I have many people to thank. My father, Murray Dryden, who introduced me to the game; my brother, Dave, who showed me the joy of play; our children, Sarah and Michael, who allowed me to be both their parent and playmate. My teammates and opponents, with whom I learned about dreaming, trying, winning and losing, retrying—discovering that there’s always a way. A lifetime of lessons that seemed only to be fun.
I want to thank those who trusted me with Steve’s story. His family—Paul and Donna, Chris and Lindsay. His friends, in hockey and out—Mike Keating, Steve Valiquette, Andy O’Brien, Nick Robinson, Jay Legault, Marty Gélinas, Daniel Carcillo, Hayley Wickenheiser, Gisele Bourgeois, Rhett Warrener, Jamie McLennan, Daniel Tkaczuk, Kevin O’Flaherty, Mike Gardner, Mary and Terry Babcock, Missy Holas, Chantelle Robidoux, Craig Button, Jim Playfair, Joe Nieuwendyk, Jim Donaldson, and many more. They know Steve matters. He got inside all of them. He is inside them still. I want to thank Keith Primeau and Marc Savard, who shared many of Steve’s same experiences and who helped me understand what his life might be like had he lived. Also the doctors and researchers who didn’t know Steve, but who know how much the brain matters—Charles Tator, Karen Johnston, Lili-Naz Hazrati, Alain Ptito, Robert Cantu, and others—who want to see fewer patients, and who want much better lives for those they do see.
I want to thank those who helped make this book happen. Joe Lee and my editor at Signal/McClelland & Stewart, Doug Pepper, and Bruce Westwood at Westwood Creative Artists, all of whom understood the purposes, ambitions, and hopes of the book, and jumped in with both feet. My copy editor, Gemma Wain, who picked up things I had stopped seeing and made saves I could only dream of making. Also Evelyn Armstrong, who transcribed endless hours of interviews, somehow knowing when to end one cluster of words and start a new one.
I want to thank those, too, who were unfailingly encouraging—Dave Dryden, Roy MacGregor, Doug Gibson, John Macfarlane, Dan Diamond, and others—who had to suffer through my early drafts, pretending that what they were reading was worth encouragement. Their effect was beyond measure.
And my wife, Lynda. Lynda is always my first editor. She has in her hands that crucial, initial response—might what she is reading work, or not? Can it be what it needs to be, what I hope it will be, or not? With this book, I knew she would also be my most important editor. I asked her less to note problems and offer suggestions, and more to react to every paragraph she read. This book, above all, is about outrage and hope. Outrage for what is wrong; hope for what can be made right, and how. Lynda, in all of her life, has never for a moment lost, or had diminished, her sense of outrage and hope.
And one more person, whom I don’t know and only saw once. It was about four years ago. He was about eight at the time, our grandson, Hunter, was six, and it was at a pre-season hockey tryout in Connecticut. There were probably thirty kids on the ice, but he was the one who jumped out. He could fly. He could do anything he wanted on his skates. Go in any direction, at any speed, make things up as he was doing them; he looked as if he were having the time of his life. And I was having the time of my life watching him, almost right away imagining what he might do next, what he’d be like at ten or twelve, wondering if he’d grow. And worried, too, almost right away, about what would happen to him when he got hit hard the first time. Not so much the injury he might receive, but whether that would take some of the joy out of him, out of his body, whether he would look different. Skate differently. And also, almost right away, about what would happen to him after his first concussion, because he would almost surely have at least one. What would that do to his brain? To him?
As I was writing this book, he was never not in my head. I hope for him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ken Dryden was a goalie for the Montreal Canadiens in the 1970s, during which time the team won six Stanley Cups. He also played for Team Canada in the 1972 Summit Series. He has been inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame and the Canadian Sports Hall of Fame. He is a former federal member of parliament and cabinet minister, and is the author of five books, including The Game and Home Game (with Roy MacGregor). He and his wife, Lynda, live in Toronto and have two children and four grandchildren.
Ken Dryden, Game Change
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