#tocchet: i’m joking

[atwhughesversion]

“you guys are obsessed with petey, yeah? it’s ‘petey, petey, petey,’ every game…i love you guys, but it gets old — every time, ‘petey, petey,’” 😭😭😭 get ‘em again for me tocchet

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 3.5k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; woohoo chapter three is here! also what's up with the hughes brothers getting hurt within the last 48 hours...hope they're ok :c also thank you all for the recent support, means a lot! uh this isn't proof read, but happy reading <3

CHAPTER THREE

QUINN

The bell above the café door chimed as I stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries hitting me almost instantly. I wasn’t much of a coffee guy, but I definitely needed it today.

The place was an average size for a café, cozy, slightly packed with students hunched over laptops and the occasional older couples chatting over mugs of tea.

Conor, who trailed behind me with Brock next to him, actually suggested this spot, claiming it to be one of the best coffee in this side of Vancouver. It wasn’t my go-to energizer. Still, after the morning skate we had, I could use something to wake me up.

After coming off a big-time loss, post-practice was always tougher.

If people thought we’d been left off the hook to start the off-season early the following day. They have never been more wrong. So fucking wrong. Just because we were out of the game, did not mean that it was over.

Everyone on the team had been anticipating that text from our coach and told us to “Get your asses in the rink. Now.” Knowing Tocchet, he was ready to give us hell–more specifically Simon and I. And we got it.

The skating and puck handling drills were relentless. I don’t think we’d ever been pushed like that before. They were much more intensive, fast-paced, more difficult targets to hit in the goal post. I tried my best to keep up, which I did, but I would be lying if I had said it didn’t wear me down to the max. My body absolutely felt like I was checked over and over again.

Not the best feeling in the world. Trust me, I would know.

Conor and Brock stood behind me, still joking about the brutal morning skate we had to endure. “Man–I need something strong.” Brock said while his eyes wandered the menu. “I swear, if we have another skate like that, I’m gonna need a new set of legs.”

Conor huffed a laugh. “Better legs wouldn’t make a difference for you, buddy.” 

I smiled while Brock gave him a look, “Whatever–” he waved his hand before looking at the menu again. “So, what do you usually get here Gar?”

“Yeah, Garland. You’re the one who said this place was good.” I muttered.

“Because it is. And you need some caffeine in you, Huggy.” Conor shot back, nudging towards the counter. “Maybe then you’ll stop looking like you wanna skate into oncoming traffic.” 

I ignored him since it was probably true, and not a terrible idea considering what I had to deal with in a week or so.

My mind was stuck on last night’s game and the conversation with Tocchet. I couldn’t get it out of my head. The rest of the team didn’t hound me after figuring out what transpired in the coach’s office between me and Simon. They knew not to press me on it–I was glad that they did as I was already in a bad mood. I doubt that Simon kept his mouth shut about it to some of the guys, ranting to them per usual. 

Conor and Brock continued on with their banter. I was only half-listening as I stared at the menu, pretending I knew what any of the drinks meant or how–

I blinked and before I could react, as soon as I took a step forward, the person in front of me turned around–colliding straight into me. I watched as the girl’s cup tipped forward, brown coffee spilling all over her grey hoodie.

“Fuck!” She let out a sharp and frustrated voice under her breath.

My stomach dropped. This wasn’t good.

I staggered back, looking at her. The girl in front of me–who I had just completely steamrolled–stood frozen and appalled, coffee staining the front of her hoodie. The brown liquid spreads rapidly across the cotton like wildfire. 

Her jaw clenched, a mix of annoyance and disbelief flashing across her face.

“Shit, I–” I started, but the words barely left my mouth before she snapped her gaze at me, clearly about to let me have it–then she froze.

I watched her expression shift, something unreadable flickering her chestnut-colored eyes. Her pupils softened, but still held that glare. Her gaze swept over me in a quick assessment. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

Oh, she was pissed.

