Page 68 of Hockey 101

Pfft. That’s what the guys who aren’t getting any say.

Oof, she bites back. He laughs. Actually, you’ll probably be the only person interested in this. I was trying to figure out why no other colleges had tried to recruit Sinc, so I looked up his record in junior hockey. You know what I found out?

I shake my head, but feel a thrill of anticipation. Personality-wise, Jack is an open book, but he’s very modest about his hockey accomplishments.

When Jack was eighteen—his draft year—he was only 5’10” and 160 pounds. He was a good skater, but too small for a defenceman. When he got taller and stronger, it took a while for his game to catch up. Jacob points down at Jack’s silky skating. What we see now is Jack Sinclair in his fully evolved form. College-level coaching will help even more.

So maybe he could be one of those players who gets signed out of college? I ask.

Jacob chortles. Oooh, someone’s been doing her homework. Are you hoping to become an NHL WAG?

My life-long dream, I drawl.

Sinc’s not going to the NHL, but he’s got a shot at another league. His chances will be better if the Mustangs make the playoffs and scouts see him. If not, Coach Norman has some connections.

Jack wants to play hockey for as long as possible, and I’m happy that he might get a chance. The buzzer sounds to end the first period. I stretch my legs and flex my tensed hands. Then we make our way down to safer ground.

After a 2-1 win by the Mustangs, I go with Jacob to check out the game video. Alex, the video guy, now treats me with a wary respect. Apparently, being the sports editor is worth something.

Jacob has already dictated his game story to me. His latest party trick is doing period-by-period summaries, which I edit in real time. This system allows us to have two-thirds of the story ready before the game is even over. Of course, a crazy third period could necessitate a complete rewrite, but generally our stories are posted quickly, usually within an hour of the game ending. The readers love it, and we’re both free early. Jacob can work on video analysis for the coaches, and I can have a social life.

As soon as we’ve filed the story, I rush over to wait for Jack. At first, I hated waiting in the hallway with fans, family, and girlfriends. I felt intimidated by women like Mats’s girlfriend, the icily perfect Lana, or Big Z’s ever-changing carousel of glamorous dates. However, watching games with the other girlfriends turned out to be fun. The beautiful girlfriends turned out to be human and likeable. I’m ashamed of the stereotypes I held on to for so long, especially since I bristle anytime someone judges me based on my Asian features.

As with any group, some people are more simpatico than others. My favourites are Rosie, Connor Wahl’s girlfriend, and Anna-Lee, who dates Grant Schmidt. Both girls are seniors like me, so we bonded over our impending job uncertainty. I wind through the crowd and greet them.

Andy! Where were you tonight? We were looking for you, Anna-Lee exclaims.

I watched from the catwalk with Jacob. He’s still educating me about hockey, I explain.

I’ve watched hockey my whole life and I still don’t know enough to understand what Connor is talking about, complains Rosie.

Goalies are more analytical, I think. They have to watch the entire game unfold, says Anna-Lee.

I thought goalies were famous for being weird. Connor is the most superstitious person I’ve ever met. Once I moved his water bottle on a game day and he flipped out. Rosie laughs. But then he ended up getting a shut-out, so now I have to move the water bottle before every game. He’s crazy, she says affectionately.

I’m intrigued. What other superstitions does he have? This might make a fun story for a player profile—if Connor is willing to talk. He’s not the most effusive guy.

Rosie motions to herself. I have to wear his jersey. And this necklace that he got me for Christmas last year. Thank god he’s never noticed what underwear I have on after a big win, because I’d probably have to wear them every game—without washing them.

We all giggle, but I feel a twist of guilt. Jack would like me to wear his jersey too. He’s never asked, but I can sense it. But I worry that the sports editor shouldn’t favour one player over the others. Or maybe I’m overthinking things again.

Hey, Andy. Jack’s deep voice cuts through the noisy corridor. When our eyes meet, his handsome face glows brighter than the harsh fluorescent lighting. Jack’s delight in seeing me makes my Grinch-heart grow three sizes. He’s even happier tonight, since the team won.

He swoops me up in a bear hug and gives me a quick smooch. I straighten my jacket when he puts me down, wishing I didn’t blush so easily.

You played so well tonight, I say as we wind our way out of the arena. Jack’s arm is draped over my shoulders, and I lean into him. After a Saturday game we usually head to the pub with the rest of the team.

Really? And what did I do? he quizzes.

You stopped those two Lakeview players all by yourself. What’s the hockey term for that?

Jack grins. Broke up the two-on-one.

Got it. Also, you were your usual stud defenceman self. His eyes widen in mock surprise. Have I ever told you how hot you are when you talk hockey? You’re such an expert now.

I studied with the best. I jab him with an elbow.

You sure did. He squinches one eye. Wait, wasn’t tonight the night you watched the game with Jacob? Did he feed you those lines?

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