In early January 2003, the old Burns escaped from his cage when reporters noted that skilled players such as Patrik Elias, Joe Nieuwendyk and Scott Gomez were merely shadows of their former selves and blamed the coach’s static system. Burns lashed out with an obscenity-studded diatribe. “Do you think I’m telling the players not to score goals? That’s horseshit. Everybody’s job is to score goals. Do you think there’s a coach in the league who says, ‘Don’t score goals because this is a defensive system’? Wake up and smell the fucking coffee.” Opposing players who criticized New Jersey’s suffocating tendencies Burns dismissed as “crybabies.” With his own players, if wayward on the ice, Burns was unafraid of applying the benching timeout, even with his stars. He scratched Gomez from a game. Infuriated, Gomez responded by tallying points in his next five straight.
The excoriated system of airtight defence was winning games, and that’s all that mattered. By the All-Star break, the Devils hadn’t lost a game in regulation time at home for a month. Burns pummelled dominance at the Swamp into his players’ heads, said he could live with .500 on the road. In March two consecutive losses was considered a mild slump by Jersey standards. The Devils finished the regular season 46–20–10–6 with 108 points—second highest in team history—the Atlantic Division title, and seeded second in the Eastern Conference. It had been a superb year one for Burns, who admitted to being physically and emotionally drained on the cusp of playoffs. “I find it more difficult the older I get.” But he’d been on his best behaviour, lobbing only the occasional incendiary at reporters, whom he ceaselessly considered the enemy. “I like to throw a shot back once in a while … can’t bite my tongue. I just feel better. People around here think that I’m supposed to make friends. I’m not here to make friends. I’m about as bouncy as a hunk of clay.”
In the first playoff round, Jersey played Boston, and here was intrigue. Not only was this the club that had last fired Burns, but GM O’Connell, after ditching Rob Ftorek with nine games remaining in the season, had gone behind the bench himself. Against Burns, he was hopelessly outmatched, though Burns tried to squelch that storyline. “I worked for Harry Sinden. I didn’t work for Mike O’Connell. This is not about revenge. The game isn’t being played behind the bench.”
For game one, it was exceedingly played behind the bench, Burns coping with the abrupt loss of Gomez (to whiplash) and Nieuwendyk (walloped in the back of the head by Bryan Berard). He shuffled his lines insanely, the Devils held the Bruins’ Joe Thornton—101 points in the regular season—in close check, and Jamie Langenbrunner scored both goals as the Devils won 2–1. In a scrappy game two, Langenbrunner again potted the winner, and the Devils were 4–2 victors, taking a 2–0 series lead as the action switched to the FleetCenter. Brodeur posted his fourteenth shutout in seventy career playoff games, Jersey handily dumping the Bruins 3–0. A Boston columnist opined, “The Iraqi army has a better chance of making a comeback than the Bruins do.”
The anticipated sweep was avoided when Boston chased Brodeur from the net—a rare sight—in a 5–1 thumping. Even more exceptionally irregular was the absence of Daneyko from the lineup. The veteran—Mr. New Jersey—had attended the franchise’s inaugural training camp twenty years earlier and played in 165 straight playoff games, the third-longest such streak in NHL history. Now, a fortnight from his thirty-ninth birthday, Burns had taken the gutsy step of scratching him, reasoning that Daneyko was labouring from a painful hit to the ribs from P.J. Axelsson in game three.
Daneyko was back in for game five and Jersey closed out the Bruins at the Swamp 3–0. That launched the Devils into a second-round encounter with the surprising Tampa Bay Lightning, coached by John Tortorella to the top of the Southeast Division and victorious after overcoming a 2–0 deficit against Washington in their opening series. Typically, Burns used Tampa’s admiring press as ammunition in his “the whole world is against us” mantra. “Nobody wants to see us win, except our fans. They would like to see Tampa win. ‘Hey, let’s see these guys win, they’re the Cinderella team.’ Every year, there’s a team that puts on a glass slipper and turns into Cinderella, and all of a sudden everybody falls in love with them.”
Even the home-love for Jersey was underwhelming, with thousands of empty seats at the Meadowlands for each of the first two games, which the Devils took 3–0 and 3–2. Game two was decided by Langenbrunner in the third overtime period. In Florida, the visitors erased a three-goal deficit but lost 4–3 to the Lightning on Dave Andreychuk’s winner after Burns was prevented from completing a line change that left him with four forwards on the ice. Scott Stevens left the game early, hit in the ear with a slapshot. His courageous turn in game four, wearing a plastic guard to protect his stitched-up left ear, inspired the Devils into a commanding performance. Scott scored a power-play goal, too, in the 3–1 victory—the “cherry on top,” said Brodeur.
