Chapter one
Rory “Roe” Monroe
August
The Bench Social Media Group—a subsection of the Fox River Falls Community Page
Stanley “Stan” Gordon: BREAKING! Guess who just got assigned to our very own Fox River Falls Iceguard? That’s right—former NAPH star, tabloid favorite, and certified disaster, “Roe” Monroe. He reminds me of me back in the day, and he’ll be here this week for training camp.
Marge Calloway: Enough about you, Stan. Let’s get to what matters. Will he be the spark we need? Will he beback to rehab before he even laces up? More importantly—who’s taking the over-under on how long before he stirs up trouble? Somebody better find their way to The Keep today and give us an update.
The thing about first days on a new team is that they’re always a little bit terrible.
Sure, there’s the excitement—new town, new team, new chances—but the first day? It’s just something to get done. A box to be checked.
Another thing I’ve learned is that each first day manages to be horrible in its own unique way. And this one’s just started, so I’m flying blind on what specific kind of horrible it’ll be.
Will it be that my years-long rival, a guy with a grudge against me since Juniors, doesn’t give a shit that we wear the same jersey now? Been there.
Or maybe the coach is not only a dick and a homophobe, but also more interested in keeping the GM happy than the players—had that one in the NAPH for a season.
Could it be that someone solid and dependable on the team resents me for once upon a time being a third-round draft pick who’s still flashy on the ice? That was mylastfirst day.
Right now, I’m sitting in the home locker room of The Keep, which is what the locals call the rink here in Nowheresville—I meanFox River Falls. Apparently, the town takes their minor league hockey majorly seriously.
Minor league. Minor league.
No matter how I say it, or think it, the words taste bitter. Everyone knows that I just left rehab for my knee, and the rumors would tell you the rest of the story, although it isn’tpretty. Truth is, I was rehabbing more than a knee last year. Prescription pain pills, the league’s dirty little secret, got their hooks into me pretty deep.
The truth isn’t pretty, but it is simple. I was prescribed oxycodone and I abused it to keep playing.
I hear nowadays the league prefers Toradol—which has it’s own issues, although addiction isn’t one of them.
Still, I can’t complain. My NAPH team, the Chicago Knights, didn’t put me on waivers, and instead let me come down here to the Iceguard—the farm team—to see if I still have it.
A year out of the rotation is a long time in hockey memories, but I can still smell the ice at the big show, still hear the roar of the crowd.
It’s hockey purgatory, but I’ve made my peace with needing to atone for my sins.
I have to prove that rehab worked and that my knee is fine. And for those in the know, I have to prove I can maintain.
I owe something to the Knights, but I’m not sure exactly what that is.
No big deal at all.
But still, I can’t help but remember that first day in a different locker room, on different ice, when I knew that I’d made it. My first day in the NAPH, when I had the world in the palm of my hand.
Until I didn’t.
The thing is, I’ve never beenminorleague. I’ve always been major—all-star, first line, MVP.
Even my worst day of hockey was better than most people’s best. Better than a lot of NAPH players on any given day.
But now I’m here. Past thirty and drifting further from the big show every year.
I glance around the Iceguard locker room. It’s nice, in the way a JUCO basketball locker room isnice—good for what it is, butnothing like the NAPH. And that’s what makes it worse in my eyes: the effort they put into it, the pride. Same with The Keep. Good ice, clear sightlines, lots of craftsmanship in the wood benches and walls . . . but we had to clear the ice immediately after practice so a travel team of pre-teens could take over.
Fox River Falls has its priorities. Hockey is one of them—just not exclusively the Iceguard.
