Still Grinding After All These Years

And now, for your reading pleasure, a simple story about a cow named Liz, a boy named Shane and the whole reason we love sports in the first place.

Dan Monick

Shane Doan is looking to lead a young team somewhere in the Western playoffs.

The cow's name was Liz, and Liz was 1,500 pounds of grouch, and every morning on the frigid Alberta plain Shane Doan had to milk her. He was 12 then, two decades before this, the bittersweet twilight of his hockey career. But in a way, Doan's mornings with Liz would be a parable for his NHL nights. Because Liz kicked Shane. A lot. The boy didn't like it or deserve it, but it kept happening. And Shane always shook it off. He winced and grimaced and kept doing his job, because he'd rather Liz kick him than kick over the milk bucket. If that happened, all the pain would have been for nothing. So Shane took the abuse with a smile until the day Liz died, confident to the end that all the kicks were worth it.

Which, if you think about it, is pretty much like Shane Doan's NHL career.

Since those mornings in Alberta, Doan has: been stranded by a coach in Miami who told him to find his own way to the minors [kick]; been called a disgrace to his country [kick]; toiled for a woeful franchise that's won only two of 18 playoff series, both before he arrived 14 years ago [kick]; and been booed, by a Montreal crowd with a misplaced grudge, after scoring a goal and getting an assist in this year's All-Star Game [kick].

But wait, there's more!

Doan has been leading an unlikely mixture of kids and veterans toward Phoenix's first playoff appearance since 2002, but all the media can focus on is the team's troubled bottom line [kick].

And, on Feb. 7, in a critical game that would have improved his Coyotes to .500, the 32-year-old forward scored his 600th career point, then watched his team give up five straight goals to Carolina as the home fans nearly revolted [kick].

After the game, Phoenix coach Wayne Gretzky scratched his head as he crumpled over a lectern in the pressroom. His world-famous smile curdled into a snarled curl that betrayed a stew of frustration and disgust. "The rest of the guys have to play every night like Shane Doan plays every night," Gretzky said with a sigh. And sure enough, the Coyotes captain took the loss hardest, staying in the rink until hours after the game. "I feel responsible," he said in the empty locker room. "You wonder if it's you. I get the most ice time. I'm the common denominator." Coyotes equipment manager Stan Wilson shakes his head in disbelief and says: "He's an emotional guy. He never wants to give up." Adds Darren Pang, a former NHL goalie and now the team's color commentator: "I want to give him a big hug." But the rugged right wing doesn't expect an embrace now, just as he never expected love from Liz. His nightly fight for the puck is much like those Alberta mornings in the muck: He'll endure anything, even a few kicks, for the chance to wake up the next day and do it again.

That's right: Shane Doan stayed out of gratitude to the team that, by its owner's admission, didn't deserve him.

Shane (and Liz) grew up in tiny Halkirk, 90 minutes east of Red Deer. Halkirk had 100 people but no stoplight, stop sign, gas station or blacktop. Doan loved it—loved throwing hay bales and building fences on his family's dude ranch, loved chatting up tourists who came to ride horses, loved Liz. Farm life was in his blood and blessed him with obscene strength and agility: He could jump over the back of a galloping horse from one side to the other—until he demonstrated the rodeo trick to his juniors coach, who put an end to such injury-risking foolishness. Eventually, though, the agile boy became a brawny (6'1'', 225 pounds) man, able to bench-press 315 and squat 475. "A house" is how Doan's personal trainer, Greg Kozoris, describes his client.

A house with a very good foundation. In 1995, Doan won a Memorial Cup with Kamloops. But that juniors triumph reminds him only that, yes, he did hoist one Cup in his career, just not the right one. "I don't know if that's pathetic," he says. "My dad says perseverance builds character. Well, I have more character than a statue." Then he laughs, a natural state for Doan, whose face always looks pre-chuckle with his brow scrunched together and big teeth ready to beam. So it's easy to find yourself smiling as he tells horror stories from a mostly thankless NHL career that started in 1995, when he was the Winnipeg Jets' last first-round pick before the team moved south.