Looking at her, she was strikingly beautiful. Dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, long eyelashes, very light freckles dotting her nose across her tan skin, the kind of natural beauty that didn’t need any effort. But it was the look in her eyes that got me–like she had already sized me up and made her judgement. 

And from the way her mouth pressed into a tight line, it wasn’t in my favour at all.

“I, uh–” I looked at the sight in front of me, wincing at the view. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Shit. Not the best first impression.

I grabbed napkins from the counter and held them out to her. She took them but didn’t seem all that convinced they would be much help. I watched as she tried to dab at the stain, her expression growing more annoyed by the second. Yeah, the napkins weren’t much help.

It was only right that I offered to buy her another coffee–although, I figured it would make matters worse–so I opted to at least buy her a new hoodie. 

She shook her head to refuse, still working with the napkins. What she said next had caught me completely off guard. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Then she stopped, her own words registering, her eyes widened slightly.

My brows furrowed. “So, you know who I am?”

Maybe she was a Canucks fan.

She met my gaze again, unimpressed. “Yes, I do.” The tone in her voice made it clear that wasn’t exactly a compliment. 

Alright, maybe she wasn’t a fan.

That surprised me. Most of the time, when someone recognized me, there was some level of excitement. But her? She didn’t seem impressed in the slightest. If anything, she looked more annoyed and pissed than before.

A strange mix of amusement and curiosity flickered in my chest. What the hell, that was new.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” I asked, then immediately realized how that sounded. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.” 

I had no other intentions behind that statement. For all I cared, I just wanted to make a things right. Not just because there were now a couple of eyes watching us, but it wouldn’t be fair for her to leave this place without anything in return to help her. Then I’d feel like a complete asshole. 

Sure. She was pretty. Beyond her looks–and her built up frustration–she carried herself with grace and poise. Even in a stained-hoodie, black leggings, and white sneakers, there was still that elegance to her like no one else had–you just had to be born with it.

Wait. I couldn’t be like this.

“I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” she gestured down. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours, but thank you though.”

Before I could say anything else, she turned away.

Don’t look like an asshole. Don’t look like an asshole.

On instinct, I reached out, lightly catching the material of her sleeve. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” She paused, raising a brow at me.

Of course I’d feel terrible. She could have gone off on me in front of the entire shop, but she hadn’t. And now I was weirdly determined to fix it.

But she smirked slightly. “I think I’ll survive without your help, but thanks.”

I stared, absolutely stunned, but a tinge in my lips dared to curve. And just like that, she walked off, returning to her table with another woman–most likely her friend–before I could even respond.

Well that caught me off guard. I don’t think I’ve ever been let down like that. Strangely enough, I was not bothered by it, but just fascinated. It’s not everyday I get these kinds of interactions.

The sound of laughter brought me back, and I turned to see Brock and Conor watching the whole thing unfold with shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. I forgot they were here for a moment.

“Dude,” Brock said, he shook his head in disbelief. “Did we just witness the Quinn Hughes talk to a girl?”

Conor was quick to add, whistled lowly. “Not just talk. Get rejected.”

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t a complete rejection, noting she ‘respectfully’ declined.

“She didn’t reject me.”

“She literally just rejected you,” Brock deadpanned.

“She didn’t even let you buy her a new hoodie,” Conor mentioned the obvious, also shaking his head in mock sympathy. “That’s tough, Huggy.”

“Maybe she saw last night’s game and watched us play like shit and–”

“Shut up.” I said under my breath. 

Given she knew I was an NHL player, there was no doubt that she knew about last night’s game. I wondered if she had even watched it at all. Better if she hadn’t, the sight of us losing on our home turf was not only embarrassing but rather disappointing.

If I were a fan, I would be feeling anything but happy. That realization crashed down on me a lot more than I thought it would.

Brock’s laugh brought me out of my short trance. “No, no, this is big,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “Quinn, do we need to have the talk? You know, the one where we tell you how to approach women like a normal person?”

