Page 74 of Playing the Pucking Game
Instead, I was forced to sit there and watch as Colorado annihilated us.
I’ve had plenty of bad games in my career, and I know I’ve got plenty more in me. But while being a part of a loss is devastating, watching one from the sidelines is fucking torturous.
By the time the final buzzer sounds, the guys out on the ice lower their heads and move toward the tunnel, utterly defeated.
We’ve had injury after injury tonight. And while our opponents might have spent plenty of time in the box for it, we still couldn’t pull out even a single goal.
It fucking hurts.
If I’d have been allowed out there, maybe, just maybe, I could have helped turn things around.
We’re heading toward the second half of the season; we can’t afford to have games like this if we want to secure our playoff position.
The second Monroe is off the ice, Parker is on him, checking his shoulder, while the others pass by, ready to put this whole night behind us.
I want to say something encouraging as I step up beside Kodie, but there are no words, and anyway, he isn’t exactly giving off, “please talk to me about how I fucked up tonight” vibes.
So, like the others, I keep my gaze locked on the ground and prepare myself for the impending dressing down.
The air is thick with disappointment as we come to a stop at our stalls and begin stripping out of our uniform.
There are mumbled curses and more than a few thrown pieces of athletic equipment as everyone battles to restrain their frustration.
As Coach steps into the room, silence descends. We might have disappointed ourselves tonight, but I know I’m not the only one who feels worse about disappointing James Watson.
He’s done incredible things since becoming our head coach. Not only is the man a fucking legend in his own right, but he’s an incredible coach. Our respect for him is endless. As much as we want to win games for ourselves, we want to win for him more.
“I’m not going to stand here and bleat on about where we fell down tonight,” he starts. “You all already know where your weaknesses were. You all know what you need to work on.
“But what I will say is that winning doesn’t make a top-class athlete. Of course, it’s a part of it, but it’s how we deal with the losing that really makes us.
“It sucks. I get it. It hurts.
“But I urge you to let tonight go. What’s done is done. Focus on the future. Focus on our next game and how incredible it’s going to feel when we get back out there and show the world what we’re really made of.”
Agreement ripples around the room.
“We’re having our best season in years, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be lows. Use this loss to fuel everything that comes next.
“Now, we’ve got an afternoon flight home tomorrow, followed by two days off. Use this time to let your hair down, put this loss behind you, and come back to training ready to lift that cup.”
Cheers sound out, and the atmosphere in the dressing room shifts.
“Onwards and upwards, right?” Kodie says, making Coach’s solemn expression soften.
“Go out tonight, blow off some steam. But hear this…you miss the flight tomorrow, you’ll walk your sorry asses back to LA. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach,” we all agree.
He looks around the room, meeting each of our eyes, silently reassuring us, before he pauses on Fletch.
“Let’s go, Ferguson. The press waits for no man.”
We all watch as the two of them disappear, each of us grateful not to be the ones trying to put a positive spin on tonight’s game for the press.
“We’re going out tonight, right?” Marilyn asks.
“After that monstrosity? Hell yes,” Killer agrees.
