Page 17 of Hockey 101

Coach Norman will spread the minutes evenly so he can assess everyone. These exhibition games are your chance to impress him. Once the games count, the best players will get the most time.

What’s the coach really like? I ask.

So far, I like him. Arnie Norman is the most knowledgeable coach I’ve ever had. He played pro hockey for a few years, then went back to school to finish his sports psychology degree. He seems calm and reasonable, but a coach’s true nature doesn’t come out until there’s a long losing stretch.

I really like him—he’s smart, fair, and honest. Always well prepared. And he used to play defence, so you can learn a lot from him. Mats yanks open the heavy arena door and we walk in.

Members of the women’s team are leaving as we head towards our dressing room. Most of them know Mats from last year, so they greet him by name and nod at me. All except one tall woman with blonde braids, who walks by and says, Hey, Jack. But she ignores Mats completely.

Who’s that? I crane my neck to watch her go. I know my teammates, but I’ve hardly met anyone else yet.

Cleo Nelson. She’s captain of the women’s team. His voice is oddly flat.

Does she have a beef with you? I ask.

Apparently.

Then in true Mats fashion, he doesn’t explain any further. Once he spent an entire six-hour bus trip sitting next to me without a word. He wasn’t mad or anything, just deep in his own head. I can’t even stay quiet for fifteen minutes.

At practice, the drills are familiar but the pace is fast. I feel good. I did a ton of summer training since I was nervous about playing for a new team, and it’s all paying off now. A few of the players are gasping, and one guy even pukes on the bench.

Unacceptable, ladies. You should get here in game shape. Do we need a bag skate? hollers Greg Greene, one of the assistant coaches. He’s an in-your-face type, and I’m glad that he works with the offence. Our defensive coach, Frank Ferris, is on the quieter side, which I prefer.

Luckily, instead of skating until we puke, we do a lines drill. And, best of all, we finish up with a scrimmage, which is as close to a game as practice gets. I’ve got to get used to new teammates and new systems, but my passes are clicking and I’m seeing the ice well. Coach Norman gives me an approving tap after a rush up the ice that leads to a goal.

Next shift, I’m battling Bergy for the puck when someone absolutely drills me into the boards. He adds a cross-check to the kidneys, and I collapse to the ice.

What the fuck? I choke out. There’s a searing pain in my lower back. Who hits that hard in practice?

Keep your head up, rook, snarls O.D. as he skates away. Tom O’Donnell is a senior, and a defenceman like me.

I scramble up and get back into the play, but I’m going to be sore later. O.D. checked me right where there’s no protection. Asshole.

After practice, I’m unlacing my skates when someone stands in front of me and blocks all the light. I look up to see O.D. again. He’s half-naked and his arms are crossed over his broad, hairy chest. I briefly wonder if he’s going to apologize for hitting me so hard, but instead he spits on the floor in front of me.

See you later, rook. Don’t forget, tonight your ass is mine. He gives me a feral snarl before walking away.

Well, that sounded vaguely homoerotic, jokes Coty from his spot next to me on the bench.

I chuckle. Antoine Côté is a junior who plays left side D. I really like partnering with him, but he’s going to be a top-four defenceman, while I’m just hoping to get regular shifts.

Um, is there something I should know about the rookie party? I swallow.

Coty shrugs. As far as I know, it’s just drinking. The seniors will make you serve them drinks or shit like that. He watches O.D. disappear into the showers. The normal seniors anyway.

I nod. It’s clear that O.D. is not normal. He’s extra-aggressive, which is good, as long as it’s aimed at opposing teams.

I finish getting ready and head for home with Mats.

I thought that hazing shit was out these days, I grumble as we trudge along. In junior hockey, bad publicity and lawsuits against the league caused a serious crackdown on initiation rites.

Yeah, they should get rid of that crap altogether, but a few dinosaurs still want it. Mats shrugs.

Like O.D.? I ask.

His eyes meet mine.

What is it? I rub my back, where one helluva bruise is probably forming. Good thing I can’t see it.

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