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“I can go with that.
* * *
The next day was the day of our semifinal game. It was also the date of a special “Meet the Team” promotion. The championship game would be on the road, so it was the night of our last home game of the season.
It was the perfect event to take some of the edge off the tension before the game. Kids clamored for autographs, parents trying to snap the perfect shot of their little ones with their favorite players, and I even spotted a few grandparents wearing Cold Pines Cougars jerseys.
"I don't remember these events being this hyped when I was a player," I said to Pete as we stood by the rink's entrance, watching the crowds fill the special carpets laid down over the ice.
"That's 'cause you were too busy signing pucks and flexing for the camera," Pete shot back, grinning from ear to ear.
"Flexing for the camera? You make it sound like I was auditioning for a superhero flick."
"Weren't you?"
I chuckled, ready to fire back a snappy retort, but a voice interrupted us.
"Coach Hoss, can I get a picture with you?" A kid, probably no older than ten, looked up at me with wide eyes. He wore our team's gear from head to toe, and he topped it off with a foam finger to wave.
"Sure thing, buddy." I crouched down to his level, and his mom quickly snapped a photo of us.
"Thank you, Coach!"
"Thanks for being a fan," I replied, giving him a high-five.
As the kid bounded off to the next player, a woman stepped up. She was around Hannah’s age, and looked a little nervous. "Are you Coach Hoss?"
"That's me," I confirmed.
"My son just joined the junior team, and he can't stop talking about wanting to play like the big guys. That means mostly you. He can’t stop talking about you. Do you have any advice for him?"
I looked over to see a young boy, nervously fiddling with his hockey stick by the bleachers. "How about this? Tell him to focus on enjoying the game, not just playing it. The skills and the strategies—they'll come with time. But that joy of being on the ice? That's something he should never lose."
The woman smiled from ear to ear. "Thank you, Coach Hoss. That's wonderful advice."
"No problem. That's what I'm here for," I said, as she walked away.
"Man, you're like a hockey Yoda," Pete quipped, having watched the exchange.
"The force is strong with me,” I replied, pointing at my heart.
The evening continued on, and I had loads of fun—answering questions, posing for photos, and talking shop with fans who knew the game almost as well as we did. For a change, I wasn't just in the background, sketching plays and analyzing strategies. I was front and center, mingling with the community.
The special event wrapped up with an hour left before game time. Fans slowly found their way to their seats with their autographed memorabilia and photos. As I started to head for the locker room, a teenager approached me.
"Coach Hoss, I've watched you transition from a player to a coach. And, honestly, you're killing it," he said, genuine respect in his eyes.
I grinned. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."
"Do you miss it, though? Playing?"
I paused and considered the question. "Sometimes, but coaching's given me a new way to love the game. And nights like this? They remind me why it's all worth it."
The kid nodded, satisfied with my answer. "Well, keep it up. We're lucky to have you."
Feeling like a million bucks, I finally left the rink. The locker room was tense, each guy lost in his own world of rituals and pre-game prep. I could almost see the electricity in the air, like little lightning bolts.
“Guys, get it together and listen,” Pete's voice broke through the chaos, drawing our attention like a magnet. "This is our semifinal game. I don't have to tell you what that means. But remember, it's just another battle. Play like we always play—hard, fast, and together. We’ve got this, men.”
