Page 21 of Puck Me Secretly

What the fuck.

“Dad, don’t we have scouts and a team of people hired to do this?”

“We do. We have 31 scouts, which is a dozen more than any other team has, but I leave nothing to chance. You need to know who your team is and what it requires before you can recruit new players.”

“You want me to do this for you?”

He glanced at me as we stepped into the elevator. “Don’t kid yourself. I know everything about these players from the size of their skates to who their peewee coach was. This exercise is for your benefit. Until you understand the team we have, you’ll have no chance of being an effective member of my team.”

Roger that.

He gave me a big smile. “Come on now. Don’t look like that. You used to love watching hockey.”

“Yes, I did.”

When I was 10 years old.

He walked to our box. “What are your thoughts on traveling these days?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you still afraid to fly?”

I thought about getting on a plane. I had zero reaction in my body. No fear. No anxiety. Nothing. My lifelong fear seemed to have disappeared. Go figure. “No. I don’t think so.”

He nodded. “Good. Tell Julie that you’ll be traveling with the team for all away games. You’ll need ice level seats and hotel arrangements, and clearance on all flights.”

I groaned. I had walked into that one.

From our family box,we spent two hours watching the team practice. I didn’t even crack the files. My dad talked, and I listened and made notes. He discussed playing styles. Past injuries. Cited contracts and numbers. The man knew his team, I would give him that.

“Check out number 33,” Dad instructed. We watched as 33 did atwo-on-one breakaway. His teammates couldn't keep up with his speed and agility and he scored with ease. “He’s a sniper. He has a brilliant track record on ice. One of the fastest players in the NHL and feared by all, during any fight.”

I could hear my dad’s tone. He was holding back.

“What aren’t you saying?”

“He’s a wildcard. His off-ice antics have created havoc for his last team, so we bought out his contract at a basement bargain price.”

“What antics?”

“Last year they arrested him for joyriding a Porsche, but he got off with community service. He got caught, by the media, locked out of his hotel room in the buff. Those unfortunate photos made the front page. He’s more than a lady’s man. Social media sites are filled with indelicate photos of himself in compromising pictures.”

“Not good for a team’s image, but he’s hardly in a class of his own in this league.” Hockey players were notorious bad boys.

My dad glanced at me. “He was permanently benched during the final round of playoffs last season. By his own coach.”

“During playoffs? For what reason?”

“He was in a full-on brawl with one of his own teammates. The fight was not only brutal, it spilled out of the locker room after a game and a syndicated television station managed to record it.”

Oh. That was bad. I made a mental note to look up that fight online. “What was the fight about?”

“No one knows, and trust me, I tried finding out before we bought out his contract. They would have won the cup if he had been playing. They lost because he sat on the bench.”

“That’s a coaching decision.”

“He hospitalized one of his own teammates.”

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