I grab my phone. “I’m going to walk to get pizza, and listen to the rest of the game on the way there and back. You guys can have the living room if you want.”
By the time I get back with two pizzas, Buffalo has lost to St. Louis, 0-2. Liz is fast asleep on the couch, her head in Merry’s lap, her girlfriend quietly watching a documentary on the TV. I text Sloane that we have pizza, and open my computer. I might as well do an hour of studying before Logan gets home, so I have something to talk to him about that isn’t my blistering outrage over how unfair this whole situation is.
CHAPTER 33
LOGAN
Frustration ripples through the locker room as we strip out of our gear. According to the white board, I’m on deck to talk to the media tonight. So are Coop and Toth.
“I’ll go first.” I yank on a team shirt and shove my bare feet into slides.
After a decade in the league, on a team that has never made the playoffs, I know how this goes. Come January, everyone is resigned to our fate, or on edge about the last vestige of hope slipping away. My job is to give them a sound bite about hockey they can roll on the news that makes the next game a good question mark rather than a sad trombone sound.
And because we lost, I need to look appropriately grave. The sweat-slicked hair, pre-shower, is a good aesthetic for all of that.
There are five reporters tonight. I’ll take one question from each of them, and maybe a follow-up or two, depending on how good a job I do with my end of the bargain. Grave. Serious nods. Hockey talk.Go.
“Logan, tough loss tonight. What do you think was the difference maker for St. Louis?”
“They’re a strong team, and they were really fast tonight. We needed to be faster.”
“You had some good looks tonight.”
“Is that a question?” I grin to show that I’m fine,we’refine. But the smile falls away real fast, to show that I don’t like to lose. And I don’t, that’s not an act. “Credit to their goalie, he had my number.”
“Are you tired from the road trip?”
“We had two days off, and my bed is very comfortable. But it’s possible I do play better in balmy weather, so if you guys could do something about this Arctic freeze we came back to, that would be great. No, seriously, we weren’t tired tonight. We created some decent chances. Just need to find the finish, because that’s the part that matters.” I scratch my beard.
“There’s been some speculation about potential trades before the deadline.”
“I don’t pay attention to rumors.” I shrug. “My job is on the ice, and in the next game.”
“If Buffalo decides to buy at the deadline?—”
“I’m going to stop you there, because I don’t want to get in trouble with the general manager for trying to do his job.”
That gets a round of laughter. But charm can’t be leveraged too much when you’ve just lost a game.
Serious face again. “Every guy in that locker room is focused on winning the next game, every game. We can’t pay attention to the standings, because that’s outside our control, but wins can and should be in our control, and we’re disappointed we didn’t get that done tonight. The next game is another chance to get it right.”
“One more question,” the media liaison announces.
A young guy from a local sports blog speaks up. “How do you feel about being utilized for fewer O-zone starts this season than last?”
I jolt a little at the specificity of the question. Covering it up with another jaw scratch, I finally nod, because how I feel aboutit is irrelevant. That’s not the soundbite to offer tonight. “It’s a two hundred foot game. I’ll take the draws where they happen.” Then I give the signal that we’re done.
“Thanks, guys,” our media guy says, and they move out of the way for me.
After I shower and grab some food from our chefs, taking it to go, I fire a text to my agent.
Logan
Got a question tonight about not getting as many O zone starts? Was that you?
Tom calls me when I’m halfway home. “Did you see the clip from the pre-game show?”
“No…” I stop at a red light. “Got a question about it from a local blogger in the post-game scrum.”
