I get it. He needs to see how they handle the pressure and all that, but I really hate losing. I’ve done it often enough in the past, but I was kind of hoping we were done with it. He doesn’t even have Reedsy in goal. Reedsy’s backup, a Finnish guy named Aku Heinonen, is out there instead. He’s putting up a decent fight, but he doesn’t have Reedsy’s ability to anticipate despite traffic around the net, which is how Seattle ends up two goals ahead. We have yet to score, despite Camps’ best efforts. I swear the kid skates at the speed of light; we just need to work on raising his confidence. He’s too nice, passing when he got a clear shot. I get not wanting to be a puck hog, no one likes those guys, but if you’ve got a shot, you take it. No excuses.
By the third period, I’m so worked up I can barely sit still. I’m not the only one. Walker’s been twitchy since the second period. We’re so distracted we almost miss it when Coach indicates we’re on next shift.
There’s this feeling when you first hit the ice for a game. It’s joy, anticipation, and nerves all wrapped up together, and there’s nothing like it. We hit the ice, Walker and I wearing matching grins so bright they could power a suburban neighborhood. It’s unreal how good it feels when that ozone smell hits your system, and the adrenaline spikes. That, along with the competitive drive to test yourself against other professional athletes, is a high that fuels me every single time.
Walker powers into one of Seattle’s forwards, throwing him off and stealing the puck. We’ve gone over this play a million times, so I put everything into charging up the ice toward their zone. Walker hits the blue line before Austin and I, although I see Austin checking his speed to avoid an offside call. Once Walker’s in the zone, we put everything we’ve got into catching up to him. He drop passes the puck to Austin in a move we’ve been working on for a week. It hits Austin’s tape with a thunk, and he’s off. I shadow him, looking for a lane down center ice, but their defenders are all over me.
What they don’t know is that Walker’s a much bigger threat than me. They’re so busy with me that they almost miss it when Austin drops back and sends a pass to Orly. He immediately fires off a pass to Walker, who takes off like his ass is on fire. I try to create as much noise as I can in front of the net. Walker, showing everyone the reason he’s a badass with the puck, dangles it around one of their players before sniping it right below the goalie’s glove. The lamp lights, and we’re back in the game. Sure, our first celly’s probably a little excessive, but I couldn’t care less because that’s all it takes to change the momentum of the game.
The energy on the bench is much different by the time our shift is over. Coach sends the first rookie line back out, but there’s a fire to their mood that is almost palpable. They’re digging deep and skating faster. Their play has a fierceness to it that was missing for the first two periods. Coach shoots me a small smile.
“That’s what I want to see, boys!” he shouts triumphantly.
Maksim “Dory” Fydorsky, a rookie from Ukraine, shocks everyone by scoring our second goal with a textbook top-shelf beauty that has the entire team on their feet. The stunned look on Dory’s face is priceless, but once reality sets in, he can’t stop his shit-eating grin as he skates past the bench for a glove tap from the rest of the team.
The final score of 4-2 gives us our first win as a team, but it’s so much more than that for us. We’re a hyped-up bunch as we head to the locker room once the final buzzer sounds, and we continue to celebrate as we get dressed.
“Now you’re starting to look like a team I can work with.” Coach says with one of his sparse smiles. “Good game, boys. Ferguson, King, Fydorsky, and Campbell you’re on media, so get your asses moving. Down the hall to your left. That’s it for tonight, but this is the type of effort I want to see in the future.” He keeps it short and sweet.
The post-win high keeps me floating until I’m lying in bed, ready for sleep. Despite having an absurdly cheerful Camps as my roommate, coach has us vets rooming with the rookies for “mentoring.” It’s a terrific idea, but right now I miss rooming with Walker. Sharing my angsty relationship thoughts with the rookie sounds like a terrible idea. Instead, I text my folks about the win and doom scroll until my eyes droop. Great. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back. Setting aside my phone, I make an attempt at sleeping. I get there in the end, but my restlessness remains, even while I sleep. .”
After that speech, it’s no surprise to see everyone dressed and on the ice with plenty of time to spare.
Instead of our usual drills, the coaches set up something new. I’m intrigued. Our last coach loved suicides. We did that more than anything except scrimmages. He didn’t do those fancy college drills. His words. Me, I love the opportunity to try something new, so it’s no hardship to pay close attention.
The coaches set up a drill called 10 Pass Chaos. It’s basically 6 v 3, but the six offensive players need to have ten completed passes without the defenders stealing the puck before they can even take a shot on net.
“This drill is about communication and teamwork. And we’re gonna keep doing it until you guys learn to communicate like teammates.” Coach Quinn announces, before he deliberately mixes up the lines, pairing vets with rookies.
“While you’re out there, think about what this career means to you. Because if it means that you’re committed to working hard, building a solid team, and taking your job seriously, then you’re headed in the right direction. If you think disrespecting your teammates is okay in any way, then you need to rethink your presence on my team.” I guess we didn’t escape a lecture after all. Although as lectures go, it wasn’t terrible.
It’s a tough practice, and by the end, we’re dead tired, but we’ve made progress: solid communication, rookies not afraid to step it up, and some sweet passing. The low-level dread I’ve always felt when going into practice has dissipated, replaced by anticipation and hope.
I’m seriously in awe of Coach Quinn. I was sure we had a bag skate coming our way. Quinn worked us just as hard, but with drills that kept us focused on improving our skills. It was far more effective than “suicides.” We leave practice dead ass tired but with a sense of accomplishment that you can only get from hard work.
That buoyant feeling lasts until I walk into an empty apartment. That’s when I remember Walker has dinner with his agent tonight and won’t be home until much later. Wonderful. I microwave a prepared meal while I flip through the Netflix options. Settling on reruns of Parks and Rec because that’s my comfort show. Besides, who doesn’t love Aubrey Plaza? Psychos, that’s who. I need to pack for our game with the Seattle Sea Lions. We’re only out of town for a couple of days, so packing won’t take me long.
I don’t love that Shane York is still here, but I didn’t specifically see him at the party. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt for now. As challenging as practice was today, it was so much better than being on edge.
We’re down by two at the start of the second period. It’s killing me because Coach Quinn has only been playing the rookies and a couple of new guys for the entire period. If he would only send our first line out for a couple of shifts, I’m sure we could catch up, especially if we have Orly and Irish on defense.
It’s obvious that he wants to test everyone’s mettle, and I understand. He doesn’t even have Reedsy in goal. His backup, a Finnish guy named Aku Heinonen, is out there instead. He’s putting up a decent fight, but he doesn’t have Reedsy’s ability to anticipate despite traffic around the net, which is how Philly ends up two goals ahead. We have yet to score, despite Camps’ best efforts. I swear the kid skates at the speed of light; we just need to work on raising his confidence. He’s too nice, passing when he got a clear shot. I get not wanting to be a puck hog, no one likes those guys, but if you’ve got a shot, you take it. No excuses.
By the third period, I’m so worked up I can barely sit still. I’m not the only one. Walker’s been twitchy since the second period. We’re so distracted we almost miss it when Coach indicates we’re on next shift.
There’s this feeling when you first hit the ice for a game. It’s joy, anticipation, and nerves all wrapped up together, and there’s nothing like it. We hit the ice, Walker and I wearing matching grins so bright they could power a suburban neighborhood. That ozone smell that hits your system, and the adrenaline spikes. The fire of testing yourself against other professional athletes is a high that fuels me in every game.
Walker powers into one of Seattle’s forwards, throwing him off and stealing the puck. We’ve gone over this play a million times, so I put everything into charging up the ice toward their zone. Walker hits the blue line before Austin and I, although I see Austin checking his speed to avoid an offside call. Once Walker’s in the zone, we put everything we’ve got into catching up to him. He drop passes the puck to Austin in a move we’ve been working on for a week. It hits Austin’s tape with a thunk, and he’s off. I shadow him, looking for a lane down center ice, but their defenders are all over me.
What they don’t know is that Walker’s a much bigger threat than me. They’re so busy with me that when Austin drops back and sends a pass to Orly, when he fires off a pass to Walker. I try to create as much noise as I can in front of the net. Walker, showing everyone the reason he’s a badass with the puck, dangles it around one of their players before sniping it right below the goalie’s glove. The lamp lights, and we’re back in the game.
The energy on the bench has shifted by the time our shift is done. Coach sends the first rookie line back out, but the mood has changed. There’s a fire to their mood that is almost palpable. They’re digging deep to skate faster, and their playhas a fierceness that was missing in the first two periods. Coach shoots me a small smile.
“That’s what I want to see, boys!” he shouts triumphantly. Every head on the bench jerks up, the glum expressions replaced by hopeful grins.
Maksim “Dory” Fydorsky, a rookie from Ukraine, shocks everyone by scoring again with a textbook top-shelf beauty that has the entire team on their feet. The stunned look on Dory’s face is priceless, but once reality sets in, his smile could illuminate the entire arena.
The final score of 4-2 gives us our first win of the season, but it’s so much more than that for us. We’re a hyped-up bunch as we head to the locker room once the final buzzer sounds, and we continue to celebrate as we get dressed.
