DENVER — Connor Ingram was standing outside the Nashville Predators locker room Wednesday afternoon inside an empty Ball Arena, sans helmet and pads

A bystander remarked that not many people would mistake him for an NHL goalie.

The 6-foot-2, 196-pound 25-year-old "looks like he could work in a comic book store or something," the person said.

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Coincidentally, a rendering of the famous villain "The Joker" adorns the back of Ingram's goalie mask. Not so coincidentally, Ingram is an NHL goalie, a man who has fought what's beneath that helmet — mental health — down a complicated road that has led him to the present.

It led to Ingram making his first NHL playoff appearance Tuesday, when he stopped 30 of the 32 shots he faced in relief of David Rittich, who was playing in relief of All-Star Juuse Saros in Game 1 of a first-round playoff series against the Colorado Avalanche.

It also led him to his NHL debut earlier this season, nine months to the day after he voluntarily entered the league's player assistance program and was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

New beginning

Nine months after he wondered whether all those days and nights he spent playing the sport he loves in his tiny hometown of Imperial, Saskatoon, were for naught. After he fought for years something he knew little about until that fateful day in January 2021, when he showed up to practice in Dallas disoriented but sure of one thing.

"Went to the rink that day, sat down with Benny (Predators goalie coach Ben VanderKlok) and said, 'I can't do this anymore,'" Ingram told The Tennessean after his team's practice Wednesday, some 36 hours before he was likely to make his first postseason start in Game 2.

"I had never been open with people. I told them what I was dealing with and what went on every day."

What went on every day was torture. If there were 12 beers in his fridge, Ingram had to drink them all. He was a completist. He'd obsess about sexually transmitted diseases, sometimes checking himself for symptoms five or six times an hour.

"When I was all dressed up I couldn't check," he said. "When I was in full goalie gear in the middle of practice that become hard for me."

He had no idea why, but it made living everyday life next to impossible. The obsessions were nothing new. The compulsions, either. As a child he'd finish his homework religiously every day before moving on to the next task.

"There was a time where I went through a pretty dark period where a lot of things went through my head," Ingram said. "It was good to step away and kind of get myself back under control.

"It was the first time in my life I was like, 'If you don't deal with this, you're not going to survive."

It was the first time in his life that hockey, his escape, had come into doubt.

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'How do you really feel?'

Ingram pointed out that "everybody goes through ups and downs."

His just happened to be in a more public spotlight.

A spotlight, that, through unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances, has led him here. Has led him to now. Has led him to the biggest stage. Somehow, some way, Ingram has never been more at ease.

"We had a little chat on the ice today," teammate Mark Borowiecki said Wednesday. "I just asked him, 'How do you feel?' He was like, 'Good.' I was like, 'How do you really feel?'

"That's one of his strengths. He kind of exudes that sort of calm and confidence in the crease. It sort of permeates into your team. Any athlete who says their not feeling those emotions on the inside is probably lying to you. He does a great job dealing with it."

But how? Why?

Ingram said Borowiecki has had a lot to do with that. That the NHL player-assistance program had a lot to do with that.

Hockey has a lot to do with that.

"Whether I was an 8-year-old kid in Saskatoon or 25 here, you tie your skates the same way," Ingram said. "It's a little louder, a little faster. It's just hockey. ... It's not like you're stepping into something you've never seen before."

You've got a friend in me

Mention Ingram's name and parentheses immediately crease Borowiecki's cheeks, exposing a toothless smile.

Ingram refers to the Predators defenseman, a man who once stopped a robbery in progress during an off day, as his "hockey dad." The two are seatmates on team flights, where Ingram eats peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while Borowiecki wolfs down inhumane amounts of salad. Their constant banter is a source of humor among the team.

Ingram teases Borowiecki about his appetite and his age (32). Borowiecki fires right back with small talk of his own.

Their admiration for each other is genuine. Borowiecki has been vocal about his struggles with mental health, a bond the two share that, it turns out, reaches far beyond any games.

"He's been amazing for me," Ingram said. "You take the mental health part out of it and he's still an amazing human being and an unbelievable veteran to have around. ... I can't thank him enough."

Borowiecki said he appreciated Ingram's kind words but insisted the street runs two ways, that Ingram has helped him just as much.

"There's definitely a connection there," Borowiecki said. "Every day I see him grow into his role in this league, it makes me really proud of him.

"He needs to know we believe in him."

'I'm just a human being'

That message has been received loudly and clearly.

"A lot of people think of us as just athletes," Ingram said, "forget that we're human beings. I like leaving the rink or going to see my dog or my girlfriend. I miss my family. I'm like any other human being. This is just what I do for a living."

If all goes well, Ingram will be back doing that next season, backing up Saros and seeing his family and hanging with his dog and his girlfriend.

First, though, he has some work to do. And it's not at a comic book store.

Reach Paul Skrbina at pskrbina@tennessean.com and follow him on Twitter @PaulSkrbina.

This article originally appeared on Nashville Tennessean: How Nashville Predators goalie Connor Ingram beat mental health issues