Outside of the playoffs, the Winter Classic was one of the biggest events of the year. The league usually picked rivalry matchups, and tended to select two teams within a relatively close distance in an effort to get fans to travel to the event. This year’s game, between the Muskies and the Minnesota Moose, was a perfect example. The two franchises had a long history of vying for the top spot in the Central Division.
The team had gone to Camp Randall Stadium first thing that morning. The rink had been constructed in the middle of the football field, complete with boards, high plexiglass walls, and team benches. The rest of the grass was covered in white plastic that was stamped with massive logos for the league, Madison, and Minnesota.
After a few photos were snapped of them exploring the stadium, the team had left to check out the locker room they’d use, and changed into their gear. It took the team a while to familiarize themselves with the new location–hockey players were such creatures of habit that even something small like the section of wall where they threw a medicine ball to warm up could impact their focus.
Finally, they’d made it out onto the ice. It was freezing, the wind sharp against their faces.
Jamie barely noticed the cold. He felt an excited energy buzzing throughout his body. The atmosphere was completely different–from the distance of the stands to the lighting and the feeling of the fresh air against his skin.
Tomorrow they were going to play an outdoor game in front of their fans. This was their chance to give them a show.
Jamie wasn’t worried about the game. He trusted his team and their preparation. They were fucking ready.
But there were still the articles and photos from the club to worry about.
There had been a palpable layer of discomfort in every roomhe walked into that morning. He’d felt the long looks from the rink staff and production assistants. Sharon had taken him aside earlier, and had told him that the team was refraining from making an official statement about the photos until after the game, and that Jamie should do the same.
So far, he’d done what was asked of him.
“Sully, we’ve got you on in five with Harrison Lytel,” Sharon called out from across the conference room where they were finishing up their lunch.
“Got it!” He scraped up the last of the pasta sauce from his plate with a piece of grilled chicken. Popping it into his mouth, he chewed as he walked his dishes over to a bin. “Food was great,” he called out to the black-clad employees lining the wall. “Thanks.”
The interview was set up in a large player’s lounge. Harrison Lytel was a well-respected reporter in professional hockey, and an ex-player himself, who’d spent years earning the trust of players and teams alike with his honest and fair reporting.
“Good to see you, Sully,” Harrison said, shaking his hand as Jamie joined him on one of the two leather chairs set up under bright studio lights. Multiple cameras were positioned in front of them.
“Good to see you too, Harrison.”
After a production assistant clipped a mic to his shirt and someone with a makeup brush dabbed some powder onto Jamie’s forehead, the woman behind the camera counted them down from five, pointing at Harrison to cue him.
“We’re live from Camp Randall Stadium on the eve of the Winter Classic,” Harrison said, looking into the camera. “I’m Harrison Lytel, joined by Jamie Sullivan, captain of the Muskies.” He turned to address Jamie. “Jamie. First off, I know I speak for the whole league when I say we’ve loved seeing you back on the ice. How is your hand feeling after your first few games back?”
Jamie gave the other man a practiced smile. “Our medical staff have been amazing, and thanks to their help, I’m back to onehundred percent.” He held up his hand, flexing his fingers. “You’ll see me doing some extra stretching and PT before the game, but I’m ready to play.”
“That’s great news. I want to ask you about the first half of the season. Everyone in the league knows and admires the career of the Muskies’ previous captain, Aaron Sharpe. What has stepping into this role been like for you?”
“Anyone who has watched the Muskies play over the years knows what kind of impact Sharpie had on this organization, on and off the ice. Beyond being a goal scorer, Sharpie was the kind of leader we all looked up to.” Jamie paused, wetting his lips. He’d practiced this, affirming to himself that he didn’tneedto be like Sharpie to be a good leader. That he possessed qualities that made him a good captain, even if he didn’t score as much as Sharpie had. “I’m not the same kind of player Sharpie was, and it has taken me some time to understand that I have something valuable to offer my teammates, even if it looks different from my predecessor."
Harrison nodded. “Talk to me about that. What would you say you bring to the Muskies?”
“Work ethic, to start,” Jamie said without hesitating. “I didn’t make it this far by being the best skill guy or the fastest skater on the ice. My career has been built on two-way defense, being committed to the forecheck, and matching up against the best goal-scorers in the league. I got away from the fundamentals at the start of the season, but now I’m back. I’m back to playing my game now.”
A genuine smile spread across Harrison’s face. “I’m sure Muskies fans are thrilled to hear that. On a lighter note, I called my old buddy Sharpie before coming over here this morning.”
Jamie groaned and let out a rueful chuckle. “Oh, no.”
Harrison laughed. “He told me to ask you about your sweet tooth.”
“Of course he did,” Jamie said, shaking his head.
“Can you give us your top five local spots for getting something sweet around Madison?”
Jamie listed off a few of his favorite local bakeries, and made sure to mention The Daily Grind, specifically their mocha with the seasonal topping.
It was obvious the interview was coming to a close, but there was something else he wanted to say.
“Harrison, do you mind if I bring something up?”
