Page 8 of One Good Puck
He takes a breath, hesitating. “Can I be honest with you, Coach?”
“Honesty is the only thing I want out of you.”
“This is training camp. Of course St. George is impressive right now. He’s pulling out all the stops. He’s showcasing the best of what he can do. And he’s had a whole summer to rest up to look good for training camp in front of you,” Jason says. “But training camp is only two weeks. When the season’s in full swing, you’re playing for months and months on end, back-to-back games. You’re traveling and dealing with injuries and lack of rest and sleep. When you throw all that into the mix, I don’t know if a guy like St. George will be as impressive.”
I’m quiet as I take in Jason’s assessment. Everything he says is true. I know it because I’ve lived it. I was around Ryker’s age when I quit playing professional hockey. Partlybecause I was nearing my late thirties, and my body just couldn’t handle the rigorous workload anymore. And party because I had lost my wife unexpectedly in a car accident and needed to step up and raise my daughter full-time as a single dad.
I watch Ryker on the ice as he skates his ass off next to Camden Connors, the best defenseman on our team, who’s paired with Sam. Camden is just as fast as Ryker with an added effortlessness to his movement because he’s young—only twenty-three years old. He’s skilled, energetic, learns quickly, and is athletically gifted. The perfect young hockey player.
It’s an interesting contrast seeing the two of them on the ice at the same time. Ryker moves with efficiency and experience; Camden moves with excitement and raw energy, like he’s just happy to be here. Both types of players are needed on a team.
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t play St. George,” Jason says. “I just think we need to be careful how we use him on the team.”
Jason is right, but there’s something about Ryker that sticks out to me. There’s a hustle and a hunger in the way that he plays. I like seeing that in my players.
“St. George is no young buck, that’s for sure,” I say. “But I think he could be an asset. I wanna see what he can do for us.”
Jason nods, but purses his lips slightly, like he’s doubtful. He’s been my assistant coach for the past three seasons, and I’ve always taken to heart his insights and instincts about our players. But as head coach, I get the final say about how we play our guys. And I’m ready to take a chance on St. George, even though Jason’s not with me on it.
I blow my whistle, signaling the end of the speed drill. Isplit the guys up so they can work on offensive and defensive systems. I watch and take notes, observing how their techniques are holding up the longer they go, if they’re getting lazy or forming any bad habits.
By the end of the day, it’s clear the guys are exhausted. They head to the locker room to get cleaned up while the coaches and I head to my office to talk about line combinations and finalize the roster for the upcoming season.
When we’re finished, the coaches and I meet with the players to discuss their roles this season.
There’s a soft knock at my door. When I look up, I see Ryker St. George standing in the open doorway in athletic shorts and a Bashers t-shirt, his dark hair damp. There’s a slight wrinkle in his brow, like he’s unsure. Or annoyed. I can’t really tell with him; he always looked kind of pissed.
“Have a seat.” I gesture to the chair in front of my desk. We both sit down.
“I gotta say, I’m impressed with what I’ve seen from you these past two weeks at training camp,” I say.
The wrinkle in his brow remains. “Thanks. I worked hard to show you what I’m capable of,” he says.
“I don’t want to beat around the bush. I want you on the second line with Del and Theo.”
His brow lifts like he’s shocked. “Seriously?”
I almost laugh at the hitch in his voice. It’s weird hearing his gruff voice that high.
“Yes. The three of you played together really fluidly at training camp. It was like you’d played with them a million times before. It surprised me how quickly and easily you meshed. Especially since you were the odd one out. Those two have played together for almost two seasons, and I honestly thought you’d have a harder time fitting in. But I was wrong.”
Ryker runs a hand through his hair. “I’m happy to prove you wrong in this instance.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I can tell that was an attempt at a joke.
“Look, I know this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve been to tons of training camps for lots of teams in your career. Things look pretty rosy at the end of training camp when you’re riding the high of excitement and anticipation for the season, but it’s a different story when the season starts,” I say. “As good as I feel about you playing on the second line, things will change if you fall short of expectations.”
“I understand. I’m not under any delusions, Coach. I’m fully aware that I’m the oldest guy on the team. I know the doubts people have about me and my abilities. But I promise I’ll work my ass off for you. I promise I’ll earn my spot on the roster.”
“Good. And hey, some advice from one old guy to another?”
He cracks a smile. “Sure.”
“Enjoy being the underdog. There’s nothing quite like seeing the look on people’s faces when you exceed their low expectations of you,” I say. “It’s way harder being the superstar that everyone is excited to see fail.”
The look in his eyes turns thoughtful as he nods. I stand up and shake his hand.
“Thank you again for this opportunity, Coach.”
