Page 124 of Hockey Bois
There was muttered agreement throughout the locker room.
“We play a Chicago team tomorrow,” Brady said to Nick as the two of them walked out to the parking lot. They were relatively alone, in terms of proximity to their teammates, but he kept his voice down anyway. “It ain’t getting much better.”
“Fuuuck,” Nick hissed through his teeth. He didn’t want to buy into stereotypes, he really didn’t, but for better or worse, Maryland wasn’t a hockey state. The sport was growing for sure, but the history wasn’t there like it was in other places, and the weather didn’t allow for pond hockey or easy access to rinks throughout the year. Hell, the rink closest to his childhood home closed for three months every summer because it was too dang hot to balance out the cost of keeping the place cold. “Any good news about the rest of the teams in our division? Maybe one from Florida or Texas or Hawai’i?”
“We got a New York team. Can’t tell if it’s upstate or—”
“Every part of New York is farther north than every part of Maryland, so I don’t think it matters.”
“—and a Louisiana team.”
“…so what you’re telling me is we’re winning one of our games tomorrow, getting lowest or second-lowest seed for the playoff portion of the tournament, and then tanking before finals?”
Brady shrugged.
“Lovely.”
“You gonna blow off tomorrow’s games and play tourist instead?” Brady challenged.
They both knew it was a garbage suggestion. Nick wouldn’t even be able to pull off a bluff. “No, but I like to know there’s hope.”
“Tourney’s a tourney. Who cares if you win?”
“Who cares if you win!?” Nick balked. He distinctly remembered Brady’s competitive drive had been kicked up a notch during playoffs, so he wasn’t buying this sudden “meh” attitude.
Brady rolled his eyes. “Winning’s nice, but we’re here to improve. You can’t get better playing the same circle of people and teams. You don’t get better by winning something that’s too easy. You gotta put in some effort and overcome some setbacks.”
“So winning a tournament is somehow a bad thing?”
“It ain’t bad, but it means you move up a level and start improving all over again.”
“…that is the most mature view of tournaments I’ve ever heard, and it makes me question everything I know about you.”
It didn’t at all—Brady constantly working to get better was the only reason they were friends—but he felt like teasing.
Brady gave a half laugh and a quarter smile, though his eyes gave away his full amusement. “Yeah? I seem that petty?”
Nick took a moment to actually think before answering. “No. But youarea Pens fan, so I can never rule it out.”
“Fuck off.”
“See, there it is.”
Brady shot him a withering look. “Big talk from a Caps fan.”
“I call ’em like I see ’em. Pens fans are quick to shit talk and quick to whine.”
“When have Ieverwhined about the Pens—”
“Before you continue that thought, please remember that I have watched Pens games with you at the bar plenty of times this season.”
Brady stopped short, nearly tripped over his feet, and paused to recover his balance.
And his pride, probably.
“You know what? I’ll gracefully bow out of this conversation. Why don’t we grab a beer at the hotel bar?” Brady said.
This time it was Nick who nearly walked into a wall in surprise. “Hotel bar?” he squeaked.
