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“Maybe to allow a new crop of players to shine?” he says, without batting a lash.
“Listen,” I stand from my place. Blackrock, sitting by my side, launches me a sideways glance. “It’ll take me a career-ending injury to retire, alright? Any other questions?”
“Are you sure you’re not just afraid to give up now and be forgotten?” the reporter comes up with another good one.
But I’ve had enough. I’m huffing and puffing, driven by anger and fury, but I just watch as Coach begs for my silence so the interview can continue.
And it goes on, fortunately with no more questions directed at me. The guys are all eager to answer and I’m happy for them, but maybe I am really getting too old for this shit.
We go back to the hotel, and there we have dinner together, where the coach tries to give us a pep talk, but I’m still with the same upset face I left the stadium with.
As soon as I can, I head out to my hotel room to spend the rest of the evening with Elsa.
In the morning, Coach Dawson announces the lineup, and much to my surprise, I’m in the starting lineup, which brightens my mood beyond belief.
In the afternoon, we do some warm-ups at the gym and later head for the stadium, arriving there under a wave of photographers, reporters, and fans.
I focus on the fans, the guys and gals who are always there for us and are never to blame for the problems the press tosses at us. Take a picture here, sign a jersey there, kiss a blushing older lady on the cheeks, ruffle the hair of a child.
It seems like a typical day, but today is not an ordinary day. If we win today, then we’ll get the Stanley Cup. I should be pumped and excited. I am, but I can’t help but feel a sense of uneasiness.
“Is anyone feeling a bad omen today?” I ask the guys in the locker room.
Weirded-out looks hit me like headlights in the dark.
“Shut up, Baker!” Simmons says, jesting, but also looking concerned at my words. “No negative energy, man. Go kick some ass like usual. If you don’t, I’ll just replace you though and do it myself.”
Simmons is the backup center in case I can’t play.
“Nah, don’t give him attention, Baker. You’re our lucky charm!” Pinchon comes to my defense, giving me a one-armed hug and some noogies.
I’m met with massive support, and I try to shake off my apprehension. However, as we start to gear up, I feel a cloud of tension so thick you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it.
“Alright!” Coach Dawson enters the locker room, clapping his hands to gather our attention. “Everyone here? Everyone fine and dandy?”
A choir of “Yeah!” cuts through the room, and Coach nods emphatically, liking what he sees and hears.
“Are we going to send these Vipers home seeing stars?” Coach Dawson shouts, and is met with a resounding roar on our part.
“Are we going to give 110%?” once again, a roar of approval.
“Are we going to take home the Stanley Cup today?” Another wave of enthusiastic roaring ensues. “Alright, boys, alright! I know that by this time the coach from the other team is also giving them a pep talk, but I knowhowmuchyou appreciate it…”
He says it with sarcasm. We’re famous for once having tossed bananas at a coach trying to give a pep talk.
“But some words are needed!” Coach Dawson continues. “Listen up, team. This is the moment we've worked for. It's our time. Our chance. Remember the hours of practice, the pain, the sacrifices. You're not just playing for yourselves out there; you're playing for the whole organization, the city, and every fan who's been with us from day one. You've got the skill, the heart, and the desire. Now show them what we're made of. Show them why we've battled to be here. Leave it all on the ice. Win every puck, every shift, and every battle. We win this game, we win the Stanley Cup. Let's go out there and make history!”
We all shout in unison.
“Five minutes, guys!” Coach Dawson shouts, his hands clapping loudly into the room.
I finish gearing up, tighten my skates, and grab my stick. Screaming and roaring like animals, we line up and wait to be announced, and when the announcement happens, we skate out under wild cheer.
The Vipers receive the same treatment, but as we all line up at the center line for the National Anthem, the cheer dies down for the one solemn moment of the night.
I’m not only the center, the most important player in the team, but I’m also the captain, and therefore responsible for the center pushback at the start of the match.
We face off, Miller and me, their left-winger and captain as well. The stare he gives me is searing enough to fry bacon, and I end up staring him back with the same intensity.
