Page 3 of The Hockey Player and the Tutor
My buddy, Breckin Stevens, taps me on the shoulder with his knuckles, leaning in to whisper at my ear. “Jesus, what’s up Coach’s ass today? You’d think we were on a losing streak or something.”
I chuckle. “We are.”
Brecks shrugs and we return our attention to the tall coach in the center of our team circle, the man who has given me one opportunity after another to play this game I love so much.
Coach recruited me out of high school in Philly on a full-ride scholarship to Bayside U out here on the West Coast and I was thrilled to find a spot on the team. The Beacons is one of the top-ranked hockey programs in the Western Conference and I worked my butt off to get here.
Hockey means everything to me and consumes my life during most of the school year. Which means that everything else takes a back seat when I’m training, practicing, and playing. That includes girls and dating, and even my studies come in dead last when I’m playing. Hence my current predicament that had Coach sitting me down before the game the other night to give me a strict talking to.
“Son, you’re a damn good player and I want to see you succeed in both the sport and in school. To do that, under the requirements of your scholarship, you know you have to pull a C average.” He turned his laptop around to show me what I already knew. “And you’re not off to a great start this semester.”
I winced as I looked over my grade report. My math and science classes are all Bs and Cs. It’s my English and American Lit that suck because they require a hell of a lot of reading and writing, and I’m so exhausted at the end of the day, I can’t get through it all.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, Coach.”
He let out a deep sigh, spinning the laptop back around and pulling out a form from his desk drawer. “I know you’re a smart kid, Dahl. But maybe you need a little bit of help in a certain course.” Coach pushed the already completed form over to me and I saw on the top what I dreaded.
Fuck me. A tutor.
I don’t have time the way it is to do my assignments now—how the hell will I find time to meet with a tutor?
“I’ve worked out a request with the English department and they have offered up a tutor for you to meet with once or twice a week for the next month. If you do well, we’ll reassess things at that point.”
I grumbled internally but offer him a tight smile. “Thanks, Coach.”
I left his office realizing it wasn’t a setback, but an opportunity to continue to play. We’re barely a month into the semester and I’m already struggling like Sisyphus with his stupid rock in Greek mythology. Every step I move forward, the rock slips back down and I can’t get the leverage I need to push it back uphill.
If I’m being honest with myself, it’s not just that I don’t have time to read the assignments. It’s the actual act of reading and comprehending all the gibberish in literature. It’s always come with a lot of difficulty.
Give me aSports IllustratedorESPNmagazine and I’m a happy camper. I wouldn’t consider myself a dumb jock because I’m great with numbers and working with my hands. If I hadn’t gotten the scholarship to play college hockey, I would’ve stayed home in Philly to work in my dad’s auto body repair shop and help him run the place.
My dad…shit, he’d be so disappointed in me. If he knew I was struggling to keep up it would about kill him. My educational experience means everything to him since I’m the first Dahl to go to college. Maybe the tutor option isn’t the worst thing and in the long run will be the best thing for me.
Coach blows his whistle, bringing my attention back to center ice. I spaced out while he was talking about our next game against Portland, but I catch the last part of his speech.
“Alright, boys. We need to keep working hard. I want to see you all give 100% each and every second of this practice. Now, get out there and let’s bring it!”
He blows the whistle again and we all begin skating sprints between the cones up and down the ice to warm up our legs. Sprints blow, but are a necessary evil to avoid injury and muscle soreness after practice.
We break out into pairs with the assistant coaches and do some one-touch passes, getting our hands involved and keeping low on the ice. We move in circular motions around the rink, one at a time, and then take shots at the goal, getting our goalie, TJ Collins, and our back-up goalie, Lincoln, warmed up too.
TJ is a sophomore and I don’t know him too well yet except that this is his first year as the starting goalie. Johnnie Dortson was the goalie last year, but graduated, leaving the spot open for TJ to slide into.
I’m a playmaker on the ice – a center. I make things happen and set up teammates to score goals. I’m not necessarily the best goal scorer like Ludwig, who’s a sniper, but I’m fast, and I see things on the ice and make solid plays. I’m smart with the puck and play well in all three zones.
As the drills come to an end, we begin practicing and running through our strategic plays in preparation for a season full of wins. Being in the Northwest Division II, we don’t have strong competition like they do in the Mid-West or colleges out east. My dad would’ve preferred I stayed local and gone to Penn State but you can’t argue with location when the money talks.
Plus, last year, we won our conference championship – by the skin of our teeth – and are touted to win this year as well. If we can get our shit together and start winning some games.
Practice concludes with a rousing speech from Coach Hensley and then we all hit the showers. As I’m soaping down, I overhear Blake Conrad in the stall next to me talking to TJ about some upcoming Halloween sorority event.
“Dude, this party will be a prime opportunity to get a half-clothed, drunk-ass chick into a dark, secluded room and make her howl like a ghost.”
The obnoxious asshole cackles and does an impression of a howling ghost. I’ve never really liked Blake because he’s a cocky shit, and sometimes a dirty player, so I jump in to add my two cents.
“Hey, Conrad, don’t you have a girlfriend?”
I throw this in because I know for certain he’s been dating some chick from the University of Washington for the last six months.
