceful and graceful at the same time. All twenty players in unison, with their long playoff hair flowing behind them, skate the final pregame warm-up laps and assemble in a line at the mouth of their goal.

The fans join in as the familiar tune of “The Star Spangled Banner” fills the arena… O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave… Cheers surge onto the ice, a nervous excitement palpable throughout the building, as the dimmed-lights return to full-force and the players disperse from their line, grab their helmets and get set for the face-off. This is it. Game time.

Number 22 on the RedHawks stands out. His hulking 6'6” frame, gaining a few inches in full equipment, is packed with 225 pounds of well-trained muscle. His size is unmatched by anyone else on the ice. His thick, brown hair grazing his shoulders peeks out under his helmet, and his piercing ice-blue eyes tear into his opponents—just like his dad's. His nameplate reads "Vaive," a name dripping in hockey history.

Up from the Miami bench, in the last row of the stands, sits Rick Vaive, watching his son Justin take the ice in the final home game of his collegiate career. Four years have flown by since Justin's skates first cut into the freshly-zambonied ice in Steve Cady Arena at the Goggin Ice Center. Rick casually talks to his wife Joyce, reliving the memories, constantly approached by adoring fans.

Rick's hair, now silver but once a chocolate brown, has the same thickness and flow of his son’s. His eyes flash the same intense blue. He is tall, too; at 6'1" he towers over many of the other dads from the team. "I wish I had his size when I was playing," Rick says, to no one in particular. "He'll need to put on 15 or 20 more pounds at the next level, though."

Joyce sits quietly next to her husband, nervous but smiling. Her long blond hair falls far past her shoulders and her face is creased from her warm smile. Her high, prominent cheekbones look just like her son’s. Spending her life in a rink—Joyce was constantly supporting her husband and her sons—her thin body is used to the cold. Joyce stands at 5’8”, height running through this family. She is wearing a gold necklace with a lone diamond pendant: "22," the number first worn by her husband, always worn by her son.

The shriek of the referee's whistle calls the players into the face-off formation with the game ready to start. With the drop of the puck, the game has begun. Sixty minutes on the clock separate Justin from his final departure from Steve Cady Arena.

Watching his son jump over the boards, into his first shift of the fast-paced game, Rick feels a tinge of sadness, knowing how much his son loves this place. As his eyes closely follow Justin, Rick is reminded of his own playing days.

• ···

A native of Ottawa, Ontario, Rick grew up playing hockey. Just as he turned nineteen, he was signed as an underage free agent by the Birmingham Bulls of the World Hockey Association (WHA). After a single season in Birmingham, with a merger between the NHL and the WHA pending, Rick was selected as the fifth-overall pick of the 1979 NHL draft by the Vancouver Canucks. He was traded halfway through his first season to the Toronto Maple Leafs. Once he was in Toronto, Rick’s career took off. In the next seven seasons with the Maple Leafs, Rick demonstrated his prolific offensive abilities, scoring at least 30 goals each year.

On June 6, 1981, one year into his NHL career, Rick married Joyce, his high-school sweetheart. Joyce, a teacher, was busy with her own career, but became immersed in the NHL lifestyle. Spitting statistics and hockey slang, Joyce fit right in to the culture of the sport.

In his first full season as a Leaf, Rick scored a franchise-record 54 goals, becoming the first player in franchise history to register more than 50 goals. Upon achieving this scoring record, Rick was named captain of the team, just a few months after his 23^rd birthday. He served as captain until 1986.

In the next two seasons, 1982-1983 and 1983-1984, Rick contributed 51 and 52 goals, respectively, amassing 261 points in three seasons. While with the Leafs, Rick scored a total of 299 goals and 238 assists in 534 games, averaging just above a point per game.

At the start of the 1985-1986 season, Rick had new responsibilities at home. On October 25, 1985, Rick and Joyce welcomed their first son Jeff to the family. With a new off-ice routine—changing diapers, late-night caretaking, pushing strollers—Rick maintained his on-ice abilities, contributing 64 points to the Leafs that year. In order to take care of Jeff, Joyce gave up teaching, staying home with her newborn.

