Torts’ Demeanor Could Be Seen In College Days
By JOEY JOHNSTON
Tribune Staff Writer
(c) Tampa Bay Times. Originally published May 29, 2004.
And now we take a step back from the Stanley Cup finals. Twenty-three years worth of steps back, in fact. To a crackerbox hockey rink at the University of Maine. To a confrontation.
The goaltender receives bad news. He isn’t starting that night. So he’s pouting. Complaining about the coach. Saying it’s just not fair.
His teammate, a non-captain, stomps over and goes nose-to-nose. The room falls silent. Everyone knows what’s coming.
“Hey, just get your head out of your [rear end]. It’s not about you. It’s about team. Team! Your job is to be ready. Let’s play.”
In other words:
Shut your yap!
John Tortorella always was direct. Even when this particular goaltender was his younger brother, Jim.
Twenty-three years ago? It might as well have been yesterday.
Tonight’s setting is a long way from Maine. But the Lightning, who face the Calgary Flames in Game 3, definitely march to the coach’s beat. He doesn’t suffer fools. He wants it done the proper way. Just like always.
“If you weren’t doing your job, to John, it didn’t matter who you were,” the younger brother said. “John was looking you right in the eyes, demanding accountability. It’s so crazy when I hear people say, “Wow! This John Tortorella guy. Where did he come from?’ “
From a lot of places, really.
From the house in Concord, Mass., where he scrapped on the pond with three brothers, sometimes wearing his favorite No. 7 sweater (for Phil Esposito). From the start-up program at Maine, where he set a school record for penalty minutes and is remembered as perhaps the Black Bears’ toughest player.
From the professional club in Kristianstad, Sweden, where he showed up sight unseen and endeared himself to management with his hard-working style. From all those years in the minors.
With injuries forcing the decision, Tortorella morphed to coaching. But those early core values — his pursuit of perfection, the brutal honesty, a team-first mantra and his refusal to shine light on his accomplishments — never left.
Never Outworked
Vinny Lecavalier, the Lightning center, scrunched his face and considered the question.
What do you know about John Tortorella’s playing career?
“Nothing,” Lecavalier said. “No idea. Maine, right? Torts never talks about it.
“If I had to guess, he had to be pretty intense. Gritty. An all-out player. Is that what you hear?”
Listen to Gary Thorne, ABC-TV’s play-by-play announcer for the Stanley Cup finals who began as a radio man for Maine hockey. He saw every game Tortorella played. He rode the buses. He went to the practices.
“John stood in front of the net, night after night,” Thorne said. “Guys twice his size were beating the hell out of him. He’d always score on them.
“He’d come back to the room, black and blue, exhausted, slumping over, after every game. He’d come right back at you the next night and do the same damn thing all over again.
“He did that for an entire career. Swear to God.”
Read this account from the Bangor (Maine) Daily News.
He had an ice pack for his knee, his nose had its usual trickle of blood and he is still nursing a fractured rib.
But the University of Maine’s answer to Charlie Hustle, junior right winger John Tortorella, was not feeling much pain in the locker room after his two goals had led the Black Bears to a thrilling 5-3 victory over the University of New Hampshire at the Alfond Arena Saturday night.
“I don’t give a &!?)$ about the goals,” grinned the tireless Concord, Mass., native. “It was a big team win.”
Sound like a familiar attitude?
That was Dec. 17, 1979.
Nothing has changed. Well, except for this.
To the guys from Maine, he’s not “Torts.”
He’s “Tort.”
“Tort was our measuring stick,” said Brian Hughes, a fellow winger at Maine, now a federal marshal in New Hampshire. “He always set the tone, right from the faceoff.
“He takes a helmet-to-helmet hit against Providence. There’s blood everywhere. He needs 40 stitches in his forehead. His elbows are all torn up. We used to look at his body and say, “How is this guy still playing?’ He never missed a shift. That’s our guy.”
Tort.
His Buddies Are Watching
Understand this about Tortorella: He never was the flashiest skater. He wasn’t the biggest or strongest. But he prepared. And he tried. Always, he tried.
That hasn’t changed, either.
He kept trying. He bounced around the minors, became a coach and hooked on as an NHL assistant. He inherited a scorched-earth job in Tampa Bay and turned it into a springboard to the Stanley Cup finals.