Finally, for game five at the Meadowlands, the near-sellout crowd came to life, banging thunder-sticks throughout a marathon affair that went into triple overtime before Grant Marshall dispatched the Bolts 2–1. Marshall had actually missed the bus carrying the team from their hotel to the rink—it left fifteen minutes early—and had to literally run after it, teammates laughing as they watched out the back window. “If I’d known it was going to go three overtimes, I’d have stopped and called a cab.” Now the Devils had to contend with Ottawa, the most potent team in the league that year. Because he grew up in the region, Burns was even more of a media magnet during the Eastern Conference final. The Senators were coached by Jacques Martin, another local fellow and the man whose team had defeated Burns’s Olympiques squad in the Memorial Cup back in 1986. One paper pounced on a Burns quote that was played across the front page: “We’ll win.” This immediately evoked memories of Mark Messier famously promising a victory before the Rangers’ semifinal against Jersey in 1994, a vow fulfilled as New York went on to end a fifty-four-year Cup drought. Burns didn’t dispute the quote saying only that it was taken out of context. He’d been praising the Sens, complimenting their magnificent season. “Then I’m asked, ‘Well, the way you’re talking, you don’t have a chance to win?’ I say, ‘Oh, we’ll win.’ Of course, they blow a big headline up the top, ‘Burns promises win.’ ” He grunted. “You can’t win.”
The highly anticipated matchup opened in Ottawa’s Corel Centre, Devils losing 3–2 in overtime, the first time they trailed a series that spring. Lamoriello took his squad back to Jersey for the day off—Mother’s Day, as it happened—before game two, which was widely mocked, some speculating the move was intended to sequester Brodeur from interrogation about his scandalizing marriage breakup. Before leaving town, Burns spent three hours visiting with his mother at the retirement home where she resided. In any event, the Devils got their split upon returning to Ottawa, an impressive 4–1 win.
Back at the Swamp, both Brodeur and Patrick Lalime were awesome in duelling goaltending displays, Jersey eking out a 1–0 decision. Burns lauded Brodeur: “Without him, where would we be? I have run out of words to say about him.” The Devils prevailed commandingly in game four, 5–2, to take a 3–1 series lead. But whoa, not so fast—Ottawa had reserves of tenacity and oodles of talent. Rookie Jason Spezza, making his postseason debut, tallied a goal and assist, lifting the Senators to a 3–1 victory in game five. It was at this point that details of Brodeur’s marital split were uncovered by the media after his estranged wife, Melanie, filed divorce papers. Her itemized complaints of adultery—dates, places—were reported, gleefully in some quarters. Brodeur had become involved with a woman (now his wife) who’d formerly been married to Melanie’s half-brother. His personal problems were grist for public taunting and tabloid sensationalism. “Pat was very supportive of me during that time,” says Brodeur. “It was so tough because here we are, in the middle of the playoffs, and there’s all this gossip flying around, everything coming out. I wasn’t distracted when I was playing. Hockey is the place you hide. The distraction was outside the game. Pat took
care of me, and his wife, Line, took care of my girlfriend. It wasn’t like he told me, ‘You’ve got to do this and you should do that.’ He was just there for me. He’d been through a lot in his own personal life, so maybe he could relate. I needed people around me to help me through it. Pat just said, ‘I’m here for you.’ That was the beginning of the relationship we built outside of hockey.”
With an 11–4 record, 4 shutouts and a 1.67 GAA, Brodeur clearly had no problems between the lines. In so keenly contested a series, he had to be better than merely awfully good. Jersey hadn’t lost two straight games in the postseason and was 8–0 at the Meadlowlands, but that streak was halted in game six, claimed 2–1 by the Senators in overtime. The series would be decided in a game seven at the Corel Centre.
Ottawa had more skill, but the Devils, arguably, had more will, and some motivational gimmickry from Burns. Hours before game time, he noticed some trailers set up outside the arena to be used by converging media should the Cup final unfold in Ottawa. This struck Burns as presumptuous and he exploited the scene to fire up his troops, stopping the team bus to direct their attention towards the offending vehicles. “You see those trailers? We’re going to send those trailers back because there is not going to be a next round!”
