Not bad, but not great either. The missing faces were telling: Turner, obviously, but also three of the veterans and a couple of younger players who’d seemed less than thrilled about the whole Portland experience from day one.
The guys who came seemed genuinely relaxed for the first time since training camp started. Laughter echoed off thehigh ceilings as players swapped stories from their previous teams, compared golf scores, and argued good-naturedly about which local restaurants were worth the hype.
I was nursing my second IPA—the brewery’s version of a Northwest pale ale that was actually pretty decent—when Holloway raised his pint glass high enough to get everyone’s attention.
“To our veteran captain!” he called out, his words ringing with theatrical flare. “The guy who knows how to get shit done!”
The reference to Boucher’s dig was unmistakable. About half the players immediately raised their glasses, voices rising in agreement. Laasko shouted something in Finnish that sounded enthusiastic. Petrov clinked his glass against mine with enough force to slosh beer onto the floor.
But the others hesitated. Some lifted their glasses halfheartedly. A few avoided eye contact entirely, suddenly fascinated by the brewery’s tap list chalked on a board.
The moment crystallized everything wrong with our team chemistry in sharp relief. We weren’t united. We were a collection of individuals still figuring out if they wanted to be here, still deciding if they believed in what we were building.
“Thanks, guys.” I kept my voice steady and confident. “But the only thing that matters is what we do on the ice. Everything else is just noise.”
It was the right thing to say—diplomatic, team-focused, mature. A response that would look good in a quote if anyone was recording. But privately, I made a different vow.
I was going to win over every single doubter in this room as well as the ones who didn’t show up. Whatever it took, however long it required, I was going to make believers out of all of them. Because success wasn’t just about talent or systems or coaching—it was about commitment. And commitment started with buying in completely.
The conversation shifted back to safer topics after that. Someone started telling a story about getting lost during their apartment hunt. Another player explained the difference between various local coffee roasters with the intensity of a sommelier discussing wine.
I took part when appropriate, laughed at the right moments, bought apps and the next round. But part of my mind was already working, cataloging personalities and planning approaches. Which players responded to humor? Who needed individual attention? What would it take to earn their respect?
The gathering broke up around nine, players filtering out in small groups with promises to do it again soon. I stayed until the end, made sure everyone was safe to drive or got a rideshare, and picked up the tab for the entire evening. Leadership meant taking care of your people, even in the small details.
My apartment felt too quiet after the noise and energy of the bar. I’d rented a place in Beaverton close to the facility—a modern two-bedroom with granite countertops and hardwood floors that looked like it belonged in a design magazine. Back in Colorado, I’d owned a house with a three-car garage and mountain views, but I’d learned my lesson about putting down roots. Without a no-trade clause in my contract, anything could happen and probably would. Better to travel light and keep my expectations flexible. The apartment didn’t feel much like home yet and probably never would.
I was microwaving leftover takeout Thai food when my phone buzzed with a text from an unexpected sender.Wesley Huttonlit the screen.
Wesley
Heard about the team get-together. Off the record, how was it?
I stared at the message for a long moment, surprised by the contact. Wesley had my number for professional purposes, but this felt different. More personal. Like he was genuinely interested in how things went, not just gathering information for damage control.
My first instinct was to craft a positive response. Everything went great. Team’s coming together nicely. Classic captain stuff that would make me look competent and in control.
Something about Wesley’s approach—the casual tone, the explicit mention that it was off the record—made me hesitate. He wasn’t asking as the PR manager. He was asking as… what? A colleague? A friend? Someone who cared about how I was adjusting?
I took a bite of pad Thai and considered my options. Through my living room window, the lights of downtown Beaverton twinkled, but my gaze was unfocused. Wesley seemed trustworthy, and he’d handled the Boucher situation with skill and discretion. But it was too soon to let my guard down completely. No matter how much I liked the guy or how good he was in a crisis, I barely knew him. Better to stick with what was expected of a captain.
Finally, I decided to keep things professional and positive.
Griffin
It went well. 11 turned out, good energy. The guys enjoyed a beer together, which should translate to better chemistry on ice.
Wesley
That’s a better turnout than I expected, honestly. All-new team, all-new city. Anyone give you grief about the Boucher thing?
Griffin
Holloway made a toast about veteran leadership that got a good response. I think the team’s rallying around the idea of proving our doubters wrong.
I hit send, satisfied with how I’d spun the evening’s events. No need to mention the hesitance or Turner’s conspicuous absence. Leadership meant projecting confidence, even when I wasn’t feeling it. Another text came through.
Wesley
