Joy, despair and Green Men: What it's like to work for a team in the Stanley Cup Final

As we watch the Colorado Avalanche and Tampa Bay Lightning duel for the Stanley Cup, I cannot help but think of the few hundred people who work for each of the teams and how, in many ways, this series is as important to their careers and their lives as it is for the guys on the ice.

It’s not just performance reviews and bonuses that are at stake. For every employee, from the GM of the team to the custodian, there is a tremendous sense of pride and self-actualization associated with the fortunes of the team. You invest so much of your own human capital in the team you work for that it becomes an extension of your personal brand, and you feel each win and loss as if you played the 60 minutes yourself. The personal investment of time, blood, sweat and tears means the emotions of both happiness and sorrow are more profound than any fan could feel.

Every team employee will have a unique story to tell about their Stanley Cup Final experience. Here’s mine. 

In 2010-11, the Canucks were the Presidents’ Trophy winners, running away with the regular season. We expected to win it all. It seemed like destiny. I had recently joined the Canucks from the 2010 Olympic Organizing Committee, where I had just seen Canada win gold on the very same ice. This winning stuff seemed easy. In the opening round, we went up three games to zero on a former playoff nemesis, the Chicago Blackhawks. Everything was going to plan. Then Chicago fought back to tie it and forced overtime in Game 7. In what was perhaps the most memorable sporting event of my life, Alex Burrows scored the overtime winner and launched us into the next round. The feeling was part elation, part relief. Mostly relief, actually. 

The series wins against Nashville and San Jose in the second and third rounds were much more comfortable. We made it to the Final, where we belonged. I wasn’t part of hockey operations at the time, so my role as part of the executive team included dealing with a number of requests and needs from the NHL and its broadcast and commercial partners. The Final is actually a league-controlled event, so there are a lot of changes to the way you operate so that the NHL’s ticketing needs, broadcast needs and game presentation needs are met. The NHL also uses the Final as one of its main opportunities to crack down on counterfeit merchandise. I remember walking the streets around Rogers Arena with the NHL’s counterfeit consultant, a retired policeman. If we came upon someone selling fake jerseys or hats, he would tell them they had two choices — surrender the merchandise to him or face the legal wrath of the NHL. It might have been a hollow threat to some of the hawkers that didn’t even have identification on them, but we walked away with enough jerseys to fill the back of a minivan.

When we went up two games to zero against the Boston Bruins, we were giddy and confident. The organization flew the players' wives and the executive team to Boston in case we swept the series. It was optimistic, but a nice touch. The playoff money was flowing.

I was not able to leave the city the night the charter departed, so I took a commercial flight the next day. That’s where things got really interesting.

Most people remember the Green Men, two guys who attended virtually every Canucks playoff game and many regular-season contests dressed up in full-body, green spandex suits. They had seats adjacent to the visiting penalty box and would engage in all sorts of crazy antics to distract and annoy opposing players. They had no affiliation with the organization, but we loved their energy and supported their efforts so long as they kept things clean. They decided they would make the trip to Boston to help out the visiting team.

I took a carry-on with me for my Boston flight, and the airline needed to check it at the last minute because there was limited room for baggage. After the flight, I was handed my bag — or so I thought from the looks of it. When I got to the hotel and opened up the bag, what to my wondering eyes did appear but a shimmering, stretchy green suit! Well, I am not a wallflower, as anyone who is seen me sing karaoke will tell you, but dressing up as a Green Man wasn’t on my to-do list. I called home to find someone in the organization who knew the guys. We were able to get in touch with the guy whose suit I had, and as expected, he had my identical-looking bag. We met outside the TD Garden to swap suitcases, with just enough time for him get into the suit for opening puck drop.

We did not win that night or the next one, and then we traded Games 5 and 6. With a Game 7 at home, it still felt like we were in good shape. But it wasn’t meant to be. After the game, I watched the broadcast coverage from a company boardroom with a couple of colleagues, drowning our sorrows in sponsor product. We were crushed. We had lived and breathed each moment of that playoff run along with the players and hockey front office. We celebrated every goal and held our breath for every opposing power play. When we did not win, it felt like everything we had worked toward was somehow not as worthwhile, not as meaningful. The dominant regular season was a distant memory.

As we consoled each other, the television images turned from Brad Marchand and Zdeno Chara celebrating to buildings and police cars burning. Both were unappealing to me, but the latter was obviously much more concerning. Our city was on fire. Rioters were smashing and burning anything in sight. It was a pathetic display by people who had not been at the arena and who I don’t think were even hockey fans. We were actually advised to depart the arena at once, as it was not known if rioters would advance on the building next. We literally fled our own arena. It was a harrowing experience and certainly added insult to injury.

Years later, I can appreciate the success we had and the thrill of the journey we went on. But my replica Presidents’ Trophy and Clarence Campbell Trophy will never fill the void of having been as close as it gets only to fall a little short. I would guess that my disappointment is no less intense than that of the guys who played in the series.

For the staff of the Lightning and Avalanche, this is a moment to be savored, but they must also be prepared for the possibility of failure. They will either have memories to cherish forever or ones that leave a lasting imprint of regret over what might have been.

As you watch the series, sportswriters will confine their discussion and analysis to the likes of Nathan MacKinnon and Steven Stamkos, but do not forget about Bob in Accounting and Jane in Marketing. They are every bit as invested in the outcome.