Still, I did not want this reporter writing that the Saint B's hockey team was a bunch of meatheads. “It’s important to remember that most of the team didn’t really get a chance to be supportive or not. The coach was a real Napoleon type. And he showed me the door so fast, I never saw most of those guys again.”
The reporter chewed on her lip. “So you weren’t out to your teammates.”
I shook my head. “I was a freshman. I wanted to prove myself. And I just wanted to play hockey.”
She nodded slowly. “How did your coach find out, anyway?”
Even though I’d been expecting this question, I still got a cold sweat when she asked it. “I’m not going to give details about that.”
“Okay.” Her eyes lingered on me. “So, it wasn’t you who volunteered that information to your coach.”
“Not in a million years.”
“Did you plan to stay in the closet for four years? Or were you waiting for the right moment?”
Good question, lady. “I didn’t have a plan, yet,” I told her. “I thought I’d have a while to figure it out.”
After that, it got easier. Cyndi went on to ask me about my transfer, and that was a less personal conversation. “Your uncle called the coaches and explained the situation?”
“Yeah, he did that for me. And I’m ten kinds of lucky that it worked out. It’s not only that Coach didn’t mind the circus.” It was just dawning on me that Coach must have known reporters and news stories would happen. “But also that he needed a wing.”
“So, the schools that said ‘no’ to you weren’t necessarily discriminating against you?” she asked.
“Hell no. The entire Division One roster isn’t very large. And there are hundreds of guys who want to play.”
“You must be a pretty valuable player.”
I wasn’t touching that. “I guess we’ll find out.”
She grinned. “And how have your new teammates treated you?”
“They’ve been great,” I said immediately. “The season is going well. No problems.”
Unfortunately, I spoke too soon.
As luck would have it, our next scheduled game was against Saint B's. Coach called me into his office again before practice on Friday to discuss it.
“How is this game going to go, do you think?” he asked.
“We can beat them,” I said. “The first line is tight but their bench isn’t very deep.”
Coach looked out the window for a moment and then back at me. “Do you think you should play?”
What?“Of course I’ll play. Why wouldn’t I?”
He sighed. “The article didn’t publish yet, at least. It’s going to make Saint B’s look bad.”
“If anybody reads it.”
He swiveled his chair toward me again. “They will. And you’re going to get even more attention.”
God, I hoped he was wrong. “Let’s just beat Saint B’s.”
Coach grinned. “I like your style, kid. I really do. So I’m putting you on the first line for the Saint B’s game. Make me proud.”
Awesome. “I will, Coach.” I really thought I could.
I was wrong.
