It is now officially the end of an era.   Jim Baxter has died of cancer, and with his passing we all lose: a master biology teacher, coach, player, mentor and friend.

Jim, who coached hundreds of players first at Minnehaha Academy and then at the old West H.S. in Minneapolis and Mpls. Southwest H.S., was also one of the world’s most passionate rink rats.  To a younger generation, born into warm arenas with all the non-essentials like locker rooms, heated bleachers — bleachers of any kind, instead of snow banks — concession stands and video games — the term “rink-rat” means something entirely different today than it did 50 years ago.

Of course, there remain many motivated young hockey players who would do anything to play this wonderful game — who can’t wait to get on the ice to practice skills or start a pickup game.

But Jim Baxter took the rink-rat label to another level, and so did his peers — the pioneers of high school, college, and youth hockey.  These were the architects of our game, the builders of arenas, the players and coaches who brought hockey to the level of other indoor winter sports like basketball, swimming or volleyball.

To the level of basketball?   Yes, that’s what I said, and I realize it sounds blasphemous.   But, as the only caretakers of the outdoor hockey facilities, this generation of coaches got little or no help from the school administrators or maintenance staff.   On the contrary, the presence of rink-rats was as welcome as the four-legged species of rats.

“Build your own facilities, use your own labor and money, maintain the rinks yourselves, schedule your own games, and keep your blankety-blank players out of my gym on cold days.”

So the rink-rats built their own outdoor rinks, shoveled snow, and flooded the ice until late into the night — every night of the winter.  Then, they got up to teach a full load of classes — many of them, like Baxter were master teachers.   Games or practices continued every day, regardless of blizzards and wind chills.   In fact, the only thing that could keep rink-rats off the ice was a particularly warm, sunny day — so, even more than aging, global warming has taken it’s toll on these old-fashioned rink rats.

Baxter was a perfectionist.  When he assigned part of the shoveling/flooding task to players, he was nervous — too nervous to finish dinner before coming back to the rink to inspect.

“We have the tradition of the best ice in North America — maybe the world,” he’d proclaim, and we all nodded, because we knew he had seen all the rinks in North America, if not the world.  “It’ll be just like glass if you flood several thin coats.”

If we didn’t flood thin enough, he’d take the hose and run — literally run as he’d flood — the rest of us handling the non-business end of the fire hose.   There were also lessons in how to shovel — yes, how to shovel — and some years we learned the art of sweeping: push-tap-push-tap-push-tap.  Not as simple as you might think.

And of course, the reward was getting up early the next day to see the reflection on the smooth ice; then crossing our fingers, hoping it wouldn’t snow before we got out for practice.   Of all the characteristics that a coach instills in players, the top of the list is passion.  Baxter had it by the ton, and every player he touched inherited his bug.

There’s an important lesson in the investment of those years — the hours building boards, shoveling snow and flooding — something that makes your first step onto the smooth ice surface seem a little more precious — helps you appreciate what you have earned.

In those days, practice was an incredible gift — not a duty you had to endure between games — but, a wonderful opportunity.   After all, we were lucky it wasn’t too hot or too snowy.   And the flooding crew knew that if the ice was perfect there was a better chance we’d get to scrimmage much of the practice.

Jim Baxter loved to scrimmage.   We all knew when he announced his retirement from teaching and coaching this would not be the end of his scrimmage days.   He moved to the north country — some said it was his love of the lakes and woods — or that he just had to build a log cabin bigger and better than any other.

But his former players knew the old biology teacher had the inside scoop on global warming — and he just had to get up where they’d still have outdoor ice.  Jim had nothing against warm arenas.  Heck, he played a part in building several.   It’s just that indoor arenas come attached with business managers, and that’s a disaster for rink-rats who enjoyed four-hour unstructured scrimmages.  You see, the managers are often retired basketball folks, and they just don’t get it — the value of four-hour scrimmages when the ice could be rented out.

Sixty minutes per day of hockey just won’t cut it — not for a youngster who wants to play hockey at higher levels, and not for an aging rink-rat who needs his daily dosage.  Overly-structured seasons, ice-time limited by arena managers, large team rosters, referees who hold the puck instead of grabbing a shovel to clear the ice between periods — these are a huge mistake if our wish is to develop more players like Neal Broten and John Mayasich.

If we want creativity and playmaking — and the new NHL game demands it, so it will soon be this way at every level — we cannot continue on the path of overly-structured hockey.  Rink-rat players are not developed in nine minutes of game-time — 11 touches of the puck, and two shots on goal.   Creativity is not taught with systems that require robots.

Broten, Mayasich, Baxter and all rink-rats learned the game by scrimmaging — unstructured games of shinny or keep-away.   They practiced skills by the hour, not just in a short team practice.

The roots of hockey in Minnesota or Canada — unlike California or Florida — came from days when ice was a work of passion, and practices had no time limit.   The longer the practice, the less the structure, until there was nothing left but rink-rats and smiling faces.

One of those smiling faces is now gone.  His passion lives on, however, in his family, his former players, and yes, in his biology students.  Jim was a perfectionist, and his greatest concern was passing on his rink-rat, work-ethic approach to life.  If you want good ice — work for it.  If you want to be a great player — spend more hours at the rink.   If you want the greatest cabin in the world, build it yourself.

If you want something extraordinary — don’t wait for someone else to give it to you — don’t even wait for their approval (because they might have basketball in their blood) — just do it yourself, and do it well.

Make yours the best in North America — maybe the world.