Following the 1986-1987 season, Rick was traded to the Chicago Blackhawks where his productive scoring continued. Although he was frustrated to leave Toronto, marking one of the most difficult times of his career, he worked hard in Chicago. The following year, Rick managed to score 31 goals, even though he was traded, yet again, halfway through the season. This time Rick and Joyce were headed to Buffalo, N.Y. where Rick was to become a member of the Buffalo Sabres.

In his first half-season with the Sabres, Rick notched 32 points. In the off-season, on July 8, 1989, Joyce gave birth to the couple’s second son, Justin.

As Jeff and Justin grew up, Rick dedicated himself to fostering relationships with his sons while also focusing on his professional career. Joyce toted the kids back and forth to the rink for almost all of Rick’s home games, sometimes every other night—Jeff and Justin didn’t want to miss a second of their dad’s final NHL season. From October until April, the Vaives spent their evenings in the stiff-backed chairs in Buffalo Memorial Auditorium—the Aud. The young boys, bundled in “Vaive” jerseys, chatted with excitement in the backseat during each trip to the arena.  Jeff, seven years old at the time, was starting to understand the game on a more tactical level; Justin, recently three, had other things on his mind during Rick’s games. 

While he sat in the stands with the game about to start, Justin always got nervous—he knew what happened next. Then, he saw it: the terrifying Sabretooth, rappelling from the rafters. The Sabres mascot, a saber-toothed tiger wearing a Buffalo Sabres jersey, scared the daylight out of Justin. Joyce was used to her young child tensing up at the sight of the beast, so she grabbed Justin’s hand and lead him out to the main concourse area, up the stairs to the safety of the concessions. With popcorn erasing all thoughts of the mascot, Joyce and Justin would return to their seats just in time for the puck drop.

During the season, Rick traveled with the team for days at a time, leaving Joyce at home with their two young boys. By the end of the longer trips, Rick could hardly wait to get home to his family.

Jeff and Justin, growing rapidly, always waited excitedly for Rick to get home. He walked in the door, set down his bags and braced himself. The two boys were racing around the house, as usual, and Rick knew it wasn’t long until they would be careening into him. They begged their dad to play and to wrestle every time he returned home from a road trip. Tugging on his arms and his clothes, Jeff and Justin were the best welcoming party—one to which Rick never said no. He loved having his boys awaiting his arrival, the perfect distraction from difficulties at work.

“It was always nice, because it was tough playing and coaching, to come home and have these little—well I shouldn’t say little because they were never little,” Rick says, smiling. “It was always nice to come home to that and interact with them.”

On the ice, Rick was growing increasingly frustrated. Playing in twenty games with the Sabres in the first part of the season, he was benched halfway through. At just 31 years old, Rick knew he had another three or four seasons in him. He went to Sabres management and asked to be traded, searching for the opportunity to get back on the ice. When his request was denied, he opted to play with the Sabres affiliate in the American Hockey League (AHL), the feeder league for the NHL. Forced to play at a lower level if he wanted to stay in the game, Rick hit the low of his career. Filled with disappointment in his final season, Rick retired from playing, leaving his legacy behind.

Some dreams went unfulfilled. Never winning an NHL Championship and missing 500 goals by just a few are the only dark spots in his otherwise brilliant campaign in the professional leagues.

Rick transitioned into coaching where he found a similar success. Starting in the 1993-1994 season, Rick was named the head coach for the South Carolina Stingrays of the East Coast Hockey League (ECHL). In five seasons with the Stingrays, Rick compiled a record of 201-105-40, leading his team to the playoffs each year. In his final season with the Stingrays, 1997-1998, Rick led the team to both a regular season championship and a playoff championship, marking the first time a team in the league had won both in the same season.

In South Carolina, as in Buffalo, Jeff and Justin couldn’t get enough time at the rink. Going to practices and watching their dad work made the brothers want to participate. Rick allowed his sons onto the clean ice as soon as practice was over.

