Chapter 2 #2
Some people defend me. Some attacking. Some ask legitimate questions about team culture that I don't have good answers for.
I open my laptop and pull up the latest draft of my senior thesis: "Masculinity and Identity Formation in Competitive Sports Environments."
Ironic, given current events.
I've been researching toxic masculinity in athletics for two years. Interviewing teammates, reading studies, trying to understand how good people get caught up in bad cultures. Trying to understand how to change it.
Now some journalist with an agenda has reduced all that work to a hit piece that makes me sound like a monster.
I should hate her.
I do hate her.
But I also respect her balls. Not many people would take on the hockey team. Fewer would do it knowing there'd be backlash.
Lennox Hayes is either brave or stupid.
Probably both.
My phone buzzes again. Another text, this time from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hey Lynch. Nice article. Heard you're pissed. Want some help making that bitch regret it? Chelsea
Chelsea. Tyler's ex. The same girl who tried to sabotage Sebastian Thornhill's relationship last month out of pure spite.
I delete the message without responding.
I'm angry. Furious, even. But I'm not cruel.
At least, I don't want to be.
Then I think about the draft projections, about scouts reading the article and wondering if I'm a liability. About my father's disappointment and Maya's questions and everyone on campus looking at me like I'm exactly what Lennox wrote. I think maybe a little cruelty is justified.
Maybe I need to make her understand that there are consequences to writing hit pieces.
I pull up her schedule again. She has morning practice observation tomorrow at 6 AM, I made sure of that. Early enough that she'll be exhausted. Cold enough in the rink that she'll be uncomfortable.
I text the team group chat: Hayes is observing practice tomorrow. Everyone be on their best behavior. Show her we're not the assholes she thinks we are.
Tyler responds immediately, Or we could show her what happens when you mess with the team.
Me - Best behavior. I'm serious. No hazing, no harassment, no bullshit. We win by being better, not by being worse.
But even as I send it, I'm planning.
Small things. Inconvenient things. Ways to make her life difficult without crossing lines that would get me in trouble.
I'll be late for the interviews. Give her nothing useful. Make her work twice as hard for half the information.
She wants the truth? She'll get it.
Just not the version she's expecting.
And by the time I'm done, Lennox Hayes is going to regret ever writing my name.
***
The next morning, I'm at the rink at 5:30 AM. Practice starts at six. I specifically scheduled it early because I know she works the café shift from six to ten most days.
Let her choose, her job or the interview requirements.
I'm betting she'll choose the interview. She's too stubborn to back down. Sure enough, at 5:55, the rink door opens and Lennox Hayes walks in.
She looks exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing jeans and a band t-shirt under a puffy jacket that's seen better days.
She spots me on the ice and makes her way to the bleachers, pulling out a notebook and recorder.
Professional. Prepared. Annoying.
"Morning, Hayes," I call out, skating over to the boards. "Glad you could make it."
"Morning, Lynch. Thanks for the incredibly convenient scheduling."
"I told you I wasn't going to make this easy." I give her a wink, just to annoy her.
"And I told you I don't want easy."
She meets my eyes, and there's something there, defiance, determination, maybe a hint of the same anger I'm feeling.
Good. Angry I can work with.
The rest of the team filters in. I can see them noticing her, exchanging looks. Some hostile, some curious.
"Alright, listen up," I call out once everyone's on the ice. "We have an observer today. Lennox Hayes from the Tribune. She's doing a series on the team. Everyone be professional, focus on the drills, and remember, we're here to play hockey, not to put on a show."
A few guys snicker. Tyler deliberately skates close to the boards where she's sitting, making her flinch back.
"Morrison," I snap. "Knock it off."
He holds up his hands in mock innocence and skates away.
Practice is intense. I run everyone through conditioning drills that leave us all gasping. Power skating, suicide sprints, one-on-one battles for the puck.
I can feel Lennox watching. Taking notes. Probably finding more ammunition for her next article.
Halfway through, I skate over to the boards.
"Getting everything you need?"
"Plenty." She doesn't look up from her notebook. "This is very enlightening."
"Yeah? What's enlightening about conditioning drills?" I ask, looking at the team.
"The way you push them. The language you use. The power dynamics." Now she looks up. "It's all very... aggressive."
"It's hockey. We're not playing checkers."
"No, you're playing a sport that often uses violence as strategy and aggression as virtue. I'm just observing how that manifests in practice."
"You're looking for problems where there aren't any." I try to keep my voice calm, but it’s getting hard to do.
"Or I'm seeing problems you've normalized." We stare at each other, and the tension is thick enough to cut.
"Interview tonight," I say finally. "Six PM. Don't be late."
"Wouldn't dream of it." The smile on her face makes me angry.
I skate away before I say something I'll regret.
The rest of practice passes without incident. By the time we're done, it's almost eight and I'm exhausted.
Lennox is still in the bleachers, still taking notes, not saying anything to her. I go to the locker room, and straight into the shower.
Once showered and dressed I come back out, she's gone. Good. I don't have the energy for another confrontation.
My phone buzzes. Maya.
Maya: How's the journalist situation?
Me: Complicated. She observed practice this morning.
Maya: And?
Me: And she's looking for problems. Finding them where they don't exist.
Maya: Or finding them where you've stopped seeing them.
Me: Whose side are you on?
Maya: Yours. Always. But that doesn't mean I won't call you out when you need it.
I don't respond. Can't respond. Because maybe she's right.
Maybe I have normalized things, maybe the culture I think I've changed is still broken in ways I can't see or maybe Lennox Hayes is just determined to see the worst in me.
Either way, tonight's interview is going to be interesting and I'm going to make sure she earns every word she writes.