Page 13 of Game Changer
“So that was a shit show,” Huff said.
“You’re not kidding,” Scott said. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“I mean, I’m not the captain, but maybe like, ‘Hey, fuckheads. Stop playing such shitty hockey.’ Or something.”
Scott smiled a little. “That was more or less what I was thinking.”
“Poor Andersson, man. I feel sorry for that kid.”
“Yeah...” Scott said, looking in the direction of the dressing room. “How’s he doing?”
“Wonderful. How do youthinkhe’s doing?”
“I’ll talk to him.You’reoff the hook. Got our only goal tonight. Nice one too.”
Huff gave him a lazy salute. “What I’m good for.”
It was true. Greg Huff was one of the best sharpshooters in the game. He had incredible aim, and had been an NHL all-star for eight consecutive seasons because of it.
Scott grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge. Huff put out his hands in a catching position, so Scott threw him one as well.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Scott said. “But tell Andersson to stick around, all right?”
“Will do.”
If Scott could have a whole team of Greg Huffs, he’d be thrilled. Greg was a real dependable, stand-up guy, and a tremendous team presence on and off the ice. Not the flashiest player, and not the biggest guy by a long shot, but a huge contributor to the team.
Scott went to the showers. A couple of other guys were in there. Most of the team had already showered and were getting ready to go back to the San Jose hotel.
One of the guys in the shower was Frank Zullo. He was the only player on the team Scott just didn’t like. He was a great defenseman, no question, big and tough and a brutal fighter when necessary. But he was also a bully, and a bit of a creep, really. There were plenty of guys like Zullo in the NHL.
Scott made the water a little hotter, letting it wash away this terrible game. Tomorrow morning they flew to Chicago. They had a night off, then a game the following afternoon. Then a short night flight to Toronto for a game the next evening, and then home to New York.
He left the showers and went to the lockers. He put on some shorts and a T-shirt and went to find Andersson in the dressing room. The young goalie was packing up his gear, looking miserable.
“Hey,” Scott said, sitting on the bench beside Andersson’s enormous goalie gear bag, “I’m sorry we didn’t help you out there tonight.”
Andersson huffed an angry laugh. “I fucked up,” he said in his heavily accented English.
“We all did.”
“I looked like a fucking idiot out there.”
“Murdock made the right call, putting you in,” Scott said. “I don’t blame you a bit. I blame the rest of us. It’s just psychological. Putting the backup goalie in makes us cocky, I guess. Like the coach thinks this game should be a walk, so we all believe it, and then...”
“Then I look like a fucking idiot.”
Scott tilted his head in acknowledgment. “We’re all going to be replaying our mistakes tonight when we’re in our beds. No one on this team is proud of themselves tonight. But no one blames you either. I need you to know that.”
The young goalie gave him a reluctant smile. “Thanks,” he said. He stuffed the last of his gear into his bag and stood. “I’m gonna head to the hotel. Replay some of those mistakes. And then I’m gonna forget all about it and get ready for the next game.”
“Good man. You’re rooming with Burke, right?” Scott asked, just to make conversation as they walked out of the room.
“Yeah.”
“Man, I’m sorry. Good luck.”
Tommy laughed. “Yeah, thanks. I pretend I can’t understand him when I need him to stop talking.”