“You two are the worst.” I wasn’t completely paying attention to them. 

My gaze drifted towards the exit, just in time to watch the same coffee-stained hoodie girl leave the cafe alongside her friend. 

I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t even get her name. But, there was that feeling down my gut that told me this wouldn’t be the last time I was going to see her. 

And usually, my gut-feeling has always been right.

I had two weeks of freedom. A glorious, responsibility-free stretch of time before I had to start this personal hell.

And I spent it the only way I knew how: watching hockey, reading new books that I got a few weeks ago, hanging out with some of the guys, and watching more hockey. 

It was the perfect balance of nothing and everything. Until now. Until this.

I pulled into the Lumé Wellness parking lot, stared at the building through my windshield like it was about to swallow me whole. The building itself was tucked in the center of downtown Vancouver, which was near the Rogers Arena. The area around the studio wasn’t too busy or lively, I didn’t have to worry about the media at this time.

If I could put this mandatory cross-training off another week, I would have in a heartbeat just to prepare myself for this moment. Hell, I would have put it off forever if it meant I wouldn’t have to do this with Simon.

But no, that wasn’t an option, not if I wanted to come back at my best instead of my ass being glued to the bench next season.

My fingers drummed against the steering wheel. I was about to hop out when I glanced around the lot and realized that Simon’s car wasn’t here yet. I took the liberty of keeping track of his cars whenever I could, just to avoid bumping into that prick at random places. 

I was expecting him to be here, especially considering his whole ‘I’m better than you, I know everything, and I make the shots you would have   missed’ complex. But, who was I kidding? Simon didn’t want to be here, and so had I. If he didn’t show, then I wouldn’t blame him. Since he wasn’t here yet, that either meant he was running late on purpose or–worse–he was about to show up here with his sister.

The hoodie girl at the café popped into my head before I could dread what was about to come. 

The thoughts of our interaction weeks ago lingered in my head, which was strange, because usually I didn’t dwell on these things. But the reminiscence of spilling coffee all over her and interacting with her, it had been itching at my brain ever since.

She looked so annoyed, so unimpressed. 

It also didn’t help the fact she knew exactly who I was. I had no idea if she hated me or not, but she probably did now. Not that I cared what people thought of me on or off the ice–except, for some reason, with her, I kind of did.

I shook the thoughts out of my head, got out of my car and walked towards the entrance of the studio, pushing open the glass door. 

The foyer was empty, which was unexpected. I came prepared to see a lot of people here, but it was quiet–too quiet. The scent of essential oils idled in the air, a mix of eucalyptus and lavender, almost enough to make me forget how much I didn’t want to be here. 

I made my way past the front desk, my gaze roaming over the sleek, modern with contemporary wooden interior. Soft lighting, smooth hardwood floor, and floor-to-ceiling arched mirrors in every studio room.

Great. That meant I’d have to watch myself struggle through whatever the hell was about to happen here.

As I wandered further into the hallway, I passed more studio rooms, each one either empty or locked. Then, as I turned the corner, I caught the faint sound of music–Michael Jackson.

I slowed my steps, glancing toward the slightly opened door at the end of the hall. Inside, a single figure was stretching in front of the mirrors.

My feet stopped moving. It took me half a second to realize why.

No. There’s no way.

The café girl. 

She looked the same as the last I saw her. Brown chestnut eyes, her hair in a braid instead of a loose ponytail. Rather than a stained grey hoodie, she wore black yoga pants and a matching fitted jacket. 

I traced her face through the reflection of the mirrors, watched as she moved fluidly, adjusting her position with practiced ease. She was focused, lost in whatever she was doing–until she wasn’t. 

I hadn’t realized how long I was like this for. She must have sensed me, because she suddenly straightened up, her eyes snapping to mine through the mirror. 

“What are you doing here?” She turned to face me, looking just as surprised.

