Michael
It was a little humbling to learn how much went on behind the scenes with coaching college hockey. My dumb ass assumed it was a fun gig, making plays and motivating players. It was laughably more.
Coach Simpson got into the office early every day at seven a.m. after already working out. Then, he’d spend all morning preparing for practice or, in today’s instance, the game. He’d watch films of the opponent, confer with his assistant, and check stats. Then he’d come up with a few plans of attacks. First string, second, and back-up goalies.
Then it was working with high schools all around the country and beyond for recruiting. Central State didn’t justfindall-stars. Simpson busted his ass to make connections and build a program that was inviting.
Then he had office work, forms for traveling, and collaborating with the trainer to make sure the guys were healthy. It was endless. That was just on the logistics end too.
Dealing with twenty guys was the hardest part. In the week I’d been shadowing him, there had been ten instances of drama.
Four of them involved Cal, starting with the guy showing up late for the bus time.
Coach had me in the locker room before game time tonight just to observe. His assignment said tostudy the players.Super clear instructions.
I was a visual learner, so I took in the blues and oranges all around the walls. Their jerseys hung on hangers with their gear shoved onto top shelves. Pictures of girlfriends, families, and their heroes covered the individual lockers. When I played, I had one photo of me, Ryann, and our parents, and a bright red puck I got at my first pro game as a kid. I didn’t need more reminders than that. Back then, I had people who loved me and a sport I was passionate about.
The recovery room was to the right. Erikson was in there with a trainer as she taped up his right ankle from a brief twist.
He’d be fine.
Coach went into his office and engaged in an animated conversation with the assistant, Hank Wade. My stomach filled with nerves. This felt like home with the smells and sights, but I was a stranger. No Jonah giving me intense looks, no twins making me laugh, and certainly no inside jokes I was privy to. The twins had a new life and were so busy that a text here and there were all I had with them.
One of the players, Jay Mullens, held out a fist to me. “Hey, read about your team back east.”
“Yeah?” I fist-bumped him back. “All lies, I’m sure.”
“The twins went pro. You didn’t.”
“Wasn’t for me.” I eyed the team, my left eye twitching. It was a harsh reality to know that your chances of getting drafted went down once you hit twenty. NHL teams preferred you young, then wanted to watch you grow and get better in college. That meant fifteen of these guys had already missed their chance. Not that I’d say it.
Dream crushing wasn’t my thing.
“I want to so bad after this year, but I’m not standing out. Not with the forwards we have.” He sighed and leaned in closer. “Any advice, old-timer?”
I scoffed but wasn’t mad. If anything, the kid amused me. “There are two types of players that matter to scouts. The all-stars and the ones who pass them the puck. Keep being a good teammate and leave everything on the ice. If it happens, it’s well deserved, but if it doesn’t, you gave your soul to the sport. No regrets.”
He nodded, his dark eyes making him look older. I had to check my notes, but I was pretty sure the kid was here on scholarship. Still, he didn’t have the same swagger or talent as Cal.
I hadn’t seen the prodigal son yet, but it didn’t take long. He pushed himself up, shirtless, taking a selfie and ignoring the equipment manager. The poor kid stood next to him holding out a towel and clean jersey, but Cal laughed and kept taking pictures of himself.
The red-headed kid couldn’t be more than eighteen and was nothing but skin and bones and freckles.David.Cal faced him, and I wasn’t sure what he said, butfuck offcarried over the room, and David’s face turned bright red. Fire engine red.
My blood boiled.
“Holt,” I yelled, making some of the guys next to me jump. My voice had anoomphthat Ryann always bitched about because it apparently carried throughout the house. Right now, I used it. The kid looked up and smirked.
My god, if I was alt-captain, I’d be furious. Both Erikson and Helsing glanced up from the bench wearing equal expressions of confusion. I marched over to Holt and was glad to see I had a good three inches on him. “Any particular reason you enjoy being a dick to the equipment manager?”
“What are you talking about? The guy was in my space.”
“Yeah, with your jersey.” I picked it up from where it was neatly folded and tossed it at his chest. “You don’t deserve to wear this. Being part of a team is a privilege,” I said, my voice now low. This wasn’t for show. I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but David’s crushed face flashed in my mind.
If Coach Simpson thought I overstepped, I’d handle it.
“Yeah, okay. I’m here on a full ride. Thanks for the advice though.” The kid went back to his phone, and my hand literally twitched. I wasn’t violent. Never had been despite playing hockey, but fuck. I wanted to punch this kid.
“Scouts ask questions, Holt. They interview coaches, staff, and teammates. Just think about that the next time you’re an asshole. No NHL team would take a chance on you.”
