Nothing is potentially as pathetic as an old-guy tantrum, and yet nothing is so potentially entertaining as an old-guy tantrum when the old guy isn’t worried about his gig. Enter Rick Bowness, the head coach of the Columbus Blue Jackets and someone whose face would be on the $1000 bill if there was a country called Dontgiveafuckistan.
Bowness is 71 years old and has coached 899 games since his debut 37 years ago. That means he’s been replaced seven times. He has been an interim coach in four different places, an assistant in seven, a minor-league coach in three, and has coached for the same franchise (Atlanta/Winnipeg) twice. He has seen great hockey, terrible hockey and all the hockeys in between. He once punched noted toughian Tim Hunter in the head during a brawl in 1986—yes, as a coach.
In other words, when he took the Columbus job on January 12 he had seen all anyone should be allowed to see in the sport. He took the Blue Jackets from last in the Metropolitan Division to second and was being mentioned as a coach of the year candidate. Then gravity happened, the Jackets lost nine of their last 11 and missed the playoffs, finishing off with a 2-1 loss at home to Washington Tuesday night.
And Bowness flashed back to that moment with Hunter’s skull 40 years ago and went after his own with the righteousness that comes with being 71 and a lifer whose career is easing into the past tense.
“Just look at the stat sheet,” he said, building up to a denouement that would light the Ohio sky. “Three hits, 23 giveaways. I don’t know if I’m back, but if I’m back, I’m changing this culture. These guys, they don’t care. Losing is not important enough to them. It doesn’t bother them. How can you go out and play like that?”
He did not wait for an answer to come forth from within the dressing room. He was just starting.
“If they’re not embarrassed by tonight, by that, they’re on the wrong team.”
This raises the question of whether Bowness’s bosses think he might be on the wrong team, but that’s where the DGAF-ery of it all comes in.
“I should have done this about a month ago, but this is why we are where we are. This is why we’re out of the playoffs. That kind of effort. You have to hate losing. I don’t care if it’s a meaningless game. I don’t care. Show up and compete.”
A brave soul then asked him to elaborate—as though prodding was required.
“Because it got tough. Because it got hard. Like we talked about after the Olympic break: It’s going to get harder. So everything’s good as long as it’s going their way. And now it gets tough and we don’t want to battle back. We’re going to change that. Some of those guys are so lucky the season’s over and there’s no practice tomorrow.”
And with that pointed but ultimately empty threat ringing down the hall, he came back to his original point as he said he would meet with general manager Don Waddell in the next day or so to find out whose footprint ends up on whose hinder.
“The players were told tonight: If I’m back, we’re changing this freaking culture,” he said.
In summation, he is Pogo the cartoon possum who famously commemorated the cavalier treatment of the planet by man on Earth Day in 1970, “We have met the enemy and he is us.” Only he jacked up the price by taking it outside, a well-known tactic employed by soon-to-be ex-coaches because, as we have already covered, he has nothing to lose. Coaches with more jobs in mind don’t play that card because once you get a rep as a hardass, you’re a hardass to the end. Bowness is there now, if he hadn’t been already, the way old folks tend to get at the end of a long and sometimes unpleasant ride.
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