Athletic teams are a collective. The success of a team on the pitch, rink, court, field, or diamond derives from their chemistry, athleticism, culture, leadership and history as a unit.
Rare is it when these attributes coalesce. When they do, a team is not only on the same page but possesses a common drive and desire to write the next word, and, perhaps more importantly, is in agreement on what that word should be. When fully developed, in its preeminent manifestation, a team develops a unique character, a soul.
A black hole emerges, a whirlpool, sucking in all within its sphere of influence; subsumed are the personas of the players, coaches and management. Individuals are transcended, and the greater good, the common goal, the complete annihilation of the opponent, becomes the raison d’etre for all.
When established it can be a devastating, unstoppable force.
“When we were behind and we knew we were going to win, that was one thing, when the crowd knew we were going to win that was another. But when the other team knew we were going to win, the game was over.” (John Madden, One Knee Equals Two Feet)
But not all soul creations are positive, successful. There are times when the negative side of the attributes becomes predominate, when they don’t coalesce but congeal, and the dark side gains critical mass.
The Oilers’ character has been established slowly over the years, as these things so often are. They became divorced from their past and floundered, metastasizing into a culture that wasn’t surprised, or particularly hurt, by a loss. Excuses were in hand before the drop of the puck. Entering the playoffs as a seventh or eighth seed was considered a successful season, a reason to keep the coach. Mediocrity was condoned, if not conditioned.
And a losing culture is as difficult to tear down as it is to build; congealment does not fracture easily.
The traditional approach is to go top down. The common mantra: Firing the coach/GM is easier than firing the players.
Another approach: Controlled demolition
You start with the training staff, coordinated with an assistant GM, continue with a head coach or two, and, for the coup de grace, waive, with the ink still wet on his freshly minted buyout, the captain. Include the apparent, unreported, abduction of Kevin Lowe, and it can only be characterized as a sea change.
Tambo has rent asunder the levy, releasing a tide that has swept away the edifices of the last decade. As the tidewaters recede, the bedrock is revealed, etched with one question: Can Steve Tambellini construct as aggressively, efficiently and effectively as he can deconstruct?
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