“Iknow you guys know what everyone is saying. I don’t need to repeat it to you.”
Coach is standing in front of all of us, excited energy radiating off him. The Knights are in a position no one thought we would be in at this point in the year.
With a few more wins, we could be looking at the playoffs, something that hasn’t happened in years. It’s so close, we can taste it. Everyone wants it.
But no one is saying it. We don’t want to jinx ourselves.
“The home crowd is going to be rocking tonight, so let’s go out there and play how I know we can play and bring home the W!”
“Alright, men.” Marcus calls all of us to the center of the locker room. “You heard Coach. We’ve played under pressure before, so let’s not let this get to us. Go out there and play Knights Hockey. Knights on three. One, two, three…”
“Knights!”
“Think we got this?” Graham asks as we head down the tunnel.
The noise of the crowd is loud and echoing around us.
“You know it.” I elbow him in the side as we hit the ice to music and lights flashing around the arena. Every fan is decked out in red for the game tonight.
This has always been one of my favorite parts of the game—the energy before it starts. It’s a living, breathing thing. A live wire of excitement.
I feed off it.
When the game gets tough, this is what I think about. About the fans.
A few Detroit faithful stand out in their black jerseys, but it’s almost all Nashville fans tonight.
“Detroit is a good team.”
“We’re better.” Graham shoots me a subtle wink as we skate to the bench.
The game starts and we easily take control. The way we’re moving as a team and anticipating each other’s moves is incredible. It feels easy.
Easier still when Marcus puts the biscuit in the basket in the middle of the first period. We keep that same energy during the first intermission and carry it into the second period.
Detroit doesn’t lie down. They’re battling it out and end up getting one past our goalie.
As soon as play starts again, I’m fighting for the puck. There’s no way I’m going to let this guy beat me. Until I’m flying through the air as my skates come out from under me. My momentum propels me forward too fast as I hit the pipes and go crashing into the boards.
That’s it.
Lights out.
Graham
I’m goingto be sick.
Noah crumpling to the ice like that wasn’t natural. The angle at which he hit and flew into the boards is something I haven’t seen in all my years of playing hockey.
The guy who took him out is kneeling next to him, shaking him. I vaguely register the whistles around me as the refs skate over to him and push the opposing player off him. Medical personnel are already coming onto the ice to check on Noah.
And I’m glued to my spot on the ice.
Noah went down.
Even in all the hits he’s taken, he’s bounced up. Or at least showed signs of pain.
Now? He’s not moving. No rolling on the ice or clutching at his arm to indicate he’s okay, just hurt. Noah is curled up on the ice with his arm under him at an awkward angle.