I blinked, clearing my throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Her lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “I asked first.”

Okay. Fair enough.

“I, uh–” I scratched the back of my nape. “I have a session today.”

She tilted her head in amusement, probably found it hard to believe that me, Quinn Hughes, would be at a Pilates studio. I also found that reality hard to grasp around my head. “I’m sure you don’t see a lot of guys here, right?” 

“Well, believe it or not Hughes, I see a few male athletes here and there for Pilates. So, don't go around thinking you’re all that special now.”

Great, it looks like she hadn’t forgotten me after all. I couldn’t tell if I should be happy or worried about that. “So, you remembered me.”

She only nodded, but not in a way that meant it was a good thing. “Well, duh. You’re the reason I had to throw my favourite hoodie in the bin.”

I saw that coming, there was no way she would look at me any other way than this. I wasn’t just an ‘NHL hockey player’ in her eyes, instead I was now dubbed ‘the guy who ruined her clothes’.

“I offered to buy you another one or pay to get it cleaned–”

“I’m just kidding,” she chuckled, ever so lightly, waving her hand. “It’s a good thing washing machines and laundry detergent exist. It took a few cycles and extra scrubbing to get it out, but it’s all gone–good as new.”

That weight I have been carrying on my shoulders for the past two weeks, instantly lifted after hearing that. So, she didn’t hate me in the end. I dodged a bullet there.

“Oh, good–” I huffed out in relief. “I am sorry about that, again.”

All she did was smile. Who knew that a single smile would ignite something beneath my chest. There was that feeling from the cafe again. And I wasn’t sure why it only kept happening around her.

Taking that she hasn’t kicked me out yet, I took a few strides into the room, inviting myself in. I have never been to any Pilates studios, so I have never seen what was inside one–although, I had a good idea of it. 

One side of the walls were large arched floor to ceiling mirrors, the opposite side were windows that overlooked outside, multiple pilates reformers in one neat row, and the other end were laid out yoga mats and more equipment.

“Do you come here often?” I asked.

I figured she was in her twenties, but I could be wrong. I guessed since most Pilates’ clients were either young adults or middle-aged. I did some research prior to coming, and I would know a bit about it since my mom picked it up a couple years ago.

She gave me a vague shrug, “Something like that.”

I exhaled, shifting my weight as I walked around the reformers, taking in my surroundings, still keeping my distance from her. “I should’ve known you did Pilates.”

I recalled from the café; she stood so close that I noticed the small flecks of sweat glisten against her skin. She most likely earned them after being here.

Her brows lifted, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, you seem like you’d be good at it.”

Now that I realized it, I sounded awkward just then. I mentally face-palmed myself for my ‘game’–more like lack thereof. Maybe that talk Brock and Garly were referring to on that day might have come in handy for times like these. I sound like a fucking idiot in front of her.

But, I wasn’t trying to flirt with her. This was simply to make conversation. That’s all.

She stared at me for a moment before she shook her head with a laugh–like she wasn’t sure if I was complimenting her or just making shit up.

I was about to say something else, anything to save me from my impending doom, when Michael Jackson’s voice blasted through the speakers again. I recognized the song immediately.

“Beat It?” I said, more to myself than anything. “Solid choice.”

She turned her back to her bag on the floor, kneeling to grab her water bottle. She glanced at me, amused. “Yeah, you a fan?”

“I know good music when I hear it.”

That earned me a small smirk on her pink tinted lips. 

I didn’t know why, but I felt the need to keep talking to her. I wasn’t usually like this–I didn’t go out of my way to make conversation, unless I had to–but, especially not with strangers. But, my mouth was already moving before I could think about stopping.

“What's your name? You know, since it's only fair because you know mine.” I asked, looking at all the equipment surrounding us.

She exhaled a short scoff, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re not answering them.” 

She twisted the cap off her bottle and took a sip, like she was debating on whether or not she wanted to humor me. Before she said anything, though, another voice cut through the air.