The Devils got on the board first, but lost Nieuwendyk early to a hip injury. Burns went into the medical room during intermission and discovered his thirty-five-year-old two-time Stanley Cup champion in tears, unable to continue playing. “I went back in the room and told the players we have a rangy old veteran on the other side who would love to help you out. He’s got a tear running down his eye right now. That seemed to pump up the team. Everybody rallied around each other.”
Up 2–1 in the third, Burns paced back and forth, smacking players on the shoulders, exhorting them to go harder. “Pat was so passionate on the bench about ‘Let’s take it to them!’ and ‘They’re on the ropes!’ ” said Brodeur afterwards. “I’ve never seen him that emotional unless he’s yelling at the referees—or Gomer [Gomez].” When Jeff Friesen’s turnover led to Ottawa’s tying goal, Burns consoled rather than flayed. Friesen responded by scoring with 2:14 left to give New Jersey the game 3–2 and the series 4–3.
The drama cranked up even further in the Cup final between Jersey and the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim, though many lamented the prospect of head-to-head slogging between two D-addicted teams. It would undoubtedly be a battle of nerves between two Quebec-born goalies: Brodeur and Jean-Sébastien Giguère, who’d been at least equally spectacular in the playoffs, with a shutout streak of 213 minutes and 17 seconds. Most nerve-wracked among spectators was Carol Niedermayer, mother of Duck Rob and Devil Scott. The biggest name on either team’s manifest, however, was Burns, reminded every day that there was no Cup on his resumé. “I’m not important in this,” he maintained. “This isn’t for me. What I want is for this team.” Behind the other bench was Mike Babcock, rookie coach, in the same position where Burns had been as a baptismal boss with the Canadiens in the ’89 final against Calgary.
Well-rested Anaheim had zip offence in game one, Brodeur recording his fifth playoff shutout of ’03 and Friesen, ex-Duck, accounting for two of Jersey’s three goals. Again, Burns sat out Daneyko, as he had in four games against Ottawa. This was excruciating for the battered veteran, though he didn’t whine. Teammates appreciated Daneyko’s dismay but were also in awe of a coach who had the guts to make that call. “It’s not easy to make a move like that when you know that Dano is the face of the franchise,” says Brodeur. “Dano was not just a regular player. We’re talking about a guy who’d been in the organization forever, and the fans loved him. But it just wasn’t working, and it had to be done. We needed our best players to be in the lineup. You’ve got to tip your hat to Pat for being able to make that decision.”
For game two, the Ducks showed a soupçon more determination, but the result was exactly the same: a 3–0 loss. As the series moved to the Arrowhead Pond, Giguère pointed an accusatory finger at his teammates. “I would be very disappointed if not everybody shows up with lots of emotion. That’s what’s been lacking and that’s unacceptable. We have to play for the moment. When is the next time this is going to happen to us?”
Thus aroused, Anaheim showed the mettle that had brought them to this juncture, winning 3–2 in overtime, Brodeur giving up two soft wanderlust goals. In game four, thirty-nine-year-old Steve Thomas was the overtime hero for the Ducks in a 1–0 nail-biter. Critics clucked about a lack of goals diminishing the finals, yet this was good hockey for the discerning eye, if disastrous for the broadcasting network. Jersey unshackled its alleged gunners 6–3 at Continental Airlines Arena in a rollicking game five. Running out of topics in their largely unsuccessful attempts to engage Burns in a to-and-fro conversation at an off-day scrum, reporters queried the coach about people he most admired. He listed Scotty Bowman, Bill Parcells, Bob Knight and General “Arnold” Schwarzkopf, mixing up his Normans and his Schwarzeneggers.
Anaheim battled back from the brink in game six, humiliating the Devils 5–2 at the Pond, captain Paul Kariya surviving a patented body slam from Scott Stevens that left Kariya unconscious and motionless on the ice for nearly three minutes. “I didn’t know if he was alive,” said Brodeur. “He just didn’t move for a while.” With 11:23 remaining, Burns pulled Brodeur in favour of Corey Schwab. Brodeur was, er, jiggy with it, assured he would be starting game seven, Burns simply anxious to give him a little extra rest.
