Life after the NHL
Geoff Courtnall had the world by the tail, playing pro hockey, adored by fans. But concussions, drinking, his father’s suicide and divorce made for dark days. He’s finally found his happy place.
Geoff Courtnall looks lean.
His calm and measured tone reflects renewed everyday optimism and a sense of peace. It comes with being in a better physical and mental place while still pushing the pace in mining and real-estate ventures and arduous fitness pursuits.
The former Vancouver Canucks winger doesn’t look, feel or act 55. And the glances he’s afforded in a downtown coffee shop — those quizzical “I-should-know-that-guy” looks — are endearing. But those patrons don’t really know Courtnall. Neither do we.
The undrafted free agent compiled 799 points in 1,049 NHL games during a 17-year run with five teams — including 292 games with the Canucks from 1991-95 in which he notched 246 points. He also suffered enough, at and away from the rink, to crush most men.
Courtnall endured more than a dozen concussions and was forced to retire at age 37. He suffered severe post-concussion symptoms for more than a decade and still has equilibrium episodes after extreme hockey-related exercise. He lost his father to depression-driven suicide when he was just 15. And the demands and distractions of being a pro athlete brought demons and drove him to drink. His 25-year marriage ended in 2007.
Life after hockey could have taken Courtnall down a dark and destructive road. But the Victoria native has not only navigated the twists and turns in his life, successes and failures on the professional and personal fronts, he claims to be a better person for it all.
He’s grateful, happy and well-balanced. He has become a better father to sons Adam, 30, and Justin, 28, and becoming a philanthropist has given his life more meaning.
However, the biggest assist to living a full and rewarding life came from his lifelong friend and former roommate Cam Neely.
Losing his way, and a life-changing call
The 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver were a never-ending party. And nobody celebrated better than Courtnall. He was always up for a good time — maybe to forget the bad times.
If there was ever a cause for celebration, one that had the beer flowing and corks popping, it was Canada’s gripping 3-2 overtime gold-medal victory over the United States. In the middle of all the hoopla was Courtnall and his buddies.
It would be the final drink Courtnall consumed.
He paused and gathered his thoughts before coming clean about that fateful fork in the road.
“I was here for the entire Olympics and basically drinking from 11 in the morning until 2 a.m.,” he said. “I had a great time, but I had been sort of pushing the limit of drinking too much. A lot of red wine and having a lot of fun, and thinking it was great and more important in my life than the important things.
“I had a few instances where I got nailed for drinking and driving. What got to me was that and Cam Neely calling me and telling me he was worried about me. We’re really close and that was it. It was a turning point because I just said, ‘I think I’m drinking to mask problems.’”
The road to recovery hasn’t been easy.
Courtnall would go on long runs in the evening to lessen the likelihood he would uncork a wine bottle. He received counselling but was committed to beating the demons on his own. He ran the Boston Marathon on a sweltering day in 2012 in a very respectable three hours, 14 minutes, 13 seconds.
But he couldn’t run away from a pressing problem that wasn’t going to vanish in days or weeks. Drinking was his demon, his crutch and his undoing.
“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” said Courtnall, noting he had been immersed in a professional sports culture where drinking was normal. Nothing like a cold brew after the heat of competition.
“When I broke in with Boston in 1983, we had two beer fridges in the dressing room,” he said. “And even when I retired from concussions, the doctors told me not to drink. But I did it more. That’s why I feel so fantastic and fit now. I know I’ll never drink again. It’s easy for me now.”
Losing his career to concussions
Taking the stick out of a player’s hand is like sticking a knife in his heart.
It can be easier if indifferent play warrants a dismissal, but being taken out by something as cruel as multiple concussions and the long-term effects that can linger for years is worse. Much worse.
Courtnall’s symptoms — including headaches, nausea, dizziness, sensitivity to light, memory loss, sleep deprivation and depression — have subsided over the past few years but he still has to be cautious.
“I have to be careful,” he said. “If I did a real hard workout on skates, I would get symptoms, but if I ride or hike or lift weights, I don’t get anything. For whatever reason, it’s a balance issue that creates the nausea, dizziness and headaches.”
Courtnall played back in the day when concussions were called “getting your bell rung.” It was a trip to the bench, some smelling salts, sucking it up and getting back at it — no quiet room or concussion spotters or concussion protocol after a brain-bruise injury that can be caused by initial impact or whiplash.
