Playoffs. A time like none other in high school hockey. It can take you to a high like none you have experienced and to a low that haunts you like a childhood nightmare. Emotions are at a fever pitch and enthusiasm so real it gives you more chills than the air inside the rink.

The playoff atmosphere, despite the well-intentioned regulations of the WIAA, is electric. There is something about the unbridled enthusiasm of high school athletes and fans. The pride of playing for your hometown, with the teammates you grew up with, is nothing short of special. The rivalries are intense and built on the unlikely combination of respect and hatred.

Playoff time has brought me to the pinnacle of emotions, to a place that has only been trumped by the birth of my children. From walking off the ice to the cheers of a standing room only crowd to watching, seemingly helplessly, as a 2-0 upset exploded into a 4-2 loss in the games last six minutes. Winning is the best aphrodisiac I have found and come playoff time it intensifies with each step you take toward Madison.

I can still vividly remember standing in a lockeroom in Rice Lake minutes before delivering my pre-game speech in the sectional final and doing everything in my power to keep from breaking down. The dream I had worked so hard, seemingly every day of every month, to achieve was right there in front of me. The pride I felt in that group of young men was overwhelming. We had gone further than anyone expected, anyone except us. The playoffs brings out the best in you.

As the horn blows, a few seconds at best, a season, a career and a dream come crashing down. Another season comes to an end. Every coach will have to deliver that season ending speech. Only one will do it under happy circumstances. The rest of us look out and see those twenty pair of eyes staring ahead looking for answers. There are tears, frustration, anger, disbelief and disappointment. We preached that their dream could come true. Work hard, be disciplined, play smart… all the cliches we coaches depend on. You tell them that life isn’t always fair, they can understand that right now. You tell them it isn’t just about the winning, but it feels like it is. There are no adequate words to console, no explanations that seem acceptable. For the underclassmen there is next year, but for the seniors there is a finality that is as stark, real and sudden as an overtime loss.

That senior year is a special year. That light at the end of the tunnel comes into clear focus as the season winds down. Most seniors rise to the occasion. It is their time to shine. To all the seniors, thanks for your experience, skill and leadership. You are the gas that fuels great teams.

I have been in many of these very lockerooms, some more difficult than others. There are some seasons when you realize as a coach that this group didn’t work hard enough and didn’t give enough of themselves to earn that playoff run. The season ending playoff loss is what we deserved. In others, a playoff run was never a realistic option, but the players before you made up for their lack of talent with their over-abundance of heart. Each final lockeroom is unique, yet so eerie with familiarity.

The most difficult lockeroom I ever stood in was at Wessman Arena in Superior when I realized my son, a senior, was never going to play for me again. Anyone who has played for me can attest that I am seldom at a loss for words. On that night I had no answers. I have had many surrogate “sons” play for me over the years. From November to March my family of seven grows to a super-sized thirty plus. But on that night in Superior a part of me died along with our dream to go to the state tournament together as coach & player. For the first time in my life, coaching became a question mark instead of an absolute. Years later that void, that only he could fill, is smaller, but still there.

You don’t have to be a coach to feel this, just a parent. Looking back you have regrets, I should have got to more games when he was a youth, we should have had more talks, we should have gone to the outdoor rink more often, spent more time passing in the basement, the list appears endless. Then you realize that if you had done everything perfect, it still wouldn’t be enough right now. There is no turning back, no rewind, it’s over. It is one of those defining moments in life, reality strikes you like a blindside check in neutral zone. You’ve had years to prepare for this moment, but you feel totally helpless.

ABC Sports made the “thrill of victory and the agony of defeat” famous many decades ago. It still holds true today. In the playoffs every win is a thrill and the one defeat you’re allowed is agony often beyond words. Every new season begins with the full knowledge of what awaits all but one team. And despite that unyielding fact, we can’t wait for each new season to begin. That will to compete, that will to succeed is what brings us back every year. That is what makes athletics so special, there is no promise of equality, no compromise, no special treatment, no rebates, and no second chances. Just black and white, do or die, win or go home.

Playoffs. The best and worst of times.