On his terms.
That’s why, to the guys from Maine, Tortorella is more than an old buddy. He’s their hero.
“He’s one of us,” said Dave Walsh, a former Maine defenseman who now builds custom homes in Massachusetts. “He comes from working class. He’s Boston. And he made it.
“He’s up for the [NHL’s Jack Adams] coaching award. I told Tort, “You say that doesn’t mean anything to you. Well, it means something to us.’ It’s corny, but for a lot of us, we still have the connection to hockey through Tort.”
His former hockey coach at Maine, Jack Semler, agrees.
Semler began the Maine team in Division II. Shortly after Tortorella transferred from Salem State College for the 1978-79 season, the Black Bears rose to Division I and established the foundation of a program that has made 14 NCAA Tournaments, reached nine Frozen Fours and won two national championships.
Tortorella helped set that foundation with a no-prisoners approach. He had 39 goals and 71 assists for a career 110 points. He led the team in penalty minutes each season and still ranks fourth on Maine’s career chart with 218 (in 99 games).
Back down? Never.
“John would plant himself in front of the net on our power play and he couldn’t be moved,” said Semler, now retired from coaching. “We beat Boston College 4-1 in our first year at Division I and that was a huge shocker.
“Our benches were side by side. I still remember the [BC assistant] screaming, “Get that guy [Tortorella] out of there! Whatever it takes. Clear him out of there!’ “
It never happened.
“If I had a team of players like my brother, we’d win the national championship every year,” said Jim Tortorella, the former Maine goaltender, now the hockey coach at Colby College. “He has such heart. He believes in ideals. It’s not just lip service. He believes these things.”
With the Lightning, the locker-room sign reads Good Is The Enemy Of Great.
At Colby College, players are greeted with Perfection Is Our Goal, But Excellence Will Be Tolerated.
“Probably Johnny’s influence,” Jim Tortorella said.
Meticulous And Organized
Tortorella shoots for perfection. He strives for excellence.
But his biggest belief: Know your role. Play your role.
“We’re coming down the ice with a two-on-none, and he’s so quick to give up the puck to me, it’s unbelievable,” said Gary Conn, an All-American center at Maine who is now a high school teacher and hockey coach in Marblehead, Mass. “Tort was no glory hound. He could care less about the limelight. He wanted to win. And if you didn’t win a game, you didn’t want to be near him.
“I don’t think he ever relaxes. If they win the Stanley Cup, he’ll be in the office the next day. He very much reminds me of Bill Belichick [Patriots coach]. He’s always looking for a way to make it better. And it has to be just right.”
Not just in hockey.
At Maine, Tortorella shared an apartment with three other players. The typical college hangout, across the street from a pizza parlor. People in and out. Stuff on the floors.
“A disaster,” Walsh said.
Except when Tortorella was home. He’d sweep maniacally. He’d be bothered if something wasn’t returned to its place. His room? Immaculate, of course. Everything organized.
“I think John felt if you were sloppy, you weren’t paying attention to detail and it carried over,” Conn said. “It’s the process. That’s why I don’t think it matters to John whether it’s the NHL or a kid’s game. He’d work his job the same way. You don’t change the effort. You fill the same role.”
In hockey.
And in baseball.
Yes, John Tortorella was a valuable utility infielder for the Maine Black Bears. In 1981, on a team led by future major-leaguer Billy Swift, he made the College World Series. You won’t find that in his to-the-point bio. His Lightning players never knew.
Typical.
“John Tortorella is maybe the most inspirational player I’ve ever had,” said former Maine baseball coach John Winkin, now at Husson College. “There’s something about him. A spark. I still use him as an example.
“Here’s the thing: He knew he wasn’t going to be a regular. He was [primarily] a hockey guy. But he still outworked everybody. It amazed me. He’d pinch-run. Pinch-hit. Play the field. Whatever you needed. And he did it with such passion.”
Has anything changed?
“This is about the players, it’s not about me,” Tortorella said, giving a stock answer.
But look at Tortorella’s impact at Maine. Now look at the Lightning. A group of team-first players. Accepting roles and filling them. Refusing to be outworked. Winners, against all odds.
Funny, but it’s so much about him. After all these years, he’s still the measuring stick.
