Eric, who’s far more patient than I am, goes over his plan with Craig again.
“They’re slow getting back,” I say to Craig. “You’ve seen the film. They try to out-physical the opponent to cover their lack of speed. So we have to beat them at their own game. Don’t try to outthink them. It won’t work. Coach McMann lives for that kind of mind game. He’ll eat you alive.”
“Suffocate them!” McLain shouts as he slams into the boards from his warm-up. “Flat out suffocate them!”
“Easy,” Cam says to him. “You’ll be out of juice before we even fucking start.”
Cam’s parents are in seats across the rink with Declan, who’s busy fending off admiring fans. The finals are shown on television, and the camera pans in on Declan unsuccessfully trying to hide in a low-drawn baseball cap.
But as the players head onto the ice, my attention gets caught on a different man.
Daddy looks as old as he did last time I saw him but a lot more confident now that he’s on his home turf. From the Caves’ bench, he glances across the ice, and I know he’s looking for me.
We lock eyes, and he gives me a quick head nod.
I nod back, and the game’s starting.
Cam was right about McLain. He’s so jacked up that he loses possession of the puck on the first play of the game.
Watts skates around him easily and slides the puck to his teammate, who shoots.
The shot is weak, and it wobbles, but by bad luck, it takes a weird bounce, and our goalie loses sight of it.
It slips across the goal line just before he can stop it.
Craig slams his clipboard against the bench. “One fucking nothing and we’re not even a minute into the game.”
“Not a great start,” I say, sitting on my shaking hands.
Across the way, Daddy punches his fist in the air.
McLain’s pissed at himself, and Cam skates over to him and slaps him on the back.
“Come on, guys!” I stand up and shout. “Let’s get it back!”
And we do.
The Caves get a penalty for roughing, and Cam gets a short-handed goal.
But then we stall.
And the Caves don’t.
Maybe it’s the altitude. Or the fact that none of our players have been in a big game before, and the Caves are in the finals for the third straight year. By the end of two periods, we’re down two to one.
“Don’t worry,” Cam says as he skates up to the bench. “One period’s plenty of time to still do this. And we will,” he says, his dark eyes on me. “I don’t break a promise.”
As Craig and the players head for the locker room, I bend my head over Eric’s tablet.
“Let me see those plays again,” I say.
For the next ten minutes, he and I pore over the tablet, drawing and then re-drawing play options.
“We’re not using our speed to our advantage,” Eric says. “They keep getting us to bite. And then they just take it to the goal.”
“So let’s turn the tables,” I say. “That was our plan; we’ve just gotten away from it.”
“Because they’re outmaneuvering us.” Eric runs his hands down his face.
