“Sure, why not? Hockey’s fun no matter what.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah,” the younger Alex says. “Our uncle Derek is old, he’s like forty-something, and he plays hockey with a bunch of his buddies. We go watch them sometimes. They’re hilarious. They cuss and give each other shit. One time they had a bet going on how long the goalie could go before saying the word ‘fuck’. Then every time he said it, he had to buy another pizza after the game.”
The boys are all laughing at the memory, and Alex chuckles. I can feel my grin. Our hockey will be like that, onlywaymore fun.
“Hockey is hockey,” Matt says. “It’s always good. Pro hockey is great, but hockey can always be fun to watch, especially if someone’s playing that you really like and know.”
“We used to have to go watch Alex play,” Austin says, nudging his little brother. “His team wasterrible, but we just found ways to make that fun. We had a special scoring system that we kept track of. Every shot on goal Alex took, he got a point. Every assist was two. If he got a takeaway, he got three.Goals were four. The points rolled over game to game. Every five points, he got a treat at the store, and every ten points, he got to choose something at home. Like where we all went to dinner, or what chore he wanted to trade with one of us, or what movie we’d watch on movie night.”
Alex is listening intently. He nods. “That’s very cool of you, as brothers. You made it fun for him and gave him an incentive to work on his game, even if it was a little frustrating at times with the whole team.”
“Keeping track of his stats and coming up with things he could get for his points made watching it more fun for us too,” Matt says.
“I like that a lot. Good job,” Alex tells them.
The boys all beam proudly.
“I’ll tell you what, you keep looking up the Revelers.” He spells Revelers for them. “I don’t know when stuff will start showing up online, but it’s coming. You keep watch, then you tell all your friends that they need to watch us too.”
The boys nod eagerly. “Okay! Sure, of course.”
“I’ve got another idea,” Alex says. “I’m going to put together some game day baskets. T-shirts, snacks, swag. You guys email our office—when it gets up online—and I’ll send you one of the first. Then you can put together a watch party. You post about that online—photos of you and your family and friends watching us play—and tag me so I can check it out, okay? I’ll send you some signed Revelers stuff, too. When we get it.”
He glances at me again with a questioning look.
I’m staring at him stupidly.
That’s all an amazing idea. My mind is spinning with ideas for the baskets and to-do lists, like getting an organization email for this, and what hashtags we should use and encourage others to use.
“Nora?” Alex asks.
“Yeah?”
“We’ll have merch I can sign for these guys, right?”
I shake myself out of my Alex-Olsen-is-amazing daze and my planning haze. “Yes! Yes, definitely.”
“Great.” He grins at the boys. “Then be sure to stay in touch, okay? Just mention your names and Jackson Square, and I’ll remember you.”
The boys have so many stars in their eyes, I’m not sure they can actually see Alex.
“Definitely!” Matt gushes.
“Can’t wait!” young Alex says.
Then Alex asks, “Would you guys want some photos right now? Wait, do you guys have social media?”
Matt laughs. “Of course.”
“Okay, let’s get some photos tonight for you to post.”
Matt, Austin, and Alex all pull their phones out, quickly swiping to open the camera apps.
“Okay, I want one with each of you and then all four of us together,” Alex says.
The boys take individual photos of each other, but when it comes time for all four of them to be in the photo with Alex, I step forward. “Here, I’ve got it.”
