Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Eric’s restaurant choice isn’t a far walk from this morning’s events.
We arrive at a good time, missing the first wave of the lunch crowd.
Most of the other people in the restaurant sport hockey jerseys, likely tourists visiting for All-Star Weekend.
At Eric’s request, the hostess seats us in a back corner booth, away from the main dining area’s traffic and possible attention.
I place the bobblehead on the table, the third member of our party.
With one look at the menu’s offerings under dimmed lights, my stomach groans. I read through the descriptions of each entrée, spoiled for choice. Everything sounds delicious.
“What do you usually order?” I ask, overwhelmed.
“The chicken enchiladas with verde sauce, but the fajitas are pretty good too. Honