The first time I entered Madison Square Garden, I swore my heart was about to take flight. I’d played on many teams before, but no one really knew whether or not a team was going to click until the players actually got on the ice. Teams had spent millions of dollars and traded some of their most loyal players to bring in flashy names to their roster, and it backfired. In my case, it had been a storybook run from the start. Within my first three games in the NHL, I had three goals and two assists, and the rest of the season was uphill from there. I was riding an all-time high, leading the league in goals, when I got my first minor concussion. I’d shrugged it off and was back on the ice in a week — getting injured in a hockey game is a given — so I hadn’t thought much of it at the time.
Being one of the hottest players in the league came with a lot of fun, like late nights going out to clubs or hosting parties in my apartment, and a line of girls wanting to ‘help me celebrate my wins.’ Who was I to turn down a little celebration? I never stopped to consider why I had so many new friends, or whether they would still be here if my career was suddenly taken away from me. Never stopped to think about all the calls from my loved ones back home that I had failed to return.
It wasn’t until my most recent injury that I realized how much I had fucked up. Initially, I got lots of messages from my friends telling me that they’d be ‘waiting for me on the outside’ (apparently getting released from the hospital was like gettingreleased from prison). But then my headaches kept coming back, and I couldn’t skate around at full speed for more than a few minutes before my stomach would turn. The texts, phone calls, and invites started to drop off, and when my symptoms continued for the months following that…well, let’s just say things were bleak.
Connor, my closest friend on the team — theonlyfriend from New York who still kept in touch— tried his best to be there for me when he could. But Connor’s busy work schedule left me alone more often than I would’ve liked. Left me to think about how things would’ve gone differently if I hadn’t gotten hurt. Those thoughts had mostly stopped once I moved back to Boston, but on some nights, like tonight, those thoughts crept into my mind and plagued my dreams, turning them into nightmares.
My restless night left me wide awake at 6 a.m. I decided to go to the one place where my mind was always still. As I entered the arena, I breathed in the silence. It had been a week since my meeting-turned-impromptu-job-interview with Coach. He must have pulled some strings to get me onboarded as soon as possible because a few days after, Coach handed me the keys to my new office and told me to get to work on the dozens of game tapes stacked on top of the desk. Reality sunk in at that moment, and I realized how much I didn’t want to fail Coach. Or myself.
Walking into the locker room, I couldn’t help but think back to the last time I’d been in these halls. The boys had come off a 3-2 win in the Hockey East Championships which secured our place in the Frozen Four. We had gone on to win that tournament, and that final home game victory against Bolton has secured a core spot in my memory. The game had been an all-out war from the start, and nothing felt sweeter than being the one to bury the puck into the net and send my team off to the NCAA championship. I barely had time to process that goal before Brandon and Mikey — my two alternate captains — had jumped on top of me in celebration. Most of my big wins were a blur; mymind would black out in the minutes before and after a huge win. But that game had been different.
I still remember scanning the crowd and seeing my family screaming their lungs out. I remember seeingher —the way her face always revealed too much. She had a smile that lit up her entire face and the way she blinked away her tears made me finally realize how much more we could be. I had never thought she’d wanted to be more than just friends, but the way she had looked at me that night told me all I needed to know. Unfortunately, that same beautiful face had kept me up many nights since leaving the NHL, but the smile was turned down, and the eyes flared with contempt. As much as I wanted nothing more than to forget it, to forget how much I hurt her, she still had a hold on me all these years later. That face was etched into my memory as if to say, ‘I’m still here Mason, and I still hate you.’ So much has changed since I’d last been in this arena.
“Didn’t expect to see you here so early. I’m usually the first one.”
The sound of Coach’s voice snapped me back into reality. If Coach noticed how dazed I was he didn’t say anything. Instead, he entered the locker room and dragged the whiteboard over.
“Figured I should start showing up early given that I have a lot to catch up on.” I grabbed a marker from the bottom of the board and started drawing up a play I wanted to run by him.
