Marcus claps Brooks on his good shoulder. “And our secret weapon. The King himself, ready to give us the inside scoop.”
Brooks smiles politely.
“We’re live in twenty.” Marcus checks his watch. “Booth is all set up, monitors are working. Just remember, keep it light, keep it fun, and Sydney?” He gives me a pointed look. “No references to beaver mating habits this time, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
We settle into our seats in the booth overlooking the pristine ice below. Players are emerging for warm-ups, the crowd cheering. I adjust my microphone, check my notes one last time, and try to ignore the butterflies performing extreme sports in my stomach.
“Five minutes.” Kermit positions the camera.
I glance at Brooks, who’s staring down at the ice. “Last chance to back out,” I say, only half-joking.
“Nope. We’re in this together, Holt.”
The words send an unexpected warmth through me.We’re in this together.It’s just part of our charade, I remind myself. None of this is real.
“Thirty seconds!” Kermit announces.
I straighten my blazer, Brooks nods, and then the red light on the camera blinks on.
“Good evening, sports fans! I’m Sydney Holt, coming to you live from The Boise Arena where the Trout are about to face off against the Seattle Seals in their season opener.” My voice comes out steady, professional. “I’m joined tonight by a very special guest commentator, Brooks Kingston of the Trout, who’s here to give us the inside scoop on tonight’s matchup.”
I turn to him. “Brooks, the Trout have had an impressive pre-season, but Seattle’s defense is looking tough. What are you expecting from tonight’s game?” I brace myself for a monosyllabic response.
But Brooks Kingston transforms before my eyes. His face lights up, his posture changes, and he launches into an analysis so smooth and engaging that I nearly forget to nod at the appropriate moments.
“Seattle’s been focusing on their blue line, bringing in Weber from Toronto and promoting Andrews from their farm team, but I think Boise has the edge in speed and creativity,” he says, gesturing toward the ice where playersare completing warm-ups. “Watch number twenty-seven, Traye Jenkins. He’s got the kind of hands that can thread a puck through a keyhole, and Seattle’s defensemen tend to overcommit on the forecheck.”
I stare at him, momentarily stunned by this articulate, charismatic version of Brooks. Where has this guy been hiding? And why is this so damn attractive?
“That’s... a great point,” I recover, seamlessly picking up the thread. “Jenkins’s pre-season stats have been impressive, with twelve points in just six games. Do you think Coach Barrymore will give him more ice time tonight?”
Brooks nods, leaning forward. “Absolutely. Barrymore recognizes talent when he sees it—he’s the kind of coach who rewards performance over seniority. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Jenkins on the power play, especially given how Seattle’s penalty kill struggled in their exhibition games.”
We continue this back-and-forth until the teams’ starting lineups are announced. Brooks offers insights that only someone who’s played at the highest level could provide, pointing out subtle strategies and player tendencies that I would have missed. I counter with statistics and historical context, and together, we paint a complete picture of the game that’s about to unfold.
By the time the puck drops for the first period, I’m no longer worried about Brooks embarrassing me on air. Instead, I’m working to keep up with him, to match his energy and insight with my own. It’s exhilarating in a way I didn’t expect—I’ve never had a co-broadcaster who’s anticipated my every move like this.
The game itself is electric, with Boise taking an early lead before Seattle ties it up in the second period. Brooks’ predictions prove accurate, from Jenkins’s stunning assist on the power play to Seattle’s defensive breakdowns.During commercial breaks, we exchange notes and observations, building on each other’s points when we’re back on air.
“And that’s a perfect example of what Kingston was talking about earlier,” I say after a particularly beautiful play by Boise. “Seattle’s defensemen overcommitting, leaving that lane wide open for Captain McDavid to exploit.”
Brooks nods, his eyes bright. “Exactly. That’s hockey IQ right there—McDavid recognized the pattern and capitalized on it. That’s something you can’t teach.”
I’m struck by how natural this feels. It reminds me of watching hockey with Jonah when we were kids, both of us shouting at the TV, breaking down plays, celebrating goals. But there’s something different about doing it with Brooks—a tension, an awareness that wasn’t there with my brother.
As the third period winds down, Boise clings to a one-goal lead, the arena pulsing with nervous energy. Seattle pulls their goalie for an extra attacker, and for sixty heart-stopping seconds, it seems like they might tie it up. But then Traye Jenkins intercepts a pass and scores an empty-netter, sealing the victory as the crowd erupts.
“And that’s it!” I exclaim as the final horn sounds. “The Boise Trout start their season with a decisive 4-2 win over Seattle. A great sign for what’s ahead.”
“If they keep playing like this, they’re definitely play-off contenders.” Brooks’ voice is pure enthusiasm.
“Brooks Kingston, thank you for your expert analysis.” Then I ask him what Marcus told me to ask. “Will you be joining us for future broadcasts?”
His eyes meet mine, something warm passing between us. “Count on it. Until I’m back on the ice, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here.”
The question was canned, but his sincerity catches me off guard, and for a moment, I forget we’re on camera, that this is part of our charade. It feels real—too real.