Jeff had started skating at Justin’s age and was already a pro when Justin first laced up his skates. Jeff stepped onto the ice as if it was the same surface as in the lobby. Justin paused—reluctant at the open door of the benches. Rick grabbed the best crutch he could think of—a folding chair stacked against the boards. He propped it open, set it in front of Justin and gently eased his son onto the ice. With a white-knuckle grip, Justin held the back of the chair, hesitantly pushing one foot in front of the other. After a few laps, Justin’s confidence grew. He started skating without the chair and never looked back.

While Rick was in the thick of his career, Joyce, Jeff and Justin moved around the United States and Canada, willingly traveling whenever a new coaching job or playing opportunity arose. By the time he turned eleven, Justin had moved four times. The Vaives eventually settled in Oakville, a suburb of Toronto.

• ···

Sitting in Starbucks, with their son’s final home game as a RedHawk only a few hours away, Rick and Joyce reminisce about Justin’s childhood, thinking back as far as when they first laced up his skates.

 “He was always bigger than the other kids,” says Joyce with a smile, staring into the past. “He was so far off the charts that the doctors joked that they didn’t even have charts big enough for him!”

A big body is crucial for any athlete in today’s game. Rick knows that. But even with his son’s size and his own recent professional career, Rick had no intention of forcing the game of hockey on either of his children.

When Rick started playing hockey, it was not much of a choice, more of an expectation. Everybody played hockey in Canada—it was the way of life made possible by the frozen landscape of the north. But Justin grew up far from Canada, removed from the pervasive hockey culture. In the warm-weather state of South Carolina, it was no surprise that a youth hockey program had not been well-developed.

The first year the Vaives were in South Carolina, Rick asked Justin if he wanted to play, but when Justin said no, Rick didn’t push it any further.  The next year, just after Justin turned four, Rick no longer had to ask. Justin, sporting a Transformers t-shirt and an early-90s bowl hair cut, walked into his dad’s office at the rink. Justin, with a smile that displayed the small gap between his two front baby teeth, said, “Dad, I want to play hockey.”

Rick and Joyce smile at the memory of Justin’s first season of organized hockey. They sit quietly in the moment of the past, sipping at their black coffee—the way they both like it. “When he first got on the ice, he didn’t move,” Joyce says. “He just stood there, holding his stick in a funny way—he didn’t know how to hold it.”

Joyce stands up in the Oxford coffee shop, imitating her now massive son as a four-year-old. She sticks out her hips, wobbling, with her hands held in front of her as if holding a hockey stick. She tilts back her head, staring off, acting confused. She starts laughing, drawing a smile from her husband.

“That whole first year, he just stood there, holding his stick, looking around, waving at us,” Rick remembers, looking through his Georgio Armani glasses as if they the hold images of their young son. “I wasn’t disappointed. It was hilarious actually.”

After his first season on the ice, Justin and his older brother Jeff spent their summer playing roller hockey in their South Carolina cul-de-sac. Through the long days of intense heat, the young brothers couldn’t get enough of this new and captivating game. Late into the night, Joyce could hear the clack and rumble of skates on the pavement.

The skills Justin acquired during the summer of 1993 transformed his game. “The next season, when he got on the ice, it was completely different. He wouldn’t stop carrying the puck. He kind of took off,” Rick says, putting a pouch of Skoal Mint chewing tobacco in his lower lip—yet another habit he has passed on to Justin.

Rick and Joyce get up from their table, finishing their last sips of coffee. Joyce is hurrying to meet up with the other team moms to finish the photo collages for all of the senior players with pictures from their four years at Miami. The last home game starts in seven hours, and all the parents want to grab a drink or two before the game starts, so they don’t have much time.

• ···

 As Justin grew up, he became increasingly immersed in the world of hockey. Standing out on the teams he played for—both because of his size and his skill—Justin was becoming one of the best players in his age group. He played on elite teams in the Greater Toronto Hockey League, often with guys who have gone on to NHL careers. 

