Page 80 of The New Guy
We hang up just as Jason Castro sits down on my table. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just a little under-caffeinated. Are you ready for tonight?”
“You bet. If we win this one, we clinch our spot in the playoffs. Nobody else can catch up to us in points.”
“You’d better win, then.” I reach for the tape and get to work. Two more players are waiting for me now. It’s going to be a busy day. “Is there any coffee down here somewhere?”
“Oh totally.” He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles. Then he hollers toward the hallway. “Yo! Hot Pepper!”
Heidi Jo appears a moment later, her hands on her hips. “Did you really just whistle for melike a dog?”
A low murmur goes through the players. “Oooh, Castro is in trouble.”
“Baby, Gavin needs to know if there’s coffee available. He’s got twenty-three players to look after so we can win this thing. And the man is under-caffeinated.”
“Oh, heck!” she says, straightening up. “I got this. How do you like your coffee? I was heading that way anyway.”
“Don’t put yourself out,” I say, my neck heating at the attention. “I’ll drink anything, but a splash of milk is my go-to.”
“No problem. Five minutes. And, guys?” She raises her voice, and the conversations around us cease. “Announcements from the coach in thirty minutes. And then PR needs a moment before you skate.”
“Yes ma’am,” Castro says as she departs.
“I’m getting the feeling that Heidi Jo practically runs this place,” I say as I cut the tape, finishing his wrist.
“You wouldn’t be wrong.” He rises from the table. “I married up, obviously. Just don’t tell her.”
“She knows, man. She knows,” his teammates tease.
I laugh and get to work on the next guy.
* * *
Game day is a scramble, so I’m still taping joints when it’s time for the coach to address his players. I solve this problem by carrying my supplies into the dressing room, where players sit in front of their gear stalls.
Although I wouldn’t want to work this way all the time, it’s really no problem to kneel down on the rubberized floor and tape up Bayer’s ankle while the coach delivers his game day speech.
“Tonight’s your night. Keep your focus, and we can finish the regular season with the highest points in our division…”
When Bayer’s ankle is squared away, I take a quiet seat beside Halla and quickly check the bandage on his arm, where somebody slashed him in the last game.
After Coach speaks, it’s Georgia’s turn. “One more second, boys. Let’s do a publicity rundown. If we clinch our playoffs spot tonight, I’ll want O’Doul and the high scorer to give quotes afterwards. You’reso excitedto have another shot at the cup! You’re sogratefulfor this opportunity, etc. Got it?”
“Yes, Killer!” they answer in unison.
This must be a running joke, because she grins. “Good boys. And one more thing—our annual Hockey is For Everyone night is next week—last home game of the season. You’ll be suiting up in rainbow practice jerseys for a photo op, and you’ll have rainbow tape for warm-ups. We’ll be auctioning off the jerseys and the sticks after the game. Plus I need six players to take turns doing pregame photos with fans.”
“Pre-game?” O’Doul asks. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, the timing is unusual, but these fans are mostly children. If six of you volunteer, I’ll only need each player for ten minutes, one at a time, in front of the banner. We can make a lot of memories in sixty minutes, guys. Who’s in?”
Nobody speaks up, and I look pointedly down at a scuff mark on the floor. Athletes have very intense, personal pregame rituals. Itisweird to ask them to step outside before a game. That’s kind of a big ask.
And to stand in front of a rainbow banner celebrating LGBTQ inclusivity?
The silence thickens. But then O’Doul and Castro raise their hands at the same time. “I’ll do it,” O’Doul says.
“Me too. But I was actually first,” Castro says, lifting his chin defiantly. “Dude copied me.”
