Találtam egy régi cikket, az érdekesség kedvéért ajánlom mindenki figyelmébe, sokminden van benne, amit érdemes elolvasni. :mosoly:

When Paul Kariya announced his retirement Wednesday because of concussion issues, the first memory that probably most of us had was him rocketing up the ice like he was a cruise missile. His first three strides were as dynamic as any I've seen, and it seemed as if he could cover 150 feet of ice in the snap of your finger. His skating seemed supersonic. His shot release was wickedly quick.

Explosive. Exciting. Energetic. All of those words fit Kariya.

But Kariya, more than anything else, was well-prepared. There weren't many in this sport who worked harder at their craft than Kariya did. He came to work every day with the idea that he was going to be the best player he could be.

When the Nashville Predators signed Kariya in 2005, they were most excited about securing an offensive star. But I would bet if you asked general manager David Poile and coach Barry Trotz today what they liked most about him, it would be that he set an example for younger players on how to be a pro.

On a practice day, Kariya came to work. On a game day, he had his game face on the moment he climbed out of bed. When Teemu Selanne and Kariya played together, they were the best of friends and yet their approaches to preparation couldn't have been more different. Selanne, one of the NHL's true warriors, felt he played best when he relaxed. Selanne could be involved in the NHL's most intense game and yet he might check a tennis score on television between periods.

Kariya never understood that. Selanne tried to get him to lighten up, but Kariya, in his mind, couldn't relax without compromising his level of play. He didn't like to do interviews on a game day. He had a certain ritual that he followed with regard to his sleep, his meal and preparing his stick. He always felt if he didn't put his full focus on his preparation, then he wasn't doing his job.

His mental approach also seemed different to me. When Kariya was a young NHL player, I remember talking to him about whether he ever considered that he might have been better served to have played center instead of wing. I always believed his on-ice vision would have made him a natural center and I think he could have still scored plenty of goals.

He thought about it for a second or two, before saying: "Really the position that is on your hockey card just spells out what your defensive responsibilities are," Kariya said. "I think I go where I need to go in the offensive zone, regardless of what position I'm playing."

To this day, I've never had another player tell me that a player's position is mostly about who he has to cover when the puck comes the other way. But that's the way Kariya thinks.

This is a guy who used to spend time after practice trying to perfect a one-timer on his backhand. You read that right.

That's how serious Kariya was about profession.

But perhaps my favorite anecdote about Kariya was one I wrote about 14 years ago when he was about to head over to Nagano, Japan, for the 1998 Olympics (he was prevented from going because of a concussion). It was told to me by the late Shawn Walsh, who was Kariya's college coach at Maine. It was the moment that Walsh knew how special Kariya was as a player.

Just back from a stint with the Canadian national junior team in 1992-93, 18-year-old sensation Kariya uncharacteristically abdicated his defensive duties on separate plays in a game against Clarkson. "I ripped him harder than I would anyone else," Walsh told me in 1997. "We were unbeaten. I just wanted to show that he's not above everyone and that the Messiah hasn't returned."

As Walsh was chewing him out, Kariya started blowing in and out, much like a woman in labor is asked to do.

The next morning at the team meeting, Walsh asked Kariya why he had been doing that. "He said, 'You were giving me so much negative energy that I wanted to inhale strength and exhale your negative energy,'" Walsh recalled.

That's the kind of player Kariya was.