“Let’s not waste time and get on with it.”

I knew that voice all too well. Fuck.

I turned my head just as Simon strolled into the room like he owned the place, then tossed his bag to the side by the wall.

The café girl–her entire posture shifted. She walked over to the speaker where the music came from and turned down the volume. Her head snapped toward him, her expression tight. “Took you long enough. Didn’t I tell you to get here earlier because of traffic in the area?”

Simon barely looked fazed. “Turns out you were right after all. There was traffic. Duly noted for next time.”

My stomach twisted, and I wasn’t sure why. Simon has a wife, I knew that, but it did put me on edge to see her and Simon talk to one another. They spoke casually, so effortlessly, like they had known each other forever. Not that I was jealous or anything.

It seemed like I was invisible and there was a wall between myself and the two of them. 

I cleared my throat and interrupted their conversation. “Do you guys know each other?”

Simon shot me a look, one of those ‘are you the dumbest person on earth?’ expressions he was always good at–towards me specifically.

“No shit, Hughes,” he deadpanned. Then he jerked his chin toward her. “She’s my sister.”

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[rinkrats]

anyway i’m not over this article so here are some things that made me :’)

1. ...this lanky Russian star from a small, industrial town sat with his left shoulder pressed against the right shoulder of the face of hockey, this sturdy son of a Canadian harbor town. They came from wildly different backgrounds but, at this very moment, were a singular force. In many ways, this is how it should’ve been after a decade together. Two generational players, gifted to the Penguins one year apart, primed to leave an indelible mark on hockey’s biggest stage.

2. “Sometimes stars aren’t close,” says Rick Tocchet, their former assistant coach. “But those two, you know, it made things easier because of how close they are. You don’t see that every day.”

3. While Malkin’s English was limited, his mutual understanding of Crosby — on and off the ice — was pure instinct from their first days together.

“We’ve been together for a really long time now,” Crosby said. “Now that I think about it, it’s hard to believe how long it’s been. And to be honest, we became friends at the very beginning and it’s just always been that way. His English wasn’t so great at first, but we just always understood each other from the beginning.”

“I like to think I can relate to the pressure that he deals with and the expectations that come with all of that pressure. We were both high draft picks and expected to do a lot of big things when we entered the league. You are happy and excited to be drafted that high, for sure. But at the same time, there is a different kind of pressure there. Geno and I have talked about it before and I think we just always have kind of had a sense for one another, when we’re up, when we’re down, what we’re dealing with.”

4. Having failed to bring the Penguins back to a Stanley Cup Final after playing in two during their first three seasons together, Crosby and Malkin each sensed their partnership could be the next casualty for continued postseason failures.“I of course worry because GM, coach and Nealer are gone,” Malkin said three years later. “Is not mad, but worry that maybe they say Sid and I can’t play together too. We have to win again, of course. To stay together, we have to win again.

“I tell Sid we have to win again because I always want to play with you.”

5. During his rookie season, Malkin often caught himself transfixed on a framed photograph that hung above an entranceway separating the home dressing room and player’s lounge at the old Civic Arena. The framed photograph showed Lemieux and Jaromir Jagr each gripping a side of the Cup that the Penguins won in 1991 and in 1992. On the day before Game 7 of the 2009 Stanley Cup Final in Detroit, Malkin was one of the last players to leave Civic Arena. Before he departed for the airport, he took one last look at that framed photo and told a reporter, “I want one of me and Sid.”

In the euphoric chaos of the on-ice celebration in Detroit the next night, Malkin and Crosby never managed to get that picture. No big deal. They were young. They were in charge. They would have many other chances. Or so they thought. 

When the Penguins won their long-awaited second title of the Crosby/Malkin era in San Jose in 2016, they simply forgot again. Strike 2.There would be no Strike 3.

Malkin had instructed a team employee on the morning of Game 6 in Nashville to “get me and Sid with Cup if we win, no matter what.”

