The gloves dropped, and Bob Crawford knew what came next, pitying a kid who just didn’t know any better.

It was 1977, maybe ’78, when he saw Alain Vigneault for the first time, a 16-year-old in his first season in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, preparing to tangle with renowned tough guy Dave Allison.

Brave, but stupid, the unknown teenager appeared, about to learn the price of loyalty to his teammates.

“The whole league was afraid of [Allison] and I said, ‘Oh jeez, Dave’s gonna hammer this guy,’” recalled Crawford, later a teammate of Vigneault. “But Alain just about knocked him to China, he hit him so hard. The rest of the year, nobody liked going to his corner. He was there to answer the bell with anybody that wanted to go on the dance card with him.

“He always stuck up for his teammates, a tough guy who did whatever was needed to win.”

“Bam-Bam” was born, a defenseman whose work ethic was the only thing known to be stronger than his left and right fists. A future as a coach seemed like fiction, but the groundwork for the Rangers’ future leader was always there.

Off the ice, Vigneault, now 53, was known for his ever-present smile, a gentle and easygoing guy, smart, trusting and trusted, and popular from a young age.

“He’s the kind of guy, like Norm from ‘Cheers’, when he walked into a room, it brought a smile to your face,” Crawford said. “He’s a fun-loving guy. You couldn’t not like Viggy.”

As his NHL playing career with the St. Louis Blues was ending, after what Vigneault has joked was “42 of the most intense games you’ll ever see — sitting on the left bench, sitting on the right bench,” his demeanor was no different, even as his lifelong dream dissolved in the minor leagues in Billings, Mont.

“No one’s going to be the happiest guy, especially when you go from St. Louis to Montana, but he always walked around with a smile on his face, always was laid back, never raising his voice,” said Montana Magic teammate John Beukeboom. “But there you see your downfall, that you’re not going to make it.”

For so long, making it was all that mattered.

Born in Quebec, Vigneault was the oldest of three children, whose father, Maurice, was a pathologist who routinely performed autopsies. A talented athlete who also excelled at baseball and golf, and loved to fish, Vigneault’s intelligence matched his athleticism.

In fifth grade, the family moved to London, Ontario, and Vigneault was thrown into an all-English-speaking school without knowing a word of the language, yet quickly mastered the foreign vocabulary with ease, eventually shaking off much of his accent.

“He had everything going for him,” said his younger sister, Nicole. “He was good-looking, athletic and really popular, popular with the girls, a very cool guy at school. He had a lot of confidence, but the funny thing is he’s very shy. He’s a man of few words, but he laughs a lot.”

Growing up playing on outdoor rinks near his home, Vigneault never debated his future, even if classmates were amused by his grand aspirations.

“One year on the first day of school, people are introducing themselves, and they ask what you want to be in life,” said Mike McGowan, one of Vigneault’s best friends since childhood. “ ‘I want to be a fireman.’ ‘I want to be a lawyer.’ And he said he wanted to be a professional hockey player. I said I wanted to be a doctor. Hockey players didn’t make any money back then.”

By 24, Vigneault was a hockey player no more, making money no more, after deciding to end his middling career. Finally following his father’s wish, Vigneault went to the University of Quebec at Trois-Rivieres, where he studied business administration, also becoming the volunteer coach of the local Tier II hockey team, wanting to give back to the team that gave him so much growing up. Vigneault soon succeeded Pat Burns as coach of another of his former teams, the Hull Olympiques, and led them to five straight winning seasons.

In 1992, Rick Bowness became the first coach of the Ottawa Senators, where wins were almost impossible for the expansion team, so what he wanted in an assistant was passion and dedication. Bowness, having also played for St. Louis, heard of a coach across the Ottawa River with a good reputation, worth interviewing even though he wasn’t considered ready for the NHL.

“First time I met him, I knew in 10 minutes I was going to offer him the job,” Bowness said. “We had to make sure we had a staff that had each other’s backs and you felt that from Alain from Day 1.