The Vaives moved from South Carolina to New Brunswick and at last settled in Oakville, Ontario. Once they were back in hockey country, in the city where Rick was cherished during his years with the Maple Leafs, Justin was able to play hockey at a level he had never before experienced.

In Toronto, Justin got used to grinning strangers constantly approaching his father anywhere the family went—out to dinner, to a movie. People always asked for autographs or praised Rick on his career. Even when people wouldn’t walk right up to the family, Justin and Jeff could always hear people whispering, “Look, that’s Rick Vaive.”

 Justin worked diligently both in-season and in the off-season, convincing Rick, by the time he turned 11, that he was capable of someday making hockey a career. He completed religious off-ice workouts, lifting and training with a seemingly endless supply of energy. Rick thought to himself, “This kid is driven.” He would joke about how he got sore simply watching Justin.

When Justin turned 15, he was faced with one of the biggest decisions of his life. In order to make an NHL career even remotely possible, Justin and Rick knew that Justin needed to start playing at the highest level available. Justin had two options: play in the Canadian juniors hockey system, or travel to Ann Arbor to play for the United States Team Development Program. While trying to decide which option was best, Rick and Justin sat down together with two pieces of paper: one page for the USTDP and one for the Canadian juniors. On each page, they made a list of the pros and cons of each program.

It came down to one thing: education. Justin understood that staying in school trumped all of the other pros and cons he and his dad had discussed. Rick stayed out of the decision, allowing Justin to navigate his future on his own. Justin chose the USTDP—meaning he had to leave home before the start of the next season.

At age 16, Justin packed up and headed across the border on his own. Back in the U.S., Justin lived with a host family—the Evoys—in Ann Arbor, Michigan. His host parents Dave and Cindy welcomed Justin with open arms—a new addition to their trio of children Samantha, Hayley and Ross. The Evoys were the perfect family for Justin to live with while he played on his new team. Justin was perfect for them, too. Their young son’s interest in hockey grew by the day, and Justin was able to fill the role of big brother for Ross, giving him a role model and a live-in buddy.

The Vaives were now empty-nesters, having sent Jeff off to college in Nova Scotia and Justin, their baby, to Michigan. Rick and Joyce knew Justin was in good hands with the Evoys. He was going to be just fine. But, when Justin left home that year, Rick saw his son grow up very quickly—he wasn’t a kid anymore.

“That was tough,” Rick admits. “There was this void in our house. Our house was always livelier when he was around because he was always joking around and upbeat.”

Justin knows it was difficult for his parents—if he had played juniors he would have stayed at home—but they all agreed that this was the best option because of the opportunity to pair hockey with school.

So with their baby gone, Rick and Joyce piled in the car almost every weekend to see Justin play. They made countless trips to Ann Arbor for games and also traveled around the Midwest to the places Justin’s team traveled. Admitting it was a little crazy, Rick estimated adding 50,000 miles on their car that year.

While Justin was in Ann Arbor, colleges all over the country had him on their radar. The four front-runners, in Justin’s mind, were Miami, Notre Dame, Cornell and Wisconsin. After paying visits to all of the schools, and throughout discussions with the coaches and the staff and the other teammates there, Justin realized Miami was right for him.

Scheduled to leave on a college visit the next day, Justin sat down with Rick. “Do you really want to go on this visit, Justin?” Rick asked, knowing his son was close to a decision. “To tell you the truth, Dad, I have already made up my mind. I’ve decided.” So he picked up the phone and called Coach Enrico “Rico” Blasi, the head ice hockey coach at Miami University.

In April of his senior year, after committing to Miami, Justin, along with 13 of his teammates and 10 other players from around the country, headed to Sweden for the Under-18 World Championships. One team from the U.S., one from Canada, and teams from all of the European countries met in this Scandinavian hub where the best players in the world, in this age group, competed for 16 days on an international stage.