Lounging on a sofa with his injured toe resting on a table, dressed casually as if he had just warmed up for a tennis match against his actual brother, Malkin stroked his chin while looking at a digital picture of him and Crosby posing for the picture that had eluded them twice before.

“The best picture of my life,” Malkin says. “My two friends, and me.”

6. “I hope we win more,” Crosby said. “That’s always the goal. But no matter what, he’s my friend for life.”

7. At his apartment in Moscow, his offseason condominium on Florida’s Fisher Island and at his home in Pittsburgh, Malkin displays various memorabilia of Crosby. These include Russian nesting dolls painted in Crosby’s likeness, framed photographs, pucks and sticks from various games, anything and everything the most serious Crosby fan would want for his or her collection. Malkin jokes that Nikita, his son, will probably pick Crosby as his favorite player because of all the stuff.

“Is good,” Malkin said. “Of course, I will be his real favorite. But Sid is the best player, the best teammate. A great friend. I hope Nikita thinks of him as family. I do.”

Clearly, Crosby considers Malkin family.

“Having him around has always made my life better, on and off the ice,” Crosby said. “He has a way of knowing when to make you laugh, knowing when to lighten the room. But at the same time, he knows when to be serious, too. It’s just a great friendship. I just always liked him from the start. Always have. Always will.”

[vioncentral-blog]

Q&A: Panthers Coach Bob Boughner on Rugby, Aaron Ekblad and Being an Original Predator

https://www.vionafrica.cf/qa-panthers-coach-bob-boughner-on-rugby-aaron-ekblad-and-being-an-original-predator/

Q&A: Panthers Coach Bob Boughner on Rugby, Aaron Ekblad and Being an Original Predator

A few days after the Panthers hired him as their head coach last June, Bob Boughner wandered into a bookstore near his offseason Ontario home—“I’m old school,” the 46-year-old explains, “my kids make fun of me”—and purchased a paperback copy of Legacy, a 224-page tome chronicling the history of the All Blacks, New Zealand’s decorated national rugby team. Armed with a highlighter and pen, Boughner devoured the text, jotting notes in the margins and dog-earing passages to remember, which wound up being most of them anyway. He had already been brainstorming messages to send his new players in Florida, elements of the revamped culture he hoped to establish. “When I read the book, it hit me like a pile of bricks,” Boughner says. “It was right in my face. No need to look anywhere else.”

In a fashion befitting a former pugilist with 630 career NHL games and 1,382 penalty minutes, inspiration quickly turned into action. He arranged a conference call with graphic designers in the front office, gushing about the lessons he had learned. When Boughner first arrived in mid-August, he oversaw renovations of the Panthers’ locker rooms at their practice facility and home rink, where words and phrases employed by the All Blacks were painted onto the walls:

PERFORMANCE

AUTHENTICITY

HONESTY

INTEGRITY

RESILIENCE

LEAVE THE JERSEY IN A BETTER PLACE

SWEEP THE SHED

For the first week of training camp, Boughner never mentioned the decorations, too busy implementing X’s and O’s instead, until he called a team meeting to explain. In a 30-minute slideshow presentation, Boughner played video clips featuring the All Blacks—the squad boasts a 77 percent all-time win rate and two Rugby World Cup titles this decade—and outlined how those principles would be integrated into Florida’s upcoming season. “Sweep the shed,” for instance, describes a ritual wherein veteran All Blacks grab actual brooms and clean the locker room after games. “No, we’re not actually sweeping,” Boughner clarifies. “It was more words to live by.”

Performance? Well, that's been a mixed bag. Two years ago, inspired by the disembodied head of a star-dusted Kevin Spacey, the Panthers strung together the best regular season in franchise history, earning 103 points and an Atlantic Division title. Then came turmoil. Twenty-one games into 2016-17, Gerard Gallant was fired and replaced by Tom Rowe, who descended from the press box to double as head coach and general manager. When Florida eventually bottomed out with an 81-point, sixth-place divisional finish, Rowe got canned from both roles and Dale Tallon returned to oversee hockey operations as GM—the role he once occupied before a reshuffling in spring 2016 knocked him upstairs.

