Home Away From Home — LA Kings Valley Ice Center

There are places you go, and then there are places that shape who you become.

For me, that place is the LA Kings Valley Ice Center.

I still remember when everything started to change.

I had been playing roller hockey for a few years, but around 11 or 12, our travel roller team made the move to the Valley Ice Center. It became our home base for training—preparing for tournaments like NARCh, Winter Nationals, and even an IIHF event in Toronto. That rink wasn’t just where we practiced—it was where we came together, put in the work, and started to understand what it meant to compete at a higher level.

By the time I was 15, I wasn’t just showing up to play anymore—I was showing up to work.

Some days I’d be out on the ice teaching skating. Other days I was behind the counter, sharpening skates in the pro shop, running the clock as a scorekeeper, or hopping on the Zamboni between periods. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but looking back, those were the moments that shaped me just as much as anything I did on the ice.

And then there were the hours that didn’t have a schedule.

Late afternoons turning into nights. Stick times that turned into battles—1v1, 2v2, 3v3—whoever showed up, we played. Summers were the best. Guys would come back from junior or college hockey, and suddenly the level jumped. Faster pace, harder compete. You didn’t have a choice but to raise your level.

Eventually, I left to chase the next step—junior hockey, then college, then pro.

But no matter where I went, I always came back.

Every offseason, it was the same routine—but it was never just one thing.

Some days started early in the gym in the back, getting work in before the rink filled up. Other times it was jumping on the ice with a group—guys home from junior, college, or pro—where the pace was high and the compete was even higher. And then there were the quieter moments too, when it was just you and the sheet, getting extra reps in after everyone else had left.

That rink gave you both—the push from others and the discipline to put the work in on your own. It was where I reset, prepared, and built myself back up year after year.

But what stands out most isn’t just the hockey—it’s the people.

The teammates who became lifelong friends. The families who welcomed you in like their own. The coaches, skating instructors, and staff who gave their time and energy to build something bigger than just a rink. The referees, the pro shop guys, the front desk staff—people who were always there, day in and day out, forming the backbone of the place. So many of those relationships are still part of my life today.

When I was in college, I got my first chance to coach at the Valley Ice Center, running the in-house program. I didn’t realize it then, but that was the start of everything for me as a coach. It’s where I began to understand how to teach, how to connect with players, and how to build something that could impact others the same way the rink had impacted me.

As my playing career came to an end and coaching became my path, the rink stayed right there with me.

It became my workspace, my testing ground, my classroom. I ran small groups, private lessons, camps, and clinics. I tried new ideas, adjusted, learned, and grew. Everything I’ve built as a coach today has roots in that rink.

Because the Valley Ice Center was never just a place to skate.

It was where you learned how to work.

Where you learned how to compete.

Where you built friendships that lasted far beyond the game.

Where you figured out who you were—and who you wanted to become.

For over 25 years, it’s been a constant in my life.

And no matter where the game has taken me, that’s never changed.

The Valley Ice Center isn’t just where I grew up playing hockey.

It’s home.