He nodded his head silently while looking at the drawing on the board. “How far did you get with the tapes I left you?”
“Got through almost all of them.” I shrugged. Not like I had anything better to do these days. Might as well get a head start on this job.
“I gave you nearly 40 hours of footage.”
To a stranger, Coach’s words would’ve given away no emotion, he always had an uncanny ability to be impossible to read. But after training under him for four years I picked up on the subtle hint of shock in his tone. He didn’t think I would take this seriously.I tried to ignore how much that stung.
“I am familiar enough with the roster to see a few strengths and weaknesses in each player.” I nodded my head toward the whiteboard. “I think this new play could fill in the holes we have on defense.”
“Walk me through what you’re thinking.”
After an hour of going back and forth with Coach about potential line changes, we decided to table it until staff meeting on Wednesday. The next hour was spent in my office discussing the off-ice logistics I was now expected to handle — my first real test as assistant coach. The quiet of the arena this morning was long gone and replaced by chaos and buzzing energy from the team as they got dressed for practice. I walk into the locker room and immediately notice two players wrestling over the last roll of stick tape (adding “order more stick tape” to my to-do list). As I mentally prepare my ‘knock that the fuck off’ comment, a wave of silence hits the room. I peek over my shoulder, waiting for Coach to walk up behind me — the man always knew how to get a rowdy crowd to shut up by his mere presence — when I notice I am all alone.
A tall blond is the first to speak. “Holy Shit. We got Mason Hayes back in Westchester. You back to see the new golden age of college hockey?” A sly grin takes over his face as he throws an arm around my shoulders. “Listen man, any chance you can get me two glass seats to the next Rangers game? There’s this absolute rocket in my marketing class that I’ve been trying to take out and?—”
“Get your ass over here Jake before you say something that will get us all skating suicides after practice.” A brunette who was shorter than Jake by a few inches, but significantly more built, rolls his eyes at his teammate before turning his attention back to me, giving me a nod.
“Adam Reed, right wing, and team Captain.”
“And he never lets us forget it, that's for damn sure.”
The quip from Jake earns him a laugh from the rest of the players in the locker room, but Adam appears unfazed as he continues to get dressed. It felt like I had walked into a time capsule. The team may not have been filled with my old friends and teammates anymore, but the locker room itself hadn’t changed at all. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised given the high amount of superstitions hockey players had. The centermost cubicle had always belonged to the team captain, and while I had opted to cover my locker in photos of my favorite pro players back in the day, it appeared Adam had photos of his family instead. The cubicles to the left and right of the Adam’s typically went to the two alternate captains and I school my surprise as I note one of them belongs to Jake.
Before I am able to introduce myself to the remaining players, Coach Jameson enters the room. “Alright everyone, we have some important announcements. As you may know, the process of finding a new assistant coach after Coach Whitney retired has been a shit show. Mason will be filling in the spot until we make our final decisions.”
A series of cheers echo throughout the room. “While I understand all the excitement, I’d like to remind everyone that Mason is here to be acoach. And not your friend.”
Coach continues with a breakdown of goals for practice today before he ends the team briefing. As he shuffles out of the locker room, he casts a glance at Jake and then directs a pointed look at me as if to emphasize what he had said earlier. I was here to be acoachand not their friend.
“Hey Jake. Let me talk to you for a second.” I nod toward the hallway connected to the locker room and walk far enough to ensure the other players won’t be able to listen in.
“What’s up coach?”
In addition to watching tapes, I’d been tasked with checking in on players whose GPAs were on the verge of probation. I hesitate for a second debating on how to drop the news withoutcausing a full panic. Coach had already warned me that Jake had a bit of an attitude problem, especially when it came to respecting authority, and the last thing I needed was him going off on me.
“We need to talk about your PSYCH101 grade. You know the University has a strict policy on benching players that have any grades lower than a C-. We’re going to have to take you out of the next few games if you don’t get your grade up.”
Jake blinked at me a few times as if I had spoken in a different language. “Are you serious?”