Justin put on an incredible performance in the tournament—finishing in the top three in scoring on his team with current NHL mainstays James vanRiemsdyk and Steven Stamkos. With scouts flocking to the tournament, Justin’s chances in the upcoming NHL draft were improving with each game. His team played Latvia, Germany, Canada and Sweden in the preliminary rounds, and received a first-round bye in the quarterfinals. In the semifinals, the U.S. team downed Slovakia, but in the finals they lost to Russia before heading back to the States.

• ···

Side-by-side in Steve Cady Arena, Rick and Joyce sit quietly following each play of the Miami versus Alaska game. The occasional offensive rush or defensive stop triggers additional alertness. Rick stiffens as the puck sails into the goalie’s glove.

Miami wins the ensuing faceoff and one RedHawk maneuvers skillfully around the Alaska opponent. “Nice toe drag,” Joyce comments quietly.  

With countless hours of playing and coaching and watching behind him, Rick can’t help but analyze each aspect of the game. “This defense is tough because they collapse in the middle, so unless you’re using quick short passes, you’re not going to create much offense,” Rick notes.

Rick sits up, focusing intently on the player at center ice. Andy, Miami’s most prolific scorer, is skating in towards Alaska’s goal. Within 16 seconds of the second period beginning, Andy skates to the stick-side of the goalie and rockets a shot that goes bar-down to give the RedHawks a one-goal lead. Rick’s eyes wander from the on-ice celebration to the players on the bench. Justin is on his feet, celebrating and congratulating his teammates on the bench. Rick smiles, knowing how valuable his son’s attitude is for the other players on the team.

“I feel bad for Justin,” Rick says to his wife. “He’s back on fourth line for whatever reason. He’s played the best this season of all four years. It’s not even about points, he’s just played really well this year.”

Justin jumps over the boards and into the action in front of him, ready for his shift. He finds the puck in the corner and sends it towards his line-mate waiting just outside the crease.

“Come on, Justin,” Rick says hopefully. “Ohhh.” He exhales as Justin’s pass ricochets off the stick of his teammate and gets picked up by the Alaska forward set to take off down the ice.

• ···

June 23, 2007 started like any other day for Justin. He rolled out of bed—a little earlier than usual, just in case—he brushed his teeth, and took a quick shower. It was summer—the best time of the year. It meant no school, no practice, and hours upon hours of video games with Jeff. Since Justin was sixteen when he left home, he and Jeff only spent time together in the off-season when hockey and school were on hold. This quality bonding time was well-spent with a seemingly endless supply of sports games and fighting games on their Nintendo GameCube. Even when the brothers were apart, they would compete with each other, online, through their favorite video games, maintaining a closeness as if they lived under the same roof—or at least in the same country. 

Justin sauntered into the kitchen, on his way to the basement where Jeff was waiting with the GameCube cued-up, ready for action. In the kitchen, Joyce stood at the stove, cooking bacon and eggs, a standard meal in the Vaive household.

After a quick bite to eat, Justin headed downstairs, collapsed into a well-used leather recliner and picked up a controller that would be glued to his palms for the next few hours. Jeff grabbed his controller, too—game on.

No one had seen Rick yet on this particular morning, but everyone knew exactly where he was. Up with the sun, Rick had his eyes fastened to the computer screen in his upstairs office since dawn. He was tracking the NHL Draft since it had begun nearly twelve hours before. The first round was on TV and they all watched it together. Rounds two through seven were the following day, and Rick knew this was it.

Hosted in Columbus, at Nationwide Arena, it was the 45^th National Hockey League Entry Draft. Rick was plagued with a nagging feeling that he should have been in that building with Justin that day. The two of them had been at Miami, for Justin’s orientation session, Tuesday through Thursday earlier in the week. Rick wanted badly to stay in Ohio and make the quick trip to Columbus from Oxford for the event. But, because Justin was expected to be taken later in the Draft, ranked by scouts as 184^th of North American skaters, his adviser suggested they not go. Justin said he was ready to get home anyway, so Rick packed up the car and they drove back to Toronto.

