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Hockey, by nature, is unpredictable. A bounce of the puck can change a game, and sometimes the outcome of a game is decided solely by that one weird shot that somehow finds its way through a tangle of blades, sticks, and legs.
You go on the ice with a game plan, but you already know everything can change in the blink of an eye. Favorites fall and underdogs rise.
Hockey is the sport where even luck sometimes seems to just flip a coin to determine the outcome.
It’s playing with a broken leg. It’s cuts, bruises, and broken noses. It’s getting twenty stitches and getting back on the ice. It’s spending hours, days, years on the ice to get better. To be the best. It’s chemistry between your team. It’s being unwilling to quit and fighting ’til the very last second, and even then, sometimes, somehow ending up with a final score that feels about as fair as sending a three-year-old to square off against a Conn Smythe Trophy winner.
But that’s the beauty of the game. Skill and luck mixed into a perfect cocktail.
And still, from time to time, there are those days when, even with all the unpredictability and randomness, you just know. Days when everything seems to click. Your team is in the zone, and nobody can drag you down. You’re going to win. It’s inevitable. Immutable. Playing the game is just a way to make the outcome official.
We’re having one of those days. One of those days when we’re on a roll, and we can do no wrong. The puck is glued to my stick until the precise moment I send it on its way. It bounces off the boards just the way I want it to. My skates are sharp, the ice is smooth, and the score is 5-1. Harvard is not coming back from that. They had no chance against us from the moment they stepped on the ice.
The second the clock runs down, Brighton U fans are up and out of their seats, jumping, shouting, singing. Pretty sure I saw one dude wipe his eyes on his jersey.
Our fans are a different breed. They celebrate like we’ve just won the Frozen Four, even though it’s only the beginning of the season. Having five thousand people chant and cheer for us will always be a surreal experience.
“Fuck yeah!” Soren laughs as he smacks his helmet against mine.
I grin, fist bumping and patting whoever I can reach on the back.
There’s nothing like winning.
Even Coach is in a good mood. There’s something that resembles a smile on his face, which is quite an achievement for a man who seems to be generally unaware that the corners of his lips can move in an upward direction, too.
Once we’re off the ice, I flop down on the bench in front of my cubby, unlace my skates, and pull off my jersey. All around me, people are laughing, high on victory and the post-game adrenaline rush.
Soren drops down next to me, grinning from ear to ear.
I glance at him. “A hat trick,” I say. “Fucking show-off.”
He just waggles his brows in reply.
I laugh, drop my pads, and rotate my arm, rolling out the stiffness in my shoulder.
Soren shakes his head, his smile widening. “Chin up,” he says with a smirk. “You still won. That’s the only thing whoever you’ll pick up at the party later will care about.”
“Really? That works.” Jake Bailey stops right in front of Soren. Fresh out of the shower, he has a towel wrapped around his waist, and he’s drying his hair with a second. He’s our rookie left wing. Very enthusiastic. Very eager. Very starry-eyed. A tiny bit gullible.
“But, like, how do you bring it up in conversation? Just come right out and say it?” He frowns like the logistics of it all is too much to handle.
Soren is already shaking his head. “Dude, no. No. You’ve gotta be subtle. Women like their men smart, so you use metaphors and shit.”
The frown on Bailey’s face deepens. “Metaphors?”
“Yeah. Go all deep on her. Challenge her brain. Trust me, you don’t want the reputation of a dumb jock. You want to be the sophisticated athlete, right?"
“Right.” Bailey looks like he’s ready to grab his phone and start taking notes before he purses his lips and opens his mouth again. “What do I say?”
“Well,” Soren says, “if I were you, I’d say something like, ‘The price of victory is high, but so are the rewards.’ That’s Bear Bryant, by the way, but don’t tell her that. We don’t want her thinking about footballers, do we now?”
Soren quirks his brow, and Bailey quickly shakes his head.
“And that’ll…” Bailey lowers his voice like he’s afraid somebody might overhear. “That’ll get me laid?”
I hide the eye roll while Bailey hangs on every word that comes out of Soren’s mouth like the dude’s some master of hooking up or something.
Soren gets up and claps Bailey on the shoulder. “Easy, my young friend. That was the part where you woe her with your brain.” He taps his forefinger against Bailey’s temple. “The next step is the pickup line. Be smooth with it. Natural but suave. Confident but humble. Strong but vulnerable. Serious but playful. Say something along the lines of, ‘Feel like testing out the theory? Cause I’ll be the best reward.’ Throw in a wink while you’re at it.”