It had been a complete home victory series. “All year, Pat had preached about being good at home, dominate at home. This is where we were going to win. And that’s what happened,” said Brodeur. To the media, Burns presented a modest but confident face, focusing attention on his players. “This team has accomplished a lot. I haven’t accomplished a thing. It’s ‘we.’ That’s the way we’ve done it all year long.”
Nine months of labour had boiled down to one deciding game for the Stanley Cup, in an arena lacking in charm and, often, patrons. And Burns, the softie, pulled out one last trick: he reinserted Daneyko into the lineup. “The most important game and Dano came back,” says Brodeur. Informed at a team dinner that he’d be playing—but cautioned by Burns to keep that under his hat until game time—Daneyko had to leave the room so he could burst into tears privately.
Game seven was New Jersey’s exclamation point to the playoffs, an imperious 3–0 triumph, Friesen contributing two goals and twenty-three-year-old rookie Michael Rupp, filling the void left by injured Nieuwendyk, scoring the first, which was the winner, a kid’s hockey dream come true. Before the opening faceoff, Burns had gazed up at the crowd and then taken his own emotional pulse. “I thought I would be a lot more nervous than I was. I thought I was going to be a nervous wreck, and I wasn’t.” It was his ninth game seven in a thirteen-year coaching career, pulling Burns into a tie with Scotty Bowman and Mike Keenan.
Yet even in the greatest moment of his professional life, Burns didn’t shake his signature scowl. Someone asked him about the “beauty” of a game seven. “You call it a beauty? I don’t know how pretty it is. I don’t know if I’d go out on a date with it very often.”
Brodeur’s third finals shutout notwithstanding, the Conn Smythe Trophy for most valuable player went to Giguère, who didn’t smile upon accepting it. Nor was Burns even nominated for a fourth Jack Adams. But, at last, he’d won the only silver hardware that mattered. Off to the side during the on-ice hoopla, hands stuffed in his pockets, Burns wondered why he didn’t feel a surge of elation. “Gee, it doesn’t look like this on TV.” He watched Gary Bettman present the Stanley Cup to Devils captain Scott Stevens, who hoisted it overhead and began the traditional handoff, player to player, including Niedermayer, who’d changed into full uniform. This was the embodiment of all their toil, the hardest trophy to capture in professional sports. Finally, the jug reached Burns. He planted one tender smooch on the Cup, then lifted it in the direction of his family in the stands. “I was glad to see them up there,” he said la
ter. “My son Jason and my daughter Maureen came in from Montreal, drove all the way down. My wife was there, friends and family from Quebec. I pointed the Cup at them because sometimes you forget the people who are behind you, who were there when things don’t go so good. The last couple of minutes, it was really exciting, not for myself, but because I was afraid to disappoint people, disappoint my family, disappoint the fans. I owe a lot to Lou.”
In the dressing room, drenched by champagne, amidst the hoots and hollers, Daneyko gave full credit to the coach. “He just kept the pedal to the metal all year long and didn’t let us get complacent. That was probably what was missing from the club the last few years. He came in from day one and was a no-nonsense guy, did some things that sometimes you don’t understand. I guess that’s why he coaches and we play. Probably one of the toughest coaches I’ve played for, but well worth it.”
Addressing the media, Burns allowed himself a bit of triumphalism. “There are a lot of people in this room who counted me out, who said I was old-fashioned and couldn’t coach anymore. I was out of hockey for two years and you said I would never be back. Well, I’ve won something now.”
After a long night of revelry, Burns drove his family to the airport. In a candid coda, the coach acknowledged that, many times across the seasons, he’d pretended the Cup was a coup he didn’t need to validate his career. He’d lied. “I said it often. No, I never believed that.”
The victory parade—which in New Jersey was a tailgate party in the parking lot of the Meadowlands complex—had to be put on hold for a day because the Nets were still contesting the basketball playoffs and traffic control was an issue. When staged, upwards of twenty thousand gathered to enjoy the “Devils way” spectacle. Thereafter began the Cup’s summer odyssey, a sweet NHL tradition whereby each player gets to have his way with the trophy for a day. It travelled to Alaska with Gomez, was transported in a thirty-two-foot Hummer on a team outing to Hoboken, appeared as guest on The Late Show with David Letterman and Live with Regis and Kelly, opened the New York Stock Exchange one morning, nestled in the lap of a giant Buddha statue at an upscale restaurant, went on a three-hour cruise around Manhattan Island, and attended golf tournaments and the NHL draft.
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