Back at home, Rick couldn’t shake the feeling that skipping the draft was a huge mistake. He thought back to when he was drafted into the NHL in 1979, and he remembered that he had received a simple phone call inviting him to play for Vancouver. No flashy draft, no exciting build-up, just a phone call. Maybe it was a moment of wanting to live vicariously through his son, maybe it was because he thought Justin would be chosen higher than predicted, or maybe he just wanted Justin to have the full experience, no regrets. Whatever it was, Rick knew he should have been at the 2007 NHL Draft.

Instead, he was stuck at home, watching each pick pop-up on the NHL’s website. They listed the name of the team, gave the team’s management five minutes on the clock, and listed the name of the player that had been selected. Riveting.

The first thirty players selected in the second round were announced, picks numbered thirty-one through sixty-one. The third round began; picks sixty-two through ninety-one were taken. The fourth round started.

Deep into the world of “Super Smash Bros.” with Jeff, Justin had hardly thought about the Draft. He was lost in the game, focused on making his Dr. Mario character win battles over Jeff’s Captain Falco. Every once in a while, Rick would hurry down the stairs with the news that one of Justin’s current or former teammates had been selected. “vanRiemsdyk to the Flyers.” “Shattenkirk to the Avalanche.” “Cohen to the Avalanche.” Justin sent a quick text to each of his former teammates as they were selected.

All of the sudden, just after noon, Jeff and Justin heard a crash upstairs, followed by thunderous, rushed footsteps. The boys glanced up from their game to see Rick flying down the stairs.  

"Turn on the TV! Turn on the TV!” he screamed to his boys. Joyce followed her crazed husband down the stairs. Justin grabbed the remote and flipped to NHL Network. On a live ticker-tape feed, sure enough, there it was. The first pick of the fourth round: “Justin Vaive, 92^nd Overall, Anaheim Ducks.”

Almost immediately, their phones started ringing off-the-hook. Their house phone rang: it was the Ducks. Justin’s cell phone lit up with text messages and calls from teammates and friends. Rick’s phone was buzzing like crazy—old teammates and family members. It was chaotic, but unbelievably exciting.

Rick looks back at that moment, joy in his eyes. “I just remember being so happy, first of all that he got drafted and second because it was a lot higher than he was expected to, and that I was right because I like to be right. Dad always likes to be right,” He says with a smile.

The warmth of the memory fades quickly from his tone. “Then there was the disappointment in myself that I wasn’t there with him at the Draft. I started kicking myself for not taking him. I knew that I went against my better judgment, and I regret that. It would have been a wonderful day for him and an amazing day for me. I’m still disappointed to this day,” he says almost four years later.

But in that moment, on June 23, for the first time in Justin’s life, it hit him that he might be able to follow in his father’s footsteps. Being drafted was the first step towards reaching every youth hockey player’s dream of making it to the NHL, and it had just happened for Justin.

• ··

Resting in the hard, red seats surrounding the ice at Goggin, Rick locks his eyes on the action as the third period begins. He likes to sit in the last row, away from the other parents. He just likes to watch. That’s how it has always been. Even when Justin and Jeff were young, Rick secluded himself from the other parents, immersing himself in the movements of his boys. He never wanted to coach them for that reason: it’s hard to watch and coach at the same time—he always preferred simply watching.

At a break in play, Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock N’ Roll” seeps from the speakers. Mindlessly, with a Skoal Mint pouch hidden in his lower lip, the lyrics spill from Rick’s mouth. He furrows his eyebrows, discontent with an on-ice decision, and to Joyce, says, “The faceoff should be at center ice because it was a missed call.” She nods in agreement.

Suddenly Justin picks up the puck at center ice, skating expertly along the boards. Even with his size, his movements are swift and graceful. He stickhandles into the RedHawks’ offensive zone, and dishes a pass to Cook, one of the team’s freshman—the veteran to the rookie.