You can smile because there's always a sunny side to Doan, a sense that even the darkest skies are hiding a rainbow. Exhibit A: He scored against Toronto on Hockey Night in Canada in November 1997, a big deal for an Alberta kid finding his way in the league. Days later, just before a game against Florida, then-coach Jim Schoenfeld told Doan he was being sent to the minors so the team wouldn't have to pay him a two-way contract, which started at Game 160. Doan left the Panthers' arena and walked through the streets until he found a cab to the airport, then flew to the team's affiliate in Springfield, Mass. Was he bitter about the demotion? Anything but. Doan ends the story by saying how nice it was to play in Massachusetts because he had a cousin in nearby Worcester.

Coyotes fans, of course, also recall 1999, when Phoenix took a 3—1 first-round playoff series lead over St. Louis on the back of two game-winners by Doan. Phoenix then lost the next three, two at home in OT. Doan, being Doan, thought, We'll get it next year. But Phoenix has won only two playoff games since, and the Jets/Coyotes have never won a second-round playoff game.

Then there was what became known as l'affaire Doan, in 2005, after Phoenix lost in Montreal with an iffy third-period call as the turning point. Goalie Curtis Joseph berated the officials after the final horn, and Doan skated over to calm him down. "Four French refs in Montreal, Cuj," he said before skating off the ice. "Can't win that one." Except a linesman thought he said, "Stupid f—ing Frenchmen," and the ref slapped him with a carryover gross misconduct. Word spread, and the fury of French Canada rained down on him. One paper called him a "disgrace to our country," and a politician in the House of Commons wanted him booted off Team Canada. Doan was exonerated in a subsequent investigation, but Québécois-nation holds a grudge. That's why he was booed every time he touched the puck during All-Star Weekend. Doan's take on the whole affair? He smiles and calls it "unbelievable" that Prime Minister Stephen Harper called to apologize for the misunderstanding.

Getty Images

Doan is a true leader on The Great One-coached team.

Doan's ability to see the best in a bad situation makes what happened during the 2006-07 season entirely predictable. An unrestricted free agent, Doan had an opportunity to bolt for greener ice. Gretzky explained that the team was going young, and Phoenix loved him, but, well, if Shane wanted to pull a Ray Bourque and skate with a chance for a Cup, Godspeed. Doan responded by signing a five-year extension. Why? "Phoenix should have dumped me many times," he explains. That's right, Shane Doan stayed out of gratitude to the team that, by its owner's admission, didn't deserve him.

Fast-forward a couple of seasons. The Coyotes are struggling for a postseason berth while trying to show their captain that he belongs in the desert. They're ignoring the kicks (losing eight times in a recent nine-game stretch) while trying to play every night as hard as he does. Five of the Coyotes are younger than 22, and Peter Mueller, Kyle Turris, Mikkel Boedker and Viktor Tikhonov will likely blossom into stalwarts, maybe even stars. Coming into the season with typically low expectations, the team has literally given as good as it's gotten, hovering around .500 with a puncher's shot at 90 points. But the up-for-sale franchise desperately needs extended-play revenue to offset losses this season. And in most places it would be unreasonable to expect kids to supply playoff grit.

In Phoenix, though, Coyote players have seen that W's happen as much in the corners as in the slot, and they've learned that even offensive stars must finish checks and contribute all over the ice. And who taught them that style of play—score on one shift, grind on another? In a poll of players, released after the All-Star break, Flames wing Jarome Iginla was named the top team leader in the NHL. Doan, who leads Phoenix with 22 goals and 52 points, finished a dark-horse sixth. "You feel his competitiveness," says Tikhonov, "seeing how he battles. I want to have that."

Doan sits in the darkened players lounge after the Carolina loss. The TV is off, the music too, and most of the clubhouse staff has left the building. Although it's past midnight, Doan hasn't showered. Instead he's sitting, thinking about his career, about all the false starts, about why he's still here when everyone else has gone. Outside in the desert, the rain is pouring. Then, right on cue, here comes the sun. "You think you can," he says, talking about turning the franchise around. "Maybe that's the definition of insanity, to keep trying when nothing changes." He laughs. "But it's starting to come."

Hopefully before the next kick.

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