Having the room cleaned was the best I could think of. I spent an hour with Linda from the cleaning service Cal recommended. He was not getting a thank-you for that one. They needed to rename the place Hairy Maids. Linda had a full beard that rivaled the one I grow every year during the playoffs.
I’m so relaxed I sleep for the last half hour of the flight. When we land, I check my phone and see a text from our team trainer, Carlos.
Carlos: How’s the shoulder?
Me: Fine, just a little stiff.
Carlos: Want me to work on it b4 the game?
Me: No, I’m good.
Carlos is on this flight with me, but like my teammates, he knows not to talk to me before game time on a game day unless it’s an emergency. I hit the wall hard during our last game and my shoulder took all the impact. He iced it after the game and now it doesn’t hurt that bad.
Aches and pains are part of this game. They’re a part of it I don’t mind. I’ve gotten so good at shutting out all the emotional stuff that sometimes the physical hurt is all that reminds me I’m still alive.
When we get to the arena, I change from my suit and tie into sweats and a long-sleeve T-shirt for the pregame skate. I do my usual four laps around the ice and then go back to the locker room.
Some of the other guys are getting worked out by Carlos and his assistant and others are warming up. I put on a dark gray hoodie and find a corner of the locker room where I can be alone.
Time to switch to my pregame playlist. The music of Eminem, AC/DC and Three 6 Mafia fills my ears as I lean forward on the locker room bench, elbows resting on my knees. I pull the hood over the top of my face and close my eyes.
I always spend this time feeling the music and visualizing what I want to make happen on the ice. I’ll hit my hardest and push my legs to skate fast. I’ll get dirty if that’s what it takes to get the puck in the net.
I’ll remind this team who’s fucking boss. We’re the reigning champions. The Winnipeg captain, Bobby Viola, is a quiet, calculating motherfucker. He checked Tuck in our last game for no reason and I filed it away. He’ll get his tonight.
Tuck taps my shoulder and I turn off the music. It’s time to get dressed.
One of the team interns is waiting by my locker, holding a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel and a blue Gatorade. I take the sandwich and pull up a corner of the white bread to check the peanut butter. Crunchy.
I nod. This kid’s not getting an ass chewing tonight.
“Is this the right Gatorade…sir?” he asks, swallowing hard.
I just nod again. My teammate Mark tells the kid, “He’d tell you if it was wrong.”
The intern sighs with relief and walks away. Mark gives me a wry smile.
It’s not that I’m a complete bastard before games, I just need things the way I need them. If even one thing gets messed up, my mojo is fucked for the whole game.
I eat my sandwich and drink some of the Gatorade. After that it’s time to focus on the equipment on the floor in front of my locker.
My left shin guard goes on first, with two wraps of tape around it. Then my left sock. I repeat the process on the right. My pants are next. I put on my left skate after that, then my right skate and then my shoulder pads. Left elbow pad, right elbow pad, then sweater.
I take my black tape out of my equipment bag and tape my stick from heel to toe.
“Listen up,” Gene says from the other side of the locker room.
I turn my attention to him out of respect, but I don’t listen to his pregame talk. I have to stay in my solitary mental zone. It’s nothing I don’t already know, anyway. Gene wants solid line changes and puck control.
I tune everything out until it’s time for me to say something to the team as their captain. As always, it’s short and to the point.
“Let’s remind them who we are tonight, boys. We’re the champions.” That draws lots of yelling and fist-pumping.
We huddle up, some of the guys still yelling. As soon as we break, it’s ice time.
Winnipeg’s crowd is on fire tonight. I have to shut out the noise and focus on the face-off.
“Wussup, pussy?” Viola says to me under his breath as we wait for the puck to drop.
“My dick in your girlfriend’s ass,” I murmur back.
His eyes narrow. He’s getting pissed, and the second he spends thinking about it gives me an advantage when the ref lets go of the puck.
I hook my stick around it and slide it to my left winger, Alex.
Chad comes on fast and strong, and we score our first goal right away. Winnipeg fires back with a cheap one that bounces off the goalpost and then into the net.
I move up and down the ice, keeping the puck in sight. I shoot what would be a goal, but the Winnipeg goalie blocks it.
After the line change, I have some water and watch the game. The cycle repeats itself until the second line scores another goal at the end of the period.
In the second period, one of our defensemen gives Viola the body check he’s got coming and ends up in the box for it. During the ensuing power play, Winnipeg scores again.
I’m completely immersed in the game and it flies by. In the final minute of the third period, I score. The guys gather around me in celebration.
That’s the last goal of the game, so we’re in high spirits over our win in the locker room. When I check my phone, hoping for a text from Miranda, there’s one from my agent, Cal, instead.
They came up. We’ve got a deal.
I grin at the phone, a little surprised. I told the marketing team of the shoe company trying to sign me that they needed to up their offer by twenty-five percent. Cal told me privately that I was crazy.
Shoe companies don’t often give hockey players big deals because we don’t play our sport in shoes. But they have clothes and other shit, too, so I’d figured they’d pay.
Me: Good.
Cal: Nice game tonight.
Me: Thanks man.
—
Now that the game’s behind us, I can relax. Once we’re showered and dressed, a bunch of us go to a steakhouse for dinner. They go out drinking after, but the memory of my recent hangover is too fresh for me to even want a beer. The victory shot of Evan Williams 23 at the steakhouse is all the alcohol I’m drinking tonight.
I wonder what Miranda’s doing. I text her on the cab ride back to my hotel.
Hey, how are u?
It’s almost a minute before she responds.
Miranda: Hey. I actually fell asleep reading my Econ book.