Cook skates across the front of the crease to the Alaska goaltender’s far side and drops the puck into the slot where RedHawk teammate Patty is waiting, unmanned. Patty rips a shot that beats the goalie and whips into the netting in the back of the goal. All at once, the fans spring to their feet, celebrating the Miami goal. Rick stands with Joyce and watches Justin as he joins the huddle of teammates on the ice, congratulating each other for their success. Rick knows what Justin is feeling—he’s been there so many times. 

Rick and Joyce wait to hear their son’s name over the PA, announcing his assist on the play. “Miami goal scored by number 12 Pat Tieeeessssliiing, assisted by number 19 Max Cooook.” No Justin? What about number 22? Worry replaces anticipation in Joyce’s eyes. “He really should have the assist on that one,” Joyce says. “They must have missed it,” Rick replies.

The lost assist wasn’t all that Rick had on his mind. “He hasn’t been getting much ice time lately,” Rick continues, lost in thought. “I’m sad for him—I’m sure he’s sad. It’s hard for a guy his size to sit for 10 or 12 minutes and then go in and do anything. But he went out and did his job. He played hard.”

The excitement of the goal subsides, and Rick and Joyce sink back into their seats. The game engulfs their thoughts as the period nears its halfway point.

• ···

The mid-August heat vanished, replaced by the crisp air of the rink within seconds of stepping inside. A gigantic RedHawk logo, suspended on the wall opposite the doors, was an inviting yet intimidating symbol. That RedHawk would be Justin’s identity for the next four years. He was welcomed into the Brotherhood in his first few weeks on campus, meeting his coaches and teammates and learning their expectations.

The Brotherhood—a simple nickname for the team to the outsider—represented far more than a moniker to the players under its umbrella. It was a lifestyle, a commitment, and a highly valued phrase for each member. It was a symbol of the highest achievements and actions both on and off the ice, and it is expected to be upheld by each member of the Miami hockey family.

Justin, as he had for his entire life, entered his Miami career, pushing himself to his limits. He dedicated himself to his team, his conditioning, his skills and his schoolwork. He selected a sports studies major and a management and organizations minor, but his real major at Miami was going to be hockey.

Every day he would head to the rink a little before two in the afternoon, finally leaving the Goggin sometime after five. A few hours on the ice, some dry-land conditioning and a review of films from other teams were his focus for the day. On game days, there was a mid-morning skate and then he was expected to arrive back at the rink around four for a seven o’clock game.

Before he headed to the rink, Justin, dressed in his freshly-pressed suit paired with an orange tie, parked his black BMW SUV outside of Starbucks to pick up a cup of coffee. He wanted a quick boost of caffeine before he took the ice; meanwhile his dad sat with a cup of coffee in the stands as he waited for each game.

In his first season as a RedHawk, Justin scored three goals and tallied seven assists. He had a power-play goal and a game-winner for Miami that season. But he understood that he wasn’t expected to fill the role of a prolific scorer, unlike his father. Justin was a physical presence for the ’Hawks as soon as he stepped on the ice. His size and his strength proved invaluable for the team, protecting his teammates and creating momentum for the Brotherhood. The RedHawks won the regular season championship in Justin’s first season, just a taste of the success he would experience in the next three years.

In his sophomore season, Justin notched six goals and six assists for the RedHawks, and his presence and leadership on the team became increasingly valuable. Justin’s ice time at Miami was lower than he was used to in lower levels, and Rick noticed some disappointment in his son. Justin never talked about his frustration, always keeping it to himself. But Rick knew. “He never talks bad about anyone involved with the team. He just goes and does his job,” Rick says. “I admire that in him. I sure as hell couldn’t do it.”

In his sophomore season, the team found incredible success, riding a hot goalie and tremendous play in the post-season. The RedHawks faced-off against the Boston University Terriers in the 2009 College Hockey National Championship. The Terriers defeated the RedHawks, claiming the program’s fifth national title and sending the RedHawks home broken-hearted.  

As a junior, Justin only missed one game all season, and he scored eight points on the year, five goals and three assists. In the final two games of the regular season, Justin scored the game-winning goal each night. Halfway through the season, on February 5, the Brotherhood lost one of their own. Brendan Burke, the team’s student manager was killed in a car accident.

