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Removedfrom the busiest part of downtown Charleston, Brain Fog Pub is a popular haunt of ours whenever we have a win at home. It’s a place we can come where fans, for the most part, will leave us alone. Not that I mind fans of our team. But after a win, I like to let loose with my boys and not be treated like a professional athlete. We just want to celebrate our victory and not have to worry about appearing on social media the next day.
On home game nights, Nikki, the owner’s daughter, keeps the right back section open for us. Tonight is no exception and we settle around the grouped tables.
Nikki immediately appears to take our order. “Congratulations, guys. What’ll you have?” She writes on the small pad until she’s filled two pages with our long list of beverages and endless order of appetizers. My stomach rumbles in anticipation. I’m always ravenous after a game.
“We fought to the end and got the win,” Kaiden says, thumping the side of his fist against the table.
Pushing my hair back from my eyes, I nod. “It was a little too close for comfort. I don’t like when our wins come down to the final minutes.”
Ryder shrugs. “Hey, a win’s a win. Isn’t that what matters in the end? They can’t all be pretty.”
“The playoffs are coming up and we need to skate better than we did tonight if we want a shot at the cup,” Murphy adds.
He’s not wrong. We’ve had a record breaking season, but that will mean jack shit if we don’t win it all.
“Here you go.” Nikki shows up with our drinks, setting them on the table in front of us. “Your appetizers should be up soon.”
“Thank you,” we chorus, each of us eagerly reaching for our drinks. My ice-cold beer hits the spot as I drink down half the bottle. I don’t usually have more than two or three drinks when I’m out but, for some reason, tonight, I feel like pushing my limits.
Another reason we come to Brain Fog Pub is their private parking lot. If we have to leave our vehicles and take an Uber home, we know they won’t be towed before we can get them the next day.
“Okay, fellas, let’s toast to winning,” I suggest.
“Hell yeah,” Ryder shouts.
“To winning,” we chorus. Holding our beer bottles up to the center of the table, we tap them together. The clang of glass is loud enough to be heard over the eighties music coming from the jukebox.
Nikki and another waitress drop off our appetizers, along with plates and a stack of napkins that could last a family of four at least a month. “Anyone need anything else?” she asks.
We shake our heads and grunt to let her know all is well for now, and she walks away.
None of us utter a single word for the next fifteen minutes. We’re too busy shoveling the delicious food into our mouths. Nothing ever tastes better than whatever we eat after a game, and I’m never hungrier. Racing around the ice with all that gear on is no easy feat. Plus, it’s unbearably hot and exhausting. Sometimes I don’t know how I’ll find the energy to push into the next stroke. But then I dig deep down and find the scrap of strength I have left and keep doing it until the game is over. And I never give up, no matter what. Even when I’m playing like shit, I battle through, giving it my all.
No one is ever going to question the level of heart I have or my love for this game. And also for my team. They drafted me out of college, and I’ve been with them ever since.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin and take a deep pull from my bottle. “Damn, this hit the spot.”
“I could eat about three dozen more chicken tenders myself,” Kaiden boasts.
“Not if you want to get lucky,” Ryder says.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.
“He’ll be stuffed and ready to nap,” he explains.
Kaiden laughs. “I’ve been ready for a nap since the game ended.”
I briefly clasp his shoulder. “Poor old man.”
He rolls his head from side to side. “Hey, thirty-two might feel ancient in hockey years, but I’m still young enough to get all the attention I need from the ladies.” He smiles back at a woman at a nearby table as if to prove his point.
“You young bucks can do all the carousing while I go home and ice my knees,” Ryder says in an imitation of Kaiden, and we all laugh, including the man himself.
“Ride-her, don’t tease our captain too much or he’ll make you pay the tab,” Murphy says, using the team’s nickname for Ryder. He earned it by pulling so much pussy.
“I thought he already volunteered since he makes so much more than any of us,” Ryder says.
Kaiden shrugs. “I haven’t paid for a night out in a while. I don’t mind.”
