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Our trip from the arena parking lot to the inside of Say Jump, Sucka, the largest indoor trampoline park in the state, isn’t too long unlike the opening safety video we’re forced to watch for liability reasons.
Once the film has concluded, Blanc takes the front of the room, summoning the other coaches to flank him. “Alright, boys, you’re probably wondering why you’re all here together. Why you’ve been mixed and matched. Why you were required to do any shit before training camp starts next month. And the answer is simple. This is your family now.” He shoves his hands into his gym shorts pockets. “You will be better on the ice if you know them off of it. I’m not saying braid each other’s hair while you have a tea party and shit. I’m merely stating that you will be a better team when you can see and respect one another as individuals rather than just teammates. Camp will teach you that you are a team. This time will teach you that you are a family. The Dragon family. No matter how high or how low you currently are, no matter what line you will hit the ice on, no matter what duration your contract says, for at least this coming season you are a family. To me. To the other coaches. To the GM. Use this opportunity to learn how to communicate with your family. How to protect your family. How to trust your family.” The grin on his face is surprisingly warm. Welcoming. “We will be sticking true to the words of our beloved GM. Work hard, play hard, fuck hard.”
Yup.
That’s the woman I married.
“Next month you will work harder than you ever fucking worked at camp, but for now play harder than most of you have probably played all year.” He doesn’t wait for someone to comment on the last portion of the statement. “Fuck hard on your own time, though, boys. And not the employees here. If I catch word that any of you fucked a single one of them, you won’t play for the first three games of the season, under any of us up here. Got it?” Chuckles ping around the crowd prior to him pushing. “Got it?!”
“Got it,” we echo back.
“You’ve got four hours,” Blanc informs on a head kick. “Refreshment stations are open for anything you want except beer. Have a good time!”
Piling out of the packed room proves how excited everyone is to get going, self-included. Admittedly, unfamiliar with our lowest team level players, even after meeting a couple at the BBQ and several long talks with Harlow about all the players, is what pushes me to challenge myself into changing that.
Proving I am a member of this team despite having been told otherwise by Page since my first day.
Being poached by Fredrick Potapova—aka Potato—a d-man from our AHL team, for a game of two-on-two trampoline basketball leads me to meeting a couple of the ECHL players I have little to no recollection of as does being recruited by Igor Alexeyev—better known as Eeyore due to his always grim demeanor—for a dodgeball match that’s somehow both harder and easier when bouncing on a trampoline.
Drink breaks have me bumping into familiar faces like Craig and Lazo and Piers Rice—the equipment manager for our AHL team.
Pizza sessions connect me to Peck and Somerfield—who is a lot more tolerable without his master around.
And just when I think the entire trip is gonna go off without a hitch, I’m proven wrong by a Sour Patch kid throw at the back of my head on my way to climb the rock wall.
“Yo, GM fucker,” Page’s accented voice calls out causing me to turn on my heels his direction. “How about a little competition on the Champion Course? Me and my three against you and whatever three dusters are willing to lace up for you.”
He shouldn’t call his fellow teammates fucking dusters.
Fuck, I can’t wait for Blanc to make him bleed at training camp.
Teach his ass some respect.
“That is unless you’re too much of an ice bitch to do it.”
Part of me wants to just tell his ass to fuck off.
To grow up and just learn to get along with others like his coach wants.
And the other part?
Yeah, it’s the other part that gets along so well with the woman we’re both in love with.
It’s the part that cannot fucking wait to put him in his place.
“Yeah, alright.” I scan the area around for the three most familiar faces I can find. “Eeyore! Peck! Snowman!”
The defenseman, the center, and the left wing come over from their respective spaces all bearing the same curious expression.
My casual question occurs on a slightly crooked grin, “You up for a little Champion Course competition against Page?”
Their collective “fuck yeah” further lets me know I chose wisely.
