Greg Powers stood at NCHC media day and called himself the right guy while a 21-year-old defenseman sat on life support with no chance of significant recovery. That is the entire story. Everything else is noise and procedure.
Matthew Mayich collapsed near the end of an outdoor team workout on August 20 at Sun Angel Stadium. First day of formal activities. First day of fall classes. Temperatures in the mid-to-high 80s. A former Green Beret named Tim Ziesel ran the session under a handshake arrangement with no contract and no training plan submitted to ASU strength and conditioning. All three hockey coaches were there. The athletic trainer was there. Ziesel left before Mayich went down running with a medicine ball. Exertional heat stroke. Lack of oxygen to the brain. He remains hospitalized at Barrow Neurological Institute.
Powers finally faced microphones on September 23 and treated every question about that morning like a subpoena. “Respectfully, I decline to answer any questions regarding Aug. 20.” “Not today.” “Again, just not able to answer questions regarding it in any way.” Then the self-defense: “There’s obviously some things that have been said about me and I respect anything anybody has to say. But I believe I am the right guy, and 20 years of a body of work and building a program, almost 20 years now, I still believe that.” And the cleanest deflection of the day: “I don’t run workouts — our strength and conditioning coach does.”
I am done with that posture. A player who arrived from Ontario eight days earlier is dying from a workout your staff requested and oversaw, and your public answer is a résumé plus a handoff to the strength coach. That is not leadership. That is insulation.
The No-Blame Report Was the Tell
ASU’s internal review, led by senior VP James Rund, assigned no individual responsibility. Policy gaps, yes. No plan submitted for the outside consultant. Heat guidelines not fully followed. Cooling with iced towels, water, and a hose instead of the ice-water immersion the guidelines call for. The fix is a blue-ribbon advisory panel on outdoor activities and outside consultants. No coaches placed on leave. Staff kept overseeing players. Season still opens October 2 at Lindenwood.
The Mayich family, through attorney Rob Carey, has spent weeks calling that process what it looks like: a conflicted internal job that protects the program. They have asked for an independent probe from Phoenix PD, the state attorney general, state police, or the Maricopa County Attorney’s Office. On or around September 23-24, Carey sent a letter to County Attorney Rachel Mitchell requesting a criminal investigation. MCAO confirmed receipt and said it is under review. Carey has accused ASU of circling the wagons. I do not need a law degree to see why the family refuses to accept the same administration investigating itself and finding nobody to blame.
Powers told the team the day before that this would be a “team building exercise with physical activity built in.” He told them to hydrate and eat well. Mayich had already done three short voluntary outdoor sessions after passing his pre-participation physical. Then came the full session: calisthenics, push-ups, planks, flutter kicks, bear crawls, squats, 30-plus-yard sprints, buddy carries, medicine-ball work. Roughly 45 to 60 minutes. One water break around the 20-minute mark. EMS arrived around 8:30 a.m. for a serious heat emergency. That sequence happened under the program Powers has run for nearly two decades, the same program that signed him to a five-year extension through 2030 last November.
Body of Work Means Nothing Without Accountability
Last season ASU finished last in the NCHC and lost 10 of its final 12. The program is still selling toughness and special-forces culture while a 21-year-old Blues draft pick (170th overall in 2023) lies without hope of full recovery. Mayich put up 15 points and led Clarkson freshmen in ice time the year before. He came to Tempe to play hockey. He is not going to play hockey again.
X is full of people arguing whether the season should even happen. I care less about the schedule than the vacuum Powers and the university left in plain sight. He got to declare himself the right guy without answering a single question about the morning that put his player in a neurological institute. The university got a no-blame letter and kept the staff in place. The family is left writing the county attorney while their son has no path back.
Twenty years of building a program only matters if the program can account for day one of formal activities. Powers can keep declining questions. He cannot decline the fact that this happened on his watch, with his coaches present, under an outside consultant his staff brought in without a contract or a plan. The county attorney has the letter. That is the next room this story enters. Media-day soundbites about body of work do not travel there.
