Page 49 of Love of the Game
Coach wasn’t kidding about this being a hard match. The other team, the Buffalo Jets, were feisty tonight. Hard hitting. But they were also playing very tight, and our forecheck wasn’t getting much behind their D, even if we were the slightly faster team. They scored first during the first period. Early in the second, while defending our zone, the puck bounced off Chester’s goalie pads straight to me. One of their D was out of position, so I saw the breakout soclearly. Evidently, my linemates did, too. I went flying up the ice, on what turned out to be a two on zip. I looked to Z, one of our big wingers, the entire time we skated up, faked a pass, then sent the puck zipping past the overcommitted goalie, into the back of the net.
Goal lights. Horn. Cheering crowd, and then my teammates crushed me. “Atta boy, Dragon!” Z said.
Felt so good. Like last year—or this year on the Otters. No more heavy weight. No more thinking I was as useless as my sperm-donor had said.
I’d gotten a goal for my team. Just like I’d promised Jon.
After fist-bumps, when I took my seat on the bench, Brodie slapped me on the back. “Got the magic back.”
Was it magic? I didn’t know. Hockey was luck and skill and mood, seemed like. I was glad to be riding the top of the wave again. I was sure I’d have my slumps. As long as I remembered why I was here, it’d be fine. I had the love of the game to pull me through.
We ended up winning in overtime on a goal from Gavin, who Coach had put out with me and Z. He’s seen a hole, and we’d rushed into the zone and completed a little tic-tac-toe play that had the goalie and the other team’s players all scrambled up.
The crowd screamed, our teammates piled onto us in the corner, and the horn blared an extra-long time. We were loud and rambunctious as we headed back into the locker room. Bearsy was there in a suit, giving fist-bumps, and next to him, ginning like the devil, was Jon, all dark hair and mischief, wrapped up in an Otters hoodie, an all-access badge around his neck.
I planted my hand on his chest and gave him a playful shove as I passed. His laughter was joyous.
“You deserved that, Jonny,” someone said.
Then we were stripping off gear and Coach was congratulating us on a game well-played. The VIP object—an old helmet with a lion’s mane and ears—went to Gavin for his OT goal.
Then they let the press in to talk to us.
I wasn’t surprised when a scrum formed around my locker. I answered a bunch of questions about what it was like to be back (great), and how playing with the Otters impacted my game.
I paused and thought about that. “I’m not sure it changed the mechanics of my play,” I said. “I was in a bad space when I went down, and the guys there—they helped me find what I’d been missing. The passion for being on the ice. The joy. I play this game because I love it. I needed to remember that.”
After everyone cleared out, they let the partners, spouses, and kids in as we filtered out to the lounge to eat our post-game snack, or to do a short workout in the gym. It was then that Jon reappeared, and we headed into the lounge together.
“Jonnieeee!” Bearsy said. “Taking up with the Dragon.”
Jon scratched the back of his head. “Dragon is so much better than Duck. What the hell were you thinking with that nickname, man?”
Gavin laughed. “They’re calling me Silky.”
“It’s because you’re so smooooth.” Bearsy said.
Jon rolled his eyes. “Silky? As in Lacey and Silky? My God, I thought I taught you better than that, Kev.”
“Better than my juniors nickname,” Gavin said.
I bumped Gavin’s shoulder. “What was that?”
He made a face. “Panties.”
Bearsy gestured at Gavin. “See? Silky’s fine. You guys probably called him something like Quilt.”
“It was Gabe,” Gavin said. “Short for Gabriel.”
“He came as an angel for Halloween,” Jon supplied.
I just laughed.
Jon plopped himself down on the other side of me. “Hey. Thanks for the puck.”
“No problem. I expect a dinner date.” I paused. “Finally.”
“Eh, we keep having issues with those, but I’ll see what I can do.”
