Summer in the hockey business is a special time to take a bit of a break. Time to slow down. Time to read. Time to think. So I have done just that.
One thing that struck me while doing some reading was that I missed doing a bit of writing as well.
It’s been six years since I last wrote for The Hockey Summit Blog. My work life changed, and I simply stopped.
Recently, I went back and read my last post from November 18, 2020. (See below.)
It brought back memories of the pandemic—uncertain, difficult times that created so much division. The post at the time was about trying to find optimism when there wasn’t much of it.
Six years later, the world has changed, but many of those divisions remain.
I’m not going to write about that again.
We’ve had enough of that.
Instead, that old post made me want to revisit a topic that I think we could all use a bit more of:
Optimism.
So, as in prior blog posts, my goal is to tie in life with hockey and, yes, optimism.
Positivity in the hockey off-season is easy.
Every team is undefeated. Every prospect has upside. Every player is about to take a step. Every team believes it has a chance. Every coach thinks they will be good.
Then the games begin.
Inevitably, players struggle. Teams struggle. Injuries happen. Plans change. Development slows.
I’ve seen it many times.
I’ve been around teams and players who weren’t developing the way people expected. But I’ve also watched them push through, adjust, grow and eventually excel despite the adversity.
Development is rarely linear.
Hockey has taught me that optimism isn’t pretending things are perfect. It’s believing they can get better.
Sometimes you just have to leave room for what might come next.
And what came next early in our summer was the birth of our first granddaughter.
Her name is Theodora.
Watching my son and daughter-in-law become parents has been special. Seeing their excitement and the pride they take in looking after her made me incredibly proud.
And then there’s the obvious part.
She’s just so damn cute.
A newborn puts everything in perspective.
She doesn’t know about politics, division or all the things we spend so much time worrying about.
She simply arrived.
New.
Pure.
Loved.
Full of possibility.
She’s made me think differently about the future.
We spend so much time worrying about what the world is becoming. Maybe we should spend a little more time thinking about what it could become.
A few weeks later, sitting on the beach, I read a book called Theo of Golden by Allen Levi at the urging of my wife.
The title caught my attention right away. I had a new little Theo in my life, so obviously I was curious.
The book had become a word-of-mouth success and a New York Times bestseller.
I honestly can’t remember enjoying a book more.
The funny thing is, the Theo in the book is a very old man—not a newborn.
It’s a story about kindness, generosity and seeing people clearly. In a complicated world, it offered something simple and good.
But as I read it, the title started to mean something a little different to me.
I kept thinking about Theodora.
About new life. About possibility. About love. About a future we can’t yet see.
The book became a bit of a launchpad for me to think about what this little girl might bring to our family and, someday, to the world around her.
And eventually, the title just made sense.
The feeling I was having wasn’t really coming from the book.
It was coming from her.
Theodora.
Now summer is ending.
The beach will get a little quieter, the days will get a little shorter, and hockey will return.
And with it comes that familiar optimism.
Every team believes it has a chance. Every player believes this could be their year. Every prospect believes they can make an impact.
Some will be right.
Some won’t.
That’s hockey.
But that belief—that something good might happen—is what makes it special.
Maybe that’s not naïve.
Maybe that’s the point.
This summer I was reminded that optimism isn’t about knowing the future.
It’s about being excited about what might happen.
I’ve seen it in hockey.
I’ve seen it in my family.
And I’ve felt it again.
There are still reasons to look forward.
This summer gave me one.
Her name is Theodora.
We call her Theo.
And Theo is Golden.












