Magic Helmet and Hockey Boors

Miller Donnelly’s Magic Helmet – A Few Words to the Wise
Young Sudbury Hockey Player Calls Out Arena Brats
By Terrance Gavan
Miller Donnelly dropped a puck at an Ottawa 67s home game last weekend (Jan 10).
Later that same day he was invited as a special guest to watch the Ottawa Senators versus the Rangers at ScotiaBank Place in Kanata.
Miller Donnelly is only 11, but wise beyond his years.
A few years ago Donnelly wrote a speech. Nothing special. It was a school project.
He was nine.
It was a public speaking gig penned and delivered for an elementary school contest at Larchwood Public in the Sudbury School Division.
Miller won the school contest and went on to deliver the speech at a regional competition at Royal Canadian Legion Branch 503. Miller’s dad, Mike Donnelly, recorded his son's speech and uploaded it on YouTube for family members in Halifax.
Over 30,000 hits and two years later, Miller Donnelly’s Magic Helmet mantra is being adopted as a theme by minor hockey in Ontario. It may go viral and achieve national prominence if more hockey honchos on this lamentably traditional and entrenched minor hockey dais would take the time to ingest the message.
You see, young Miller is convinced that his hockey helmet comes with incredibly potent powers. Powers that might impress a David Blaine or a Copperfield.
“How is this hockey helmet magical?” asks Miller at the start of the video. “Well, it does something simply amazing. It changes me from a 9-year-old boy to a 20-year-old man. The minute I put on my magic helmet and step on the ice, adults treat me much differently. They yell at me, they curse at me, and they call me names. They treat me like I’ve been playing hockey for 15 years and get mad when I make a mistake, and I know it’s the helmet because when I go to a backyard rink and I’m wearing a toque adults treat me much nicer.”
Sound familiar?
When I was living in Ottawa, a long, long time ago, I used to spend time at hockey arenas. Sometimes I would be reffing a basketball tournament at local high school.
Tired of the stuffy gym, I would wander or drive over to a nearby arena. I noticed a disturbing trend. At house league games or tourneys, I was met by a devoted cognoscente of parents who sat in the stands and berated opposing players and literally screamed at their own children.
I was quite frankly shocked. The level of intolerance and the rudeness of the spectators was something that I just never encountered at any level while reffing basketball for 20 years in the Ottawa area.
I found basketball parents to be laid back, affable and for the most part respectful of the game and the players. There was a different atmosphere in the hockey arena. Tense faces, spat epithets and a general level of complete and utter disrespect for the young players who were only there, after all, to please. To appease their coaches, to help their teammates and to earn the respect of their parents. This is what kids want from sports. Fun.
Instead, young players were met with approbation and an alarming level of vitriol. Eight-year-olds enduring the slings and arrows of raised expectations. How many of these kids were destined for the NHL? Exactly none. So what’s the fuss? I have no idea. I know one thing. The players just didn’t seem to be enjoying the game.
Fun simply wasn’t happening in Ottawa in the 70s. It ain’t happening today. I took in a few games at the Silver Stick tournament in Haliburton recently. The same knot in my stomach. The same old wheel. The same level of intolerance bubbling fitfully and in jerks from the stands. Like a locomotive leaving the freight yards, these games accompanied by much din, scraping and the harsh grate of rusty wheels. It all hearkened seedy memories.
I quit going to rinks after an especially disappointing run-in with the surly denizens of a Bells Corner’s Arena on a Saturday afternoon in 1975, while taking a break from a basketball tourney at Bell High School. I heard 10 parents screaming at their children. I saw fear and confusion on the face of two young hockey players. I saw another 8-year-old player retreat to the end of the bench literally drenched in his own tears. I heard his dad yell, “Quit crying … Baby! … be a man!” I swear to god, I wanted to saunter over and hit that dreadful, dreadful man. I felt my face reddening. My stomach rolled to a tight knot. I fled, ran to my car, and then back to the gym.
I never returned to an arena on a Saturday morning.
As an adult I was embarrassed. And confused.
A little like Miller Donnelly.
Miller at least had the guts to confront the problem. At nine years old, he asked some poignant questions. He told a compelling story that is just now getting the recognition that it deserves. It’s making the rounds and it’s being promoted on some Ontario hockey websites. Miller’s measured tones seeking resonance from the hoards. Those parents and coaches who would seek to insert the pressure of their own griping lives onto the children.
Don’t they realize? Do they need a class? Is there psychotherapy available for the broken psyches of those hockey moms and dads who just don’t seem to get it?
Ask Miller. He’s seen it all, and remember he was only nine when he delved into this Canadian psychosis.
“Many young players are scared of the magic helmet, the yelling that it brings makes them frightened and confused while playing the game,” says Miller. “And most of the times the adults that are yelling are the player’s own parents.”
Near the end of the speech Miller hearkened a heavy hitter and former Maple Leafs’ captain.
“George Armstrong said it best when he suggested, ‘Hockey in Canada would be in good shape when parents decide it’s being played for their children’s benefit and not their own.’ ”
Hail to the Chief.
Is there a solution?
From the mouths of babes and from Miller’s lips to god’s good ear.
“You can help destroy the bad magic in the helmet. Be a real fan, have fun at the rink, cheer loudly, and enjoy the real magic of minor hockey,” says Miller.
And while we’re talkin’. A little post-game shout out to Miller Donnelly please.
Hip-hip-hooray!n