Foreword

By Chad Colbourne

In every hockey town, there are players whose stories don’t end with banners or headlines.

They end quietly.

The game gives structure, purpose and identity — and then, one day, it doesn’t. For many former players, especially those who chased the game beyond minor hockey, that transition is one of the hardest parts of the journey. Not because they failed, but because they gave their all.

The Life After Hockey Series exists to tell those stories.

Hosted by Brinson Pasichnuk, this series is about more than stats or levels played. It’s about the people behind the jerseys — how the game shaped them, what it took to walk away, and how they found their footing after the rink lights dimmed.

This first story is a personal one. The Pasichnuk brothers grew up in the Lakeland hockey system, shared dressing rooms, and followed different paths through the game. Like many families in this community, hockey was woven into their daily lives. What comes next is an honest look at what happens when that chapter closes.

These conversations matter. Not just for former players, but for parents, coaches, and the next generation coming up behind them.

Because hockey ends for everyone — but life doesn’t.

Hockey has a way of becoming everything before you even realize it’s happening.

Your schedule.
Your identity.
Your measuring stick for success.

Growing up in the Lakeland, the rink was where our lives revolved. For my brothers — Steen, Tehgann, and me — hockey wasn’t just something we played. It was the common thread that tied our childhood together and followed us well into adulthood.

This first conversation in the Life After Hockey Series is personal. It had to be. Before I sat down with former teammates, rivals, and players across the region, I needed to start at home.

Where it all started

Like so many kids here, our hockey journey began early — with the Cold Lake Freeze, which later became the Northeast Panthers and is now known as the Lakeland Panthers.

For Tehgann, those early years were about friendships as much as hockey.

“Most of the friends I met in my novice years are still my friends today,” he told me.

That’s something a lot of people outside hockey don’t fully understand. The rink builds relationships that stick long after the skates come off.

For Steen, those same years were shaped by leadership and family. He spent much of his minor hockey career being coached by our dad — something he looks back on as a privilege.

“I was fortunate,” he said. “Then moving to Lloyd to play U18 really shaped me as a player.”

Eventually, both of us found our way back home — to the Bonnyville Pontiacs.

Bonnyville and the grind

Playing for the Pontiacs is something every local kid dreams about. For Steen, it meant wearing the “C” as captain. For me, it meant lining up beside my older brother night after night.

Those years weren’t glamorous. Junior A hockey is a grind — long bus rides, constant competition, pressure to perform. But they were formative.

“It was a dream come true,” Steen said. “Especially playing together.”

You don’t realize how rare that is until later — sharing a dressing room, a lineup card, and a season with your brother.

Different paths, same love for the game

Not all hockey stories unfold the same way.

Tehgann’s journey took a different turn early on. During what would now be U15, he suffered a devastating injury.

“I got kneed at centre ice and snapped my femur,” he said.

That kind of injury changes things — physically and mentally. He still pushed forward, tried Junior A, but eventually made a decision many players face quietly.

“I watched my two brothers growing up,” he said. “I knew what it took to get to the next level. It was time to pack it in and go to university.”

There was no bitterness in his voice. Just honesty.

Sometimes knowing when to walk away is its own form of strength.

Arizona and chasing the dream

For Steen and me, hockey carried us further — all the way to Arizona State University, playing for the Sun Devils.

Playing Division I together was something special.

“That was the best experience of my life,” Steen said. “The most fun I ever had in hockey.”

College hockey offered a balance junior didn’t. We grew into leadership roles, learned how to manage expectations, and played in an environment that felt bigger than the game itself.

From there, the dream continued.

Steen spent time in both the AHL and ECHL, learning firsthand how professional hockey quickly becomes a business. I was fortunate enough to cross a line every kid dreams about — skating in the NHL with the San Jose Sharks — before returning to the AHL and eventually home.

When the game ends

Life after hockey looks different for everyone.

For Steen, the transition was clear.

“When I left hockey, I was ready,” he told me. “I didn’t have the same love for the game anymore. I had no regrets.”

He built a new career in Arizona, eventually landing in sales — something that suited him far better than being stuck behind a desk.

For Tehgann, the loss wasn’t the game itself — it was the routine.

“I wasn’t as productive without that structure,” he said.

He’s now finishing his final semester of university and preparing for a career in teaching.

For me, the transition was quieter. Coming home. Staying connected. Finding ways to give back to the game that gave us so much.

Still connected, just differently

Today, I am the head coach of the U18 Lakeland AA Panthers, and my brother Tehgann joins me on the ice as an assistant coach. Together, we are helping develop the next generation. Steen stepped away almost entirely, aside from the occasional alumni skate, now focused on family and life beyond the rink.

Watching how each of us navigated the end of our hockey careers reinforced why this series matters.

Because hockey ends for everyone — whether you want it to or not.

And when it does, the question isn’t what did you accomplish?
It’s who did the game help you become?

This series isn’t about celebrating careers. It’s about acknowledging the transition — honestly, respectfully, and without pretending it’s easy.

If these conversations help even one player, parent, or coach better understand what comes next, then they’re worth having.