“Well, you got some real competition today. A bunch of these guys have been in the big leagues for years.” Abunchwas probably exaggerating a bit, but he didn’t call me on it. “You just stay steady, kid. You’re gonna do well.”
Then I skated over to take the first face-off.
By the end of the first period of the scrimmage, it was becoming pretty easy to see what we had to work with. Several of the rookies seemed to loosen up a little, now that we were playing a game. There were still some nerves evident on that ice, but there was plenty of talent, too. A little more experience and they just might do okay.
Now if I could just get some of the veteran guys to fix their attitude. I’d never heard so many grown ass men complaining in my life. They bitched about the rookies, team management, the move. They grumbled that it was too hot in Texas and the ice was going to be shit. They whined that no one in Austin was going to come out to watch us anyhow. They even complained about the new owner, how he was too full of himself and wanted to make the whole thing about him.
“My kid doesn’t whine this much,” I muttered to Jay when we finally hit the locker room. “I mean,Jesus.”
“Some of ’em are pretty damn ridiculous,” he agreed. “The way they’re carrying on, you’d think they were playing on a minor team in some podunk town in the middle of nowhere, barely making beer money.”
“You say that like you have some personal experience there,” I said, fucking with him, and he flipped me off.
We hit the showers and got dressed. “You want to stop in the lounge?” Jay asked. “See what kind of spread they have out?”
“Sure.”
The lounge was not even recognizable as the half-finished room we’d seen the first day. The building team must have been hustling their asses off, because most of the off-ice player spaces were up and running. This room had plenty of seating—leather arm chairs and couches—as well as a full bar and a buffet table. Every time I’d stopped in here there had been food and snacks out. This would be a nice place to bring family after the games. It was also nice to just chill with teammates in here when we weren’t working out.
We filled up our plates with sandwiches, fruit, and a half dozen hardboiled eggs each—hockey players could never get enough protein during the season—then went to sit down at a table occupied by Tommy Weaver, Enzo the goalie, and Karlsson.
“You were looking pretty good out there, Tommy,” I said to the bean pole rookie. He was one of the only new guys to score a goal today, and he’d made a sweet pass to Karlsson in the last five minutes of play that ended up in the back of the net.
He grinned sheepishly. “You couldn’t tell that I puked three times this morning?”
We all laughed. “Been there, kid. Sometimes I still puke before a big game,” Karlsson told him.
“Where are you from, anyhow?” I asked Tommy. His accent was Canadian and thicker than I was used to.
“Grew up on a little farm outside of Saskatoon,” he said.
“Shit, you’re far from home.”
Tommy smiled. “Yeah. My mom about had a coronary when I told her where I was going.”
“Funny,” Cane muttered, walking past our table with a plate filled with sandwiches. “I about had a coronary myself. FuckingTexas.”
Whatever else he was going to say about our new home city we didn’t hear as he walked away.
“That guy’s a peach,” Enzo said, reaching for a bottled water.
Tommy was shaking his head. “I’ve heard a bunch of the guys from Atlanta bitching about Austin. I don’t get it.”
“You know what happened to the team?” Karlsson asked.
“Oh, yeah. That shit was a big deal even way the hell up there in Saskatchewan. I just don’t get why they’re so mad to be here.” He shook his head again. “Closest town to me had a population of three hundred and forty-seven. Now I’m living in this legit city. Do you have any idea how many restaurants there are here? Back home we had two—a diner and a bar that served burgers and they both closed at ten. Now I can call up a place pretty much any time day or night and they’ll bring food right to my apartment!” He shook his head. “That’s crazy, man.”
We all laughed. “The farm boy discovers the joys of city living,” Enzo said.
“I just don’t get it,” Tommy continued. “We get to play for anNHL team. That’s the fucking dream. What the hell is there to complain about?”
“Here, here,” Jay said, raising his water bottle.
For the rest of the meal, Jay entertained us with tales from the various shitty minor league teams he’d been sent down to over the years. As I watched him talk, I couldn’t help but wonder what had been behind the decision to make him alternate captain. I loved Jay like a brother, but he was far from a big name in the league. He was a solid player, but he’d never had much luck. No matter how well he played, he just couldn’t seem to find a team to stick with him.
Then again, that meant he probably had more experience than anyone in the locker room. He’d played everywhere, from the most minor farm squad to playoff contending NHL franchises. Maybe with such a young group of players, management was hoping that his experience, colorful as it was, would equal leadership skills.
And speaking of management…
