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USA Hockey hauled 44 guys to Plymouth, Michigan, last week for something called an “orientation camp,” which means two days of PowerPoint slides, lukewarm chicken breasts and somebody in a blazer droning about “culture.” Not a puck was dropped. Not a whistle was blown. Honestly, you could’ve hosted the whole thing in a Scanlon pub with a Costco projector and nobody would’ve noticed the difference.
Neal Pionk was there. Yes, that Neal Pionk, the pride of Hermantown, where the rink boards have more Band-Aids than a youth coach’s first-aid kit. The same barn where the air always smelled like wet gear and chili, and if you sat too close to the glass, you left with a bruise.
And now here’s Pionk, sitting in the same room as Auston Matthews and the Tkachuk brothers. That’s like inviting your cousin who plays bass in a garage band to jam with Springsteen. But hey, he’s there, and that’s no small feat.
Pionk isn’t flashy, never was. He’s the guy Winnipeg leans on to soak up 22 minutes of abuse a night, block shots with his face, and move the puck just enough that people forget how ugly the shift looked. He’s a lunch-pail defenseman — which, of course, is precisely the type of guy USA Hockey forgets it needs until Sidney Crosby’s already scored in overtime.
Meanwhile, the stars get the headlines. Patrick Kane at 36 is still chasing the gold medal like it’s hiding under his couch cushions. Matthews and the Tkachuks flash smiles for the cameras. And USA Hockey beams, because that looks good in the hype videos. The problem is, hype videos don’t stop Connor McDavid at full speed. Guys like Pionk do.
And let’s not pretend this program has been a model of success. Since the Miracle on Ice in 1980 — which gets replayed every February so we all forget what’s happened since — here’s the track record:
- 1980 Lake Placid – Gold. Herb Brooks. A miracle, literally.
- 1984 Sarajevo – Seventh. Miracles expired.
- 1988 Calgary – Seventh again. The follow-up tour nobody bought tickets for.
- 1992 Albertville – Fourth. “Almost counts” medals not awarded.
- 1994 Lillehammer – Eighth. Ouch.
- 1998 Nagano – Sixth. The NHL guys showed up, trashed hotel rooms, and forgot to win games.
- 2002 Salt Lake City – Silver. Lost to Canada on home ice, which still stings like freezer burn.
- 2006 Turin – Eighth. Let’s just not talk about it.
- 2010 Vancouver – Silver. Crosby’s overtime dagger still makes you want to unplug your TV.
- 2014 Sochi – Fourth. Shut out in the bronze game, because why not.
- 2018 PyeongChang – Seventh. No NHLers, no chance, no fun.
- 2022 Beijing – Fifth. Which is like winning “best dressed” at a funeral.
One gold, two silvers, and four decades of excuses. If USA Hockey were a restaurant, it’d be the place that still brags about the burger it served in 1980 while handing you burnt fries ever since.
So here’s Pionk, sitting in the back row of orientation camp, probably wondering if anyone will remember that winning hockey games requires more than highlight-reel goals and “branding initiatives.” If history holds, they won’t. They’ll build an All-Star Game roster, lose when it matters, and we’ll all be hearing about “lessons learned” in the postmortem.
But if by some miracle USA Hockey does figure it out? Don’t be shocked if it’s Pionk, Hermantown’s own, doing the dirty work. Because in Milan, it won’t be Kane or Matthews diving in front of slap shots. It’ll be the guy from the barn with the busted boards.
Hermantown keeps cranking out hockey players like a conveyor belt, tough kids with cracked shin pads and a mean streak. If the rest of the country had Hermantown’s sense, maybe the medal drought would’ve ended before you needed a calculator to count the years.
Instead, we’ve got PowerPoints, buffet chicken, and another American team dreaming big while the rest of us sit on the couch, muttering: Didn’t we already see this movie?
