This past Sunday night, I organized a watch party for the HBO show House of the Dragon. Neighborhood friends showed up with snacks and drinks. We even stopped the show several times to discuss what we’d just seen. It was so much fun.



And the entire time I kept thinking: this is what I’ve been missing since I retired.



The camaraderie. The discussion. The laughter. The learning. The diverse group of friends that bring different opinions and vantage points.



I’ve missed the locker room more than I ever expected.&nbsp;



I’m an only child. I like being alone more than most people. I have zero qualms visiting an amusement park by myself or going to see a movie solo. And toward the end of my career, I felt prepared to walk away from the locker room. I’d be fine.<div class="injected-ad injected-video" data-nn-ad-tech-injection-count="0" data-nn-ad-tech-max-gap="130" data-nn-ad-tech-current-gap="138"></div>



I was wrong.



I couldn’t have predicted how even a simple viewing party for a TV show could feel so similar to what I experienced during my career. We spend so much time as professional hockey players sitting around the locker room, sharing stories and drawing parallels to our past experiences.



For most of us, everything revolves around hockey in some form. If I don’t have a personal story to share, I probably have one from a teammate. I met people from all walks of life while playing hockey. Cattle ranchers from Western Canada. Rich kids from the northeast. And everything in between.



Even watching a show like House of the Dragon, I’m finding things that resonate with my career. Similarities that surprise me. Warning signs. After being paid by 15 different NHL organizations, I have a pretty good eye for leadership. I know how to spot a perilous situation. Maybe that’s why the show speaks to me.<div class="injected-ad" data-nn-ad-tech-injection-count="1" data-nn-ad-tech-max-gap="130" data-nn-ad-tech-current-gap="158"></div>



King Viserys Targaryen? He’s not going to last very long. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to be King any longer – especially since his wife and newborn son died. Yet he carries on out of tradition.



Viserys reminds me of several team captains that I played with. Nice guys. Hard working. But ultimately lacking the backbone to straighten out problems in the locker room.



I think Viserys has a kind soul but he lets far too many people have his ear. Like Lord Corlys Velaryon. The dude is straight up power hungry. And not afraid to lip off to the King without any fear of reprimand. Corlys – known as ‘The Sea Snake’ – comes across jealous and entitled.



I’ve seen that before in hockey. An early draft pick that – shocker alert – thinks he isn’t being given a fair shot. That he has already earned the right to be an NHL player without putting in the time, or doing things the right way. That’s Corlys. He engages with such a heavy hand. He’s way too difficult to deal with. And eventually ‘The Sea Snake’ is going to make someone more powerful than himself very angry. I don’t think it’s going to end well for Corlys.<div class="injected-ad" data-nn-ad-tech-injection-count="2" data-nn-ad-tech-max-gap="130" data-nn-ad-tech-current-gap="209"></div>



Just like Game of Thrones – House of the Dragon’s predecessor – there’s no shortage of conflict. And it makes for amazing viewing in a group setting. Watching the show through so many different lenses makes for an engaging, immersive experience.



I really think that’s what a locker room is all about. The connection we feel to others. And it’s just as important as what happens on the ice.&nbsp;And that connection can manifest in different ways.



Looking back, I never expected to have such fond memories of video games. I’m not a gamer by any stretch. During my lifetime, I’ve owned an original Nintendo and a Wii. That’s it.&nbsp;



But man. Those first few years of the Wii were magic. Everyone had one. The Wii might have been my first purchase with NHL money after making my debut with the Tampa Bay Lightning in 2009.<div class="injected-ad" data-nn-ad-tech-injection-count="3" data-nn-ad-tech-max-gap="130" data-nn-ad-tech-current-gap="145"></div>



I remember striding out of Wal-Mart grinning ear-to-ear. There I was, twenty-something years old, holding a brand new video game console and a tiny plastic steering wheel. Because Mario Kart was the singular reason why I had to have a Wii. I lived for Mario Kart. As did our entire Lowell Devils team during the 2009-10 AHL season.



Don’t get me wrong, we had fun playing other games. Just Dance was a favorite. And one that was usually enjoyed by the players along with the wives and girlfriends. Those were fun nights. Until the next morning when you woke up with blisters on your feet and had to put on hockey skates for practice.



But let’s get back to Mario Kart. For as many arguments as it created, that game brought our team together. We’d all get done with dinner and log online, hoping to get one of the 12 spots available in each race. You didn’t want to be left out.<div class="injected-ad" data-nn-ad-tech-injection-count="4" data-nn-ad-tech-max-gap="130" data-nn-ad-tech-current-gap="162"></div>



Those races were utter mayhem. Grudges were held. Banana peels were thrown. Controllers were busted. We all behaved like children.



The next day in the locker room could be really contentious. Imagine leading the race on a course like Rainbow Road while sitting first in championship points – until someone buries you with a red shell. Dreams of glory are immediately replaced with a concentrated rage. And it all spilled over the next morning.



I witnessed multiple players walk directly into the locker room and start cursing at a teammate over questionable Mario Kart tactics. The drama was incredible. Guys were truly angry with one another. But it never came to blows.



It’s the type of situation you look back at and can’t help but laugh. We’d get so angry about a video game that had zero consequences in real life. But in the moment, the inner competitor came out. Pro athletes are wired to win. We don’t like to accept failure. Especially when it comes in the form of a red shell thrown by a teammate.<div class="injected-ad" data-nn-ad-tech-injection-count="5" data-nn-ad-tech-max-gap="130" data-nn-ad-tech-current-gap="177"></div>



But those nights – I wouldn’t change them for anything. Hardly anyone had kids on that team. We were pretty free to do what we pleased. And we chose to spend time together, even in a virtual setting. And that set us all up for conversation the next day in the locker room.



My hope is that House of the Dragon viewing parties will continue. It gives us something to look forward to and talk about. Much like Mario Kart nights years ago.&nbsp;



You can’t choose your neighbors. Or your teammates. But you can choose to have fun. I miss the hockey locker room. But I’m enjoying a new one away from the rink. I just didn’t expect it to involve fire-breathing dragons.