I wasn’t very active on social media. Honestly, between studying and training, I barely had time for anything else but sleeping and eating. I had Snap, but that was about it. “What kind of shit?”
“Calling you overrated. Said you only put up numbers against weak teams.”
Heat flashed in my chest. “We’ll see about that.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Webb said with a grin. “Nothing like a little motivation to get Rivera fired up.”
The usual pre-game chirping continued around the room, but I was thinking about what Coach Anders had told me about controlling emotions on the ice.Don’t let them dictate your game. Use the energy, but don’t let it make you stupid.
Good advice. Advice I was determined to apply tonight.
“Alright, boys!” Coach Brennan’s voice cut through the noise as he stepped into the center of the room. “Gather round.”
We formed the familiar semi-circle, everyone’s attention focused on Coach. These pre-game speeches could make or break your mental state, and Coach Brennan, grumpy as he usually was, had a gift for knowing exactly what to say.
“I’ve been coaching for twenty-three years,” he began, his voice carrying that gravelly authority that made you want to run through walls for him. “And I can honestly say I’ve never been more excited about a team’s potential than I am right now.” He looked around the room, making eye contact with each of us. “You know why? Because this isn’t the same team that started the season three weeks ago. You’ve already grown. You’ve learned. You’ve become greater than the sum of your parts.”
His gaze landed on me briefly, and pride surged through me. “Rivera, the way you’ve elevated your line mates’ play, the way you’ve bought into the team concept… That’s great progress.”
My chest swelled. Coming from Brennan, that meant everything.
“Tank, your defensive zone coverage has been rock solid. Martinez, your forechecking has been relentless. Webb, you’ve been a wall in front of the net.”
He worked his way around the room, targeting specific praise for each player. It was classic Brennan, building confidence while reminding everyone of their role.
“Rochester thinks they know who we are,” he said, his voice building intensity. “They think we’re the same team they beat 5-2 last year. They think Rivera’s only a scorer who can’t play defense. They think Tank’s too small to handle their power forwards. They think we’re soft.”
The energy in the room was crackling now. Guys were bouncing on their toes, ready to explode out of the gates.
“Well, boys, tonight, we show them how wrong they are. Tonight, we show them what Millard hockey really looks like. Tonight, we play our game, trust our systems, and leave everything on the ice.”
He paused, letting the words sink in.
“Now let’s go remind them why they should respect the Mavericks.”
The roar that erupted from twenty throats could probably be heard through the arena walls. We were ready.
The first period was a blur of speed and intensity. Rochester came out flying, trying to establish physical dominance early, but we matched their energy and then some. My first shift was different. It felt smoother, more controlled. When I got the puck in the corner, instead of trying to muscle my way out, I used the positioning Coach Anders had taught me.
It worked perfectly.
The d-man committed to one side, and I had three different options instead of trying to power through him. I slipped a pass back to the point that led to a scoring chance, and as I skated by the bench, I caught Coach Anders watching with a proud expression. I wanted to make him proud. Him even more than Coach Brennan.
“Nice play, Rivera!” Coach Brennan called out. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
The rest of the period continued the same way. Every corner battle felt more manageable. Every decision with the puck felt clearer. The techniques Coach Anders had been drilling into me weren’t theoretical anymore. They were tools I could use, weapons that made me more effective.
By the end of the first, we were up 1-0, and I had the assist.
“Keep it up, boys!” Brennan said during the intermission. “They’re getting frustrated. Stick to the game plan and good things will happen.”
The game evolved into a clinic. Rochester was chasing the game, taking risks, and we made them pay. I scored twice: one on a perfect shot selection where I recognized the goalie was cheating to his glove side, and another where I used my defensive awareness to steal a pass and go in alone.
Both goals came directly from things Coach Anders had taught me.
When the final buzzer sounded, we’d won 4-1, and I had two goals and one assist. Three points. The best game of my college career.
The locker room was chaos: guys screaming, music blasting, everyone talking about different plays and moments. Tank grabbed me in a headlock and ruffled my hair.
