“I’m here. Just trying to figure out which question to ask first.” Another pause. “Is this about Wilson benching you? Because the narrative is going to be that it worked. You bounced back in Vegas. Two primary assists, including the game winner.” Exactly what Wilson said. “You looked motivated.”
I was, by the coach’s estranged daughter. Not the coach himself.
But I can’t say that. “I’d be even more motivated with a coach who doesn’t try to stifle my play.”
“Coaching philosophy differences are pretty common. Most GMs are going to expect you to work through that.”
“Most guys don’t get healthy scratched for having the audacity to play with offensive creativity.”
Tom sighs. “You have two years left on a pretty substantial contract. That’s not easy to move mid-season. And you know that Buffalo isn’t going to want to trade you unless they drop out of playoff contention completely.”
I pace to the window. Somewhere out there, Frankie is doing rounds at the hospital, being brilliant and competent and everything I want to support.
“We’re in last place in the division,” I point out.
“Last place in the Atlantic, sure. But only six points out of a wildcard spot with half the season left to play. That’s within reach, especially if you guys get hot.”
“We won’t.” The words come out harsher than I intend. “Not with Wilson’s system. We’re too structured, too defensive. We can’t score enough to make up for the goals against.”
“Look, I hear you. The situation isn’t ideal. But it’s my job to explain that Buffalo’s front office isn’t going to move a productive forward when they’re still in the hunt, maybe closer this year than ever before. And you should be focused on that, too. This might be the year you get to the playoffs, buddy.Youcan’t afford to look like you’re giving up on the season.”
I close my eyes. He’s right, of course.
“So what?” I ask. “I’m stuck until the trade deadline?”
“Maybe. Probably.” Tom’s tone softens. “I can still make some calls and start playing for the trade deadline, just in case. Part of getting this process started is going to be planting some stories that other teams are interested in you. You’re going to get asked about it, and it’s important that you deny the trade talks.”
“I’m focused on the fact that we’re six points out of a wildcard spot. Three wins and some lucky breaks for the rest of the division, that’s all I can see right now.”
“That’s right. Have you talked to your agent about a trade?”
“My agent is my biggest cheerleader for Buffalo making the playoffs this year.”
And it’s fucking sad that it’s true, that Tom cares about this for me more than my fucking coach does.
Tom is still talking. “Of course, if the locker room situation becomes untenable...”
My mind immediately goes to a dark place.
How toxic does it have to get?
I could make things worse. I’m a veteran, I have influence. If I started openly criticizing Wilson’s system in the locker room, got other guys on board, created enough discord that management had to intervene...
But that would hurt guys who don’t deserve to be collateral damage in my personal war with the coach.
And the thought of not playing my ass off every game makes my stomach turn.
“Logan? You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve known you for thirteen years. Something feels different. Is something else going on?”
I can’t tell him yet. I can’t trust anyone who isn’t in Frankie’s inner circle. “I just want out.”
“Why California?”
“It’s beautiful here.” There are cozy little kitchens filled with laughter here. Arched spines in the middle of the night, early morning showers where I learn new words.
