Mike Babcock looms over his Toronto Maple Leafs. He has the team seated in a large circle around centre ice and he looks each player in the eyes as he walks slowly around them in his old rubber boots. Mike hasn’t said a word in over two hours. The heat is turned way high and the rink has started melting. The Leafs are soaked, uncomfortable, and stoic in their bepuddled jocks.

“Everybody close your eyes.” Mike says, expecting to be obeyed instantly. “I want you all to focus on your breathing. For a moment pay attention to each breath in, and then follow it up with a nice breath out. Really breathe yourselves empty. And let’s all just do that for a moment. Good, nice, easy. Now, when your ready I want you to start following this rhythm. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

Mike walks the circuit around his team repeating himself over and over. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.” His words become a sonorous blur in each players consciousness as they drift closer and closer to nirvana. Each man on the team takes their own journey, but as they take their separate roads the destination never varies.

“In through the nose and out through the mouth. Good.” Mike is speaking in a whisper which echoes across the Leafs minds. “Now as you breathe I want you to remember. Remember a time that you had to beat someone. Someone was bigger than you once, meaner. Remember what it took to beat them. We are playing an Ottawa team that can’t beat anyone but us. Let that thought fester as you sit and stew. Before I leave for the night I want to hear our game plan one last time.”

“Fuck Ottawa!” The Leafs say with one loud voice ringing clear and true with determination.

“Fuck Ottawa.” Mike answers proudly. “See you in the morning. Remember to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

Mike turns off the lights before he locks up for the night.