“He doesn’t let anything — the media, the fans — bother him. He’s thick-skinned. He trusts his instincts. You can’t coach with your heart or what everyone wants you to do. You coach relying on your instincts and having the guts to do that and he certainly has that.”

After 3½ trying seasons, the staff was fired. Vigneault opened a fitness studio in Quebec, then spent two more years in the QMJHL — with the Beauport Harfangs in a 1,700-seat arena he once called “probably the worst in all of junior hockey.”

Then, in 1997, after 11 years coaching, Vigneault was named the coach of the Montreal Canadiens, having impressed general manager Rejean Houle with the same preparation and focus that wowed Bowness.

Maurice let it sink in — his son was coaching his favorite team.

“We were surprised when we realized he was coaching in Montreal,” Maurice said. “It was tough for him and tough for us watching him go from one place to another, but he’s a self-made person and he was always focused on becoming a better coach. He knew exactly what he wanted and he did what he had to do to get there.”

In Montreal, one playoff appearance was not enough, and Vigneault was fired during his fourth season. For more than two years, Vigneault remained out of coaching, working as a scout, also doing radio and TV work.

In 2003, he returned to the QMJHL, with six years passing in between NHL jobs, before being hired by Vancouver’s minor-league affiliate, the Manitoba Moose, in 2005, and then by the Canucks a year later.

“Instead of being in front of 21,000 people, I was in front of 1,000 people coaching my team,” Vigneault said during last year’s playoffs. “But at that time I had bills to pay, I had a family to make sure I was providing for, and that was the only place I could work. I always felt that working was honorable, and I went to work there.

“You never know if you’re going to get a second chance at it,” Vigneault said in February. “I’m one of the lucky ones who had a second opportunity.”

Vigneault’s second chance was the last he needed, taking the Canucks to the playoffs in seven straight seasons, with two Presidents’ Trophies and a season one win shy of a Stanley Cup.

Bowness, Vigneault’s assistant in Vancouver, remains amazed at how he traveled the long road with such positivity, a route to more wins than any coach over the past nine years.

“You coach the Montreal Canadiens and you’re the king of the province, so for him to do what he did, to go back to junior hockey just to get another shot shows his love of the game and shows the inner strength that you need,” Bowness said. “Not too many guys would go back to eating chicken on the bus after you’ve been in the NHL when you’re treated as well as we’re treated.”

Fired by Vancouver in 2013, the divorced father’s two 20-something daughters helped sway Vigneault toward New York — over a similar offer from Dallas — because it is closer to their home in Canada.

Living in a more hectic city where he’s no longer able to walk to work like at his last job, Vigneault remains patient and encouraging, someone who doesn’t mince words but doesn’t haphazardly throw them around, a coach able to relinquish control and let the players handle the locker room, knowing when to step to the side when others step forward just because.

Away from the game, Vigneault remains extremely close with friends and family in Quebec — where he still lives in the offseason — still playing the role of the protective older brother and constantly checking in with his sisters and parents, still organizing annual reunions for his tight-knit group of high school friends.

“He’s a great guy to go have a few beers with, and relax, and have a little fun with,” Bowness said. “He’s good at that — when the time is right.”

The time isn’t right, right now. Too much is at stake.

Still, after the turbulent tenure of John Tortorella, the only screams from the Rangers bench are Vigneault’s high-pitched yelps calling for line changes in a voice so distinct, Tanner Glass’ parents can hear them when watching games on TV.

At any volume, the messages remain the same.

“He’s really positive, but he’s always straightforward,” said Glass, who also played for Vigneault in Vancouver. “There’s no guesswork involved. He’s still the same. He talks about playing the right way and we’ve had a lot of success. He knows what the right way is.”

This year, the right way resulted in another Presidents’ Trophy. Last year, it meant an unexpected run to the Stanley Cup final, with Vigneault’s family in attendance.

“My mother was crying when she saw him in Madison Square Garden. We were all so proud,” his sister Nicole said. “Oh, how we hope he can win La Coupe Stanley. It would be the thrill of his career.”