This was the environment that Boughner was tasked with changing upon his arrival. “We know what happened last year, the struggles they went through,” he says. “I knew that in my interview going in, right? They were looking for a change and it was going to be different and the structure was different. I wanted to give these guys something to grasp onto, something we could build our whole year around.”

It has worked so far. Eight games into Boughner’s debut NHL head coaching season—he previously served as an assistant for two years in San Jose under Pete DeBoer—Florida was 3-5-0 following Tuesday night’s 5-1 loss against the Canadiens. Each player received a copy of Legacy following that preseason meeting; Boughner regularly spots several of them digging into the pages during road trips. In the grand tradition of their Spacey In Space sweatshirt from ‘15-16—and a barbershop cape last season—the Panthers even began passing around an All Blacks jersey and rugby ball to the player of the game in their post-victory celebrations.

“There are times you come to the room and we have a meeting and we talk about having a bad period, we refer back to some of the things from our culture meeting,” Boughner says. “It’s been a useful tool for us. We talk a lot about authenticity. That’s one of the most important words for me, doing what you say. [The All Blacks] talk about how they’re so relentless, they never change their mantra, how they approach the game. They don’t get too high as a team. They take care of all the little things. They don’t rely on anybody else. They rely on the guys in the room, hold each other accountable, make sure their culture and identity is forced every day.”

After the Panthers’ morning skate in Montreal, Boughner called SI.com and spoke about his double life owning a Canadian junior team, reaching the Stanley Cup Final with the Sharks, striking fear with his fists, and more:

SI: I feel like you would’ve been a pretty good rugby player.

BB: I’ve probably got the legs for it, but I’d fall apart at my age. I watch every once in a while on TV. It’s not like I’m a rugby fanatic at all.

SI: What would you have been doing if not for hockey? This has been your whole life.

BB: I’ve never really known anything other than that. In business I learned a lot from my NHLPA days and owning the [Ontario Hockey League’s] Windsor Spitfires. I love business.

SI: How do you manage owning a team and also coaching another one? What’s your day-to-day like?

BB: It’s not bad. We have a great bunch of guys, from our general manager to the scouting staff to the accountants. I stay in touch by email, conference calls usually once a week, and if anything comes up then a couple phone calls. I don’t really spend much time on it during the hockey season. During the summer, when I go home, I go to the office about 3-4 days a week, put in a few hours to stay on top of everything. But during the season I’m all-in with the Panthers, got so much on my plate as is.

NHL Q&A: New Coyotes Coach Rick Tocchet on a Young Franchise and Lessons From Pittsburgh

SI: Your mind never wanders to what’s going on back home?

BB: I follow the box scores, I get the updates on how they’re doing. [Coach] Trevor Letowski will call once a while to talk hockey. Other than that, it’s fully controlled there. Which is nice. It gives me a peace of mind that we have the right people to run it. It takes the stress away from me.

SI: What’s your earliest memory of [fellow Windsor, Ontario native and Panthers defenseman] Aaron Ekblad?

BB: Oh god. Probably watching him play when he was about 12, 13 years old. He was playing Triple A for the Sun County Panthers back in Windsor. He towered over all the kids. He was huge for his age, controlled the whole game, had the puck the entire time. Just the poise he had at that age, you could tell there was something special there. Then I got to know him better as he got into 13s, 14s. My son and him became friends, started hanging out. I’ve seen Aaron quite a bit hanging around the house as a kid.

SI: How is he as a sleepover guest?

BB: Just like all the rest of my kids. A mess. Sloppy. [laughs]

SI: He’s referred to you as an uncle figure. What kind of dynamic does that create? Is it weird now?

