Page 10 of Play Along With Me
Watch Elio on the half-wall – quick release, shoots high glove
Aggressive on 2-on-1s – their D pinches a lot
Stay patient on Tucker – he loves the fake shot, then pass
I close the journal and tuck it away in my bag, behind the extra roll of tape where no one will look. If Vander or the guys found it, I'd never hear the end of it. "Marshall's writing love notes to the NHL" or some shit like that.
I check my phone and see an email from Ryan with the contract attached. I'll review it after the game. Right now, I need to focus on stopping pucks, on putting up the kind of numbers that make it impossible for the Saints to ignore me any longer.
I may be writing affirmations in a journal like some wannabe life coach, but I'm backing it up with work. That's the part the manifestation books leave out—you can visualize all you want, but at some point, you have to put in the hours. You have to earn it.
And I'm so close I can taste it. One good practice with the Saints. One injury to the right person (which sounds terrible, but welcome to professional sports). One coach finally seeing what I already know.
I AM IN THE NHL.
Not yet, but soon. Very fucking soon.
And I won't need Collin or his douchebag friends to make it happen. I'll use this opportunity, sure, but I'm also reaching out to every contact I've made over the years. Former teammates now in the NHL, coaching staff I've worked with, even equipment managers who might put in a good word.
Because when that door finally opens, even just a crack, I'm going to kick the damn thing down.
The Liberty Hotel is exactly the kind of place I would never go voluntarily—the kind where they charge $18 for a cocktail and the menu doesn't list prices for the steaks. But Kevin Wooledge insisted on meeting here, and when the assistant GM of the Burnham Cubs suggests a meeting spot, you don't counter with "How about Applebee's instead?"
Kevin is a hockey lifer, a former defenseman who had a respectable ten-year NHL career before transitioning to management. More importantly, he's friends with at least three people in the Saints' front office. We met at a goaltending camp I helped coach last summer, and he's kept an eye on my stats ever since.
"Jake Marshall," he says, rising from his seat at the bar when I approach. "Looking sharp, kid."
I'm wearing the only suit I own, purchased three years ago when I was drafted. It's a little tight in the shoulders now, but it's the best I've got.
"Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Wooledge," I say, shaking his hand.
"Kevin," he corrects me. "We're not that formal in Burnham. Have a seat."
I slide onto the barstool next to him, trying not to visibly wince at the prices on the cocktail menu propped up on the bar. Kevin must notice my expression.
"On me tonight," he says. "Think of it as an investment."
That's a promising start.
"So," Kevin continues, "I hear Boston's giving you a practice next week."
News travels fast in hockey circles. "That's the plan. Tuesday morning at Warrior Ice Arena."
"Good opportunity," he nods. "Ambroz is solid, but he's not getting any younger. And Warszawski can't seem to stay healthy."
"My thoughts exactly," I agree, relieved we're on the same page.
"But," Kevin says, lowering his voice slightly, "I also wanted to talk to you about another possibility. Burnham's situation."
This catches me off guard. The Cubs is the AHL affiliate of the Los Angeles Polar Bears, one of the Saints' divisional rivals.
"I'm listening," I say carefully.
"Our starting goalie, Elio, is struggling. 3.42 GAA, .892 save percentage. Not cutting it. The Polar Bears are losing patience—they've got a kid in Westchester they might want to bring up, which would push Elio down and potentially out."
I nod, following his logic. This is how the goalie carousel works in professional hockey—constant movement up and down the organizational ladder.
"We're looking at external options," Kevin continues. "Someone with AHL experience who could step in and stabilize things. Your name came up."