During that night’s game, against Lake Superior State, Rick was the first to hear the news. He rushed down to the locker room from the stands, pulling Coach Blasi aside. With the somber news and a heavy heart, Rico returned to his bench to coach his players to a 2-0 victory. Afterwards, in the locker room, Rico told the team. Stronger together, the players remained at the rink for hours after the game, crying and supporting each other, working through the loss. In one of the most difficult moments of Justin’s time at Miami, he stepped up for his teammates, taking a leadership role and consoling those around him.

In the post-season in April of 2010, the Brotherhood wanted to win for Burkie. The Frozen Four was held at Ford Field in Detroit, MI, and again, it featured the RedHawks. The Eagles erupted offensively, handing the RedHawks a 7-1 loss. Again, the Brotherhood was defeated, heading home without a national title. 

In his final year at Miami, Justin contributed nine goals and seven assists, his most productive season as a ’Hawk. For a significant part of the season Justin was playing on the second line—an accomplishment that made Rick proud. “He’s a great teammate, he will make sacrifices to win, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get to the professional level. He’s done everything he possibly can do to get himself to that level,” Rick says.  

The RedHawks struggled towards the middle of their season but heated up towards the end. Playing as, arguably, one of the best teams in the nation, they were the team to beat. They won the Central Collegiate Hockey Association Championship, bringing home the Mason Cup for the first time in school history. The following week, after taking a one-seed with their victory in the CCHA tournament, the RedHawks traveled to New Hampshire hoping to win a bid to their third Frozen Four in as many years. But, the ’Hawks lost a heartbreaker to the University of New Hampshire Wildcats in a 3-1 decision, ending the RedHawks’ season and Justin’s Miami career.

After Justin’s final season as a ’Hawk, Rick reflects on Justin’s four years, convinced that he made the right decision for college. “He’s grown tremendously in four years especially when he moved out of the dorm,” Rick says. “He learned how to cook—he’s a great cook. When he comes home in the summer, he does all the cooking. My wife and I love it… But he’s grown up as a person; he’s a great kid—well, he’s a man now, not really a kid anymore. He’s grown into a real good young man.” 

• ···

This is the end. One minute remains on the clock. Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight… Rick lifts his coffee cup-turned-spittoon to his lips, his eyes locked on the action on the ice. Joyce, with her hands clasped, stares intently at the Miami bench.

Rico shouts to his players on the ice. One-by-one he pulls off the juniors, the sophomores and the freshmen, leaving only the five graduating seniors—including number 22. Vinny sends the puck across the ice to Miels who quickly taps it to Camps. Patty picks it up at the blue line and finds Justin in the offensive zone. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…

Slowly, each person in the crowd rises. The audience is on its feet, signs interspersed between fans saying “Thank you Seniors,” and “We Love the Seniors.” The scoreboard reads 4-1; the final game at Goggin for this class will be a victory, fitting for one of the winningest classes in school history.

Three, two, one… The final horn sounds. Justin’s last game at the Goggin Ice Center is over. His home for the last four years will soon be empty, and he will never skate in a game on this ice again.

Rick holds Joyce’s delicate hand in his, their shared pride emanating from the smiles on each of their faces. Their son’s team rushes from the benches, enveloping the seniors in a circle of celebration—the Brotherhood, together, headed to the conference championships. The players assemble on the ice, as they always do, in a circle surrounding the center face-off dot. At once, the players raise their sticks above their heads, acknowledging the fans. The sticks come crashing down to the ice in unison; a loud crack resounds through the building.

The RedHawks start to leave the ice—the seniors linger for a few extra seconds, soaking in everything. Elated by the playoff victory, Justin circles the ice once more, stopping at the student section and tapping the glass in a gesture of thanks. Always the last one to leave the ice, Justin waits for his teammates to exit, one-by-one. He finally skates off, head down, disappearing into the tunnel to the locker room. 

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