Courtnall wonders how the speed of the game today, harder and bigger equipment, and inconsistency of officiating, plays into it all.
“I visited Justin two years ago in the AHL,” said Courtnall, referring to his younger son, “and his team had seven kids out with post-concussion symptoms. Why is that?”
Courtnall was rocked several times in his NHL career. As the concussions mounted, it was easier for him to be knocked out and it took much longer to recover. Once, while trying to jump around a defender, he hit the shoulder pad with his chin and hit the ice.
“I was floating through the air and landed on my head,” he said. “I woke up in the ambulance, spent the night in hospital and played two days later. I remember feeling groggy in the game. And in the old days, you couldn’t take the risk of missing a game.
“You thought: ‘Someone else is going to take my spot or I’m going to get sent down.’
“It started to change in that period because of (St. Louis general manager) Larry Pleau,” Courtnall said. “His son (Steve) had his career ended by too many concussions, so he was a lot more sympathetic toward me. I wanted to keep playing but they (Blues) didn’t want me to.”
Losing father to suicide
There is no easy way to broach the subject because several factors led to Archie Courtnall taking his own life. It remains a sensitive subject.
But the construction of the Archie Courtnall Centre for emergency psychiatric care, which has helped to fill a gap in Victoria’s health care system, was a healing process for the Courtnall family and the community. That’s the good stuff. “When I walk down the street in Victoria and people come up to me and basically start crying and telling me the story of their son or daughter or mother or father or someone in their family going into the Archie Courtnall Centre and being saved — that really is something I feel great about,” stressed Courtnall, who, along with his brother Russ, raised funds for the centre.
“The biggest thing is to raise the awareness. We all have something in our lives. Life is not easy. If you get into the black tunnel, it’s pretty tough to come out. It can take you down. A lot of people feel hopeless.” Which brings us to the bad stuff. Archie Courtnall meant well. He worked hard. He raised a family but was beset by depression on every conceivable level. It’s difficult to know where to start.
“He had a real tough childhood,” Courtnall said. “His mom died at birth and his dad was an alcoholic. He was raised by his grandparents and then went away to boarding school until 14.”
Archie Courtnall was a good hockey player and even played pro in Cleveland. Returning to Victoria, he worked at B.C. Forest Products, raised his kids and would become their coach.
“Then his brother drowned two years before my dad committed suicide,” Courtnall said. “He and his brother were so close and grew up parentless. After my dad’s brother drowned at Oak Bay marina while swimming, he used to still take me there all the time and just stare out at the ocean — thinking he (his brother) was going to come back.
“It was the beginning of the end of what took him down. There was not the help that there is today. My dad was sick probably for 1½ years. He would go into his bedroom and lay on the floor and pound it and scream because he was frustrated in how he felt.
“He couldn’t get out of it.”
Gaining a new perspective
Having a long hockey career hurt and helped Courtnall.
It took a mental and physical toll on the winger, but what drove him to beat the odds and earn an NHL living was the same work ethic that has led to an awakening in his business and personal life.
He’s wired to succeed. He has the drive and is wise enough to partner with the right, experienced people.
“The problem as a professional athlete is we don’t know a lot about business — we think we do,” Courtnall said. “You get in some deals that aren’t great. You think money and hard work can turn things around, but that’s where you can run into trouble. You have to have smart, experienced people around you.
“I’m a fighter and I like to be busy. The reason I had success in my career is that I don’t give up and I’m not afraid of working hard.”
All of that was evident when Courtnall became co-founder of Lupka Gold in 2010 following a meeting with partner and geophysicist Gord Ellis. A property was purchased in Peru to mine gold. No pizza place or doughnut shop for Courtnall. He went all-in on a high-risk venture.
He has raised significant capital and is working toward getting the property into production to eventually reward investors.
It speaks to Courtnall’s mantra: Nothing ventured, nothing gained, especially in self-growth.
“I like myself today,” Courtnall said. “Life is not perfect. You make some bad decisions and you have to deal with them.”
“We all have something in our lives. Life is not easy. If you get into the black tunnel, it’s pretty tough to come out. It can take you down. A lot of people feel hopeless.” — GEOFF COURTNALL