BB: He’s like any other kid, regardless of how much money he makes, how much fanfare there’s been around him being a first overall pick. He’s like anyone else. Look at Brent Burns in San Jose. They need a shoulder to lean on sometimes, they need confidence and structure. It’s no different with me and Aaron. He knows it’s business around the rink and it’s been like that since day one. I told him I’d be completely honest and transparent with him, and treat him no different than anyone else on the team. Obviously he respects that as well.

SI: Since you mentioned Brent, do you have any good Burns or Joe Thornton stories?

BB: Too many. Burnsie was great. He made every day going to the rink a lot of fun. He’s high on life. That’s him. High on life. Completely the nicest guy you’ll ever meet. Pavelski, Thornton, they’re like a bunch of kids still. They love the game. They love hanging out at the rink. That’s why they’re so good. That’s what makes that group so special. They love hanging out with each other, love coming to the rink. It’s not really a job for them, to be honest. It was a pleasure being around a group like that.

SI: That was your first time reaching the Stanley Cup Final, with San Jose two seasons ago. What did you learn from a run like that?

BB: A lot of things have to go right. Health is number one. Two is travel. We were talking about that the other day. Our series with L.A. was a heavy series. Then we’re flying across the country to St. Louis, flying to Nashville across the country, then our last series against Pittsburgh. I think we got a little worn down. Not to take anything away from Pittsburgh. They were the better team. They deserved to win. But we were worn down.

From a coaching standpoint, you learn to try to conserve some energy during the season for that long run, try not to overplay guys and give them the proper rest, because if you’re fortunate enough to be in that situation, May and June are so draining. You’ve got to have some gas in the tank.

SI: Do you remember your first NHL fight?

BB: It was in Boston. It was Dean Chynoweth. I was the third man in and got tossed in my first NHL game. I thought Brian Holzinger was going to have to fight, so I stepped in. First fight, first game.

SI: How did the nickname Boogeyman strike you? Did you like it?

BB: It was more of a fun thing. I think it was two games later I got into a fight with Reid Simpson and it was a long fight. Rick Jeanneret, when he was still in Buffalo doing play-by-play, said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, put your kids to bed, the Boogeyman is out.’ In a joking way, but it stuck. I thought it was fun. It was cool. I’ve been called Boogeyman my whole life.

SI: What do you remember about the inaugural season in Nashville in ‘98-99? What are the players in Las Vegas experiencing now? What will stick with them from year one?

BB: It’s one of my most fun times in hockey. To be an original Predator, that’s something that’s still true to my heart. We got to be the pioneers down there when it wasn’t a hockey market. I remember doing a ton of things away from the rink to promote the game in the South, and those are some of the best times I’ve had. Meeting the country stars, bringing it all together, educating the fans, those are the things I remember. I remember the milestones—the first win, the first of everything. When I go back there, I still get a pretty good feeling that we were the guys who brought hockey to town and started it.

Same thing in Vegas. I think a lot of these guys, 20 years from now, when that’s a thriving hockey market, they’re going to look back and feel pretty cool that they were the original guys who got the business of hockey started. That’s what I took away from my experience anyway.

NHL Q&A: Predators’ Coach Peter Laviolette on the Olympics, Pregame Speeches and His Dog Stanley

SI: Lately I feel like I’m hearing the phrase “future Selke winner Aleksander Barkov” more and more often. What say you?

BB: In my mind, from what I’ve seen so far, he’s one of the better 200-foot player I’ve ever seen play. He’s gifted offensively, but he cares so much about his own end. He cares about winning face-offs, a lot of the little things.

SI: Last one. Have you checked out Roberto Luongo’s Twitter feed?

BB: Once in awhile. I don’t have social media, but some people have told me and showed me some things. I think it’s hilarious. He’s definitely one of the most unique guys when it comes to that. It’s great that he has fun with it. He’s got a great personality.