Keefe less focused on details than predecessor
A knee injury ended Sheldon Keefe’s career as an NHL player after six seasons.
A syllabus refined through 13 seasons in junior A, major junior and with the Marlies — seven of them as coach on Dubas-managed teams.
“There’s the on-ice side and the off-ice side,” Keefe explained in a sit-down interview this past week. “Off the ice, first of all, we’re trying to put together a program that celebrates the positives in people. Also, pinpointing and working on the areas where we need to grow. While staying positive and showing us at our best, still being realistic about where we need to go and what we’re capable of.
“Then, on the ice, reflecting that in a style of play that fits the group and the talent level that we have, and a structure that will help us put players in positions to succeed. Then also trying to plug the holes, if you will, defensively that have held the team back, in my opinion.’’
In the opinion of many, frankly, alarmed by the shortcomings of a defensively sketchy D-crew and the frequent disinterest by forwards in playing without the puck. Shortcomings baked into Dubas’ unconventional blueprint. Keefe counters that his incarnation of structure cleaves to the Leafs’ strengths, with a marquee netminder in Freddie Andersen as the final bulwark.
“One of the primary things that I’ve known with the team for some time, having worked with the team through training camp, through summers and in my role with the Marlies, is just the way the team defends and what it gives up in the middle of the ice. The high-end scoring chances that Freddie has to face. My priority coming in was to fix that, try to change the way in which chances and shots come at the goaltender.”
The premise, Keefe expounds, is curtailing opposition shots from high-danger areas, trusting that Andersen will handle most of the toughies. “I believe there’s a level of confidence that comes with that, so that when the breakdowns do happen (Andersen) is going to be sharp. It hasn’t been perfect, but we’ve seen some progress in that area. We’ve had to give up different things in terms of the pressure that we have on the puck, or the time we may spend in our zone, but trying to limit what we’re giving up in the middle of the ice and getting our players to value that space.”
It has been, philosophically and tactically, a meeting of the minds between Dubas and Keefe — Boy Genius and The Professor, as the latter was known even in his junior playing days. Because he’s always thought the game.
“The vision that we’ve had on the teams where we’ve been together, starting in the Soo and then coming here, has always been a work in progress, adapting and changing,” says Dubas. “But I thought from the very first time when I met with Sheldon that the general foundations of our philosophy were close enough that it would be a good relationship where we had alignment.
“I was very young in my career and inexperienced. I knew 100 per cent how we wanted to play and the type of players that we needed. I wouldn’t say that I had 100 per cent conviction in that quite yet. It began to really solidify — my philosophy about the game.”
Keefe had previously worn all hats with the Pembroke Lumber Kings: owner, GM, coach. It didn’t take long to go all in with his rather revolutionary manager.
“I don’t necessarily think, when I joined him in Sault St. Marie, that I had that philosophy. But what I had was an open mind and a willingness to learn. I’ve really only ever worked with Kyle, whether the Soo or the Marlies and now here.”
It was, he acknowledges, a dramatic shift from the traditional approach to hockey, though Keefe had also expanded his perspective under the aegis of Hockey Canada, attending coaching seminars and immersing himself in psychology — particularly examining the nature of interpersonal relationships.
Unlike Babcock, he isn’t detail-obsessed. “Details are important, that’s how you win. But I’m not one to get hung up on detail so much, because I recognize there’s a high level of randomness that happens in this sport. The game is very unpredictable and very dynamic. You need to have dynamic thinkers. So there has to be a certain level of freedom and trust that the players are going to be able to adjust on the fly.”
Overstructure, he suggests, can be stultifying.
“Take away some of those freedoms and you take away the skills that got these players here. That’s an important piece of what we’re trying to do: allow the players to make decisions on the ice and give them guidance to create frameworks in the decision-making process on the ice. But recognizing that things happen really fast. We have to trust that they’re going to do the right things.”
Unlike, say, Babcock, Keefe has known failure. While a points production league leader in the OHL, his NHL resumé is patchy and mediocre from six seasons with Tampa Bay, bouncing back and forth from the minors, and finally out for good with a shredded knee. But because he’s always been a keen observer, Keefe watched and learned from the early travails of teammate Martin St. Louis in Tampa and the gaining of wisdom by Vincent Lecavalier, made Lightning captain at just 20 years old. And, of course, enduring a sometimes turbulent relationship with John Tortorella.
“Those are things that stayed with me forever. Despite my pro career being short, I went through a lot of things that really gave me a foundation when I started coaching.”
More recently, he’s observed the purported moment of reckoning in hockey as former players have come forward with disturbing stories about mistreatment, mental and physical abuse by coaches, and the destructive mind games some have utilized.
“It’s a moment in time that brings attention to the way things were,” he says. “But it’s also a moment to reflect and see where the game has grown. I really believe there are substantial changes that have been made in terms of how coaches deal with players. I know it’s a priority for me. I’ve gone outside of hockey to develop these skills, to learn how to deal with people, manage people. Since I started to coach professionally, I’ve put a priority on positivity, a priority on empathy, a priority on the well-being of players and staff.”
For Keefe, it’s been a deeply personal awakening. He was abused, mentally and emotionally, by Frost, who was very effective at ostracizing teenage players from their families. Keefe spent years as an eager pupil of Frost’s harmful dictates. That was the Keefe who was loathed by teammates outside the clique of Frost disciples on the Quinte Hawks, the St. Michael’s Majors and the Barrie Colts, among others. The Keefe who basically disregarded his coaches while being signalled from the stands by Frost. The Keefe who memorably refused to shake the hand of OHL commissioner David Branch at the 2000 Memorial Cup opening ceremony. The Keefe who was a witness at Frost’s 2008 trial on four counts of sexually exploiting young hockey players. (Frost was acquitted. Keefe’s testimony remains under a publication ban.)
Frost had also punched a player on the bench during a phase when he coached the Hawks, for which he was arrested, pleading guilty and receiving a conditional discharge. Perhaps most revolting was a photo that surfaced in 2001 of Danton’s then-13-yearold brother wearing only underwear and taped to a chair. Frost and Keefe were present.
None of it turned Keefe off Frost back then. Now he has a different perspective.
“I recognize that I was put in a tough spot, in that I was a developing hockey player being coached by someone who was making me a better player, and had the trust of my family in order to do so. You’re feeling like this is just how it is.
“I was a young person being influenced by a situation that, if I were to look back on it and had more control over things, I wouldn’t put myself in that situation. I wouldn’t want to put my kids in that situation. That was not a good situation and certainly not one that I would ever want to recreate as a coach and as a leader now. As an adult, I’m smart enough to know what’s right and what’s wrong, and would help guide anyone that’s having those negative influences in their life.
“The changes that society has made and the sport has made to weed out people like that, in terms of what’s acceptable, benefits everybody. I’m very grateful to have the opportunity to be a part of that change.”
His well-documented background, though, required Keefe to beg for redemption and sell himself as a fundamentally altered man to the citizens of Pembroke when he bought the Lumber Kings.
“I had to spend time with very influential people, to reassure them, get to know my character. Ask them for a chance to earn their trust, their respect.” He vowed that no Frost-like individual would ever be allowed near the team.
There was no definitive snapping of his ties with Frost, more a gradual distancing by Keefe.
“It was very clear that I had reached a point in my life where there had to be a clear separation if I was going to have any success (coaching). Creating that situation was step one.”
Again, when Dubas fired Mike Stapleton and replaced him on the Greyhounds with Keefe, who was by then married and starting a family, Dubas dug deep for character appraisals. “I knew when we made the hire that it was going to be met with … some blowback,’’ says Dubas. “We did an exhaustive job in learning about who he was and who he had become.” Extraordinarily positive feedback. And later, a much less controversial segue to the Marlies. Hardly a peep about darker days either when elevated to the Leafs.
“He’s been a part of the Leafs organization for five years,” continues Dubas. “In regards of who he is and the quality of character, what he’s become as an adult and a professional, a husband and a father, I have no apprehensions about him being anything but the most solid character and person.”
In speaking about Frost now, in late December of 2019, Keefe’s comments become terser, more guarded. How often must he finger the entrails of a sordid past? He’s obviously not that person anymore.
And yet, Keefe adopts an almost passive tone about Frost, a whispering echo of ties that once bound, as if the creepy puppet master could still yank at strings if he chose.
“The one piece that I’m grateful for is that he has allowed me, really since I started coaching, to just live my life, unaware of what’s happening with him. He’s allowed me to just coach.”
Allowed.