Hey, Joey,he says softly.Heard you had a rough game.
There’s a sniff.Then a stubborn, muffledGo away.
Nope,Sidney says.That’s not happening.He must have let himself further into the room, because the next thing I hear is,Whoa.Sweet room, bud.But this has got to go,he states about something I can’t see.
Against all odds, a small, choked laugh sputters out of Joey.Absolutely not.Romanov is the highest scorer in the league.
I honestly thought you had better taste.A freakin’Bostonposter.Gross.
There’s another silence.
You want to tell me what happened at today’s game?Your mom said your team lost.
Yeah, because of me.
That can’t be true.Hockey is a team sport.No one person loses the game.There’s a bit of a pause.I know how you feel though.
There’s a scoff.No you don’t.
Bud, seriously.I’m a goalie.I’ve been labelled the guy who cost his team a game.Let in a goal that meant my team lost the Cup.So I know exactly how you feel.
Silence.
Then another sniff.Their voices go lower.So low, I can’t hear them talking from my spot in the kitchen anymore.I want to creep closer and hear what Sidney is telling my boy, but I also want to give them their privacy.
Fuck it.I want to know what they’re sharing.I tiptoe down the hall, pressing my back against the wall when I’m a couple of feet away.I hold my breath as I listen in.
Everyone thinks I suck.
No,Sidney says.Everyone thinks you’re human.
Joey doesn’t answer, no doubt rolling his eyes and looking away.
Sidney’s voice softens.“You know what makes a great player?A short memory.You feel it.You learn from it.And then you move the hell on.If you stay stuck on one moment, the game passes you by.
Your teammates were emotional,Sidney continues.And trust me, people say dumb things when they’re emotional.Doesn’t mean they’re right.Doesn’t mean you carry it forever.
A frustrated breath gets released with a groan.But I disappointed them.
No,Sidney says.You disappointedyourself.And that’s the part that hurts the most.And that’s okay.It means you care.But quitting?No.Not an option.You’re too good.I’ve seen you on the ice, Joey.You’re magic.
Really?He huffs, not believing what Sidney is saying.
Really,Sidney says, voice unwavering.You’ve got great instincts.Good hands.And you hustle.I’d kill for half your speed.
You’re literally a pro player.
Sidney chuckles.Yeah, but I’m old.
A watery laugh finally carries down the hall.I feel the vise around my heart loosen.
There he is,Sidney murmurs.The kid who loves the game.The kid who cheers at my saves so loud I can hear him from the ice.
There’s a pause before Sidney continues.You had a bad game—it happens.That’s what makes hockey the best game ever.Because even with a loss, we win something.More knowledge about our opponents, more insight into our own plays, and more determination to win the next time.One loss does not define you, okay?Do you understand?Joey must nod.Good.Now, come here.
Not able to help myself, I take quick steps to the door and watch as my son launches himself off the bed into Sidney’s arms in a hug that cracks me open.Sidney holds him tightly, steady and patient.When Joey pulls away, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, he whispers,Thanks, Sid.
Anytime,he says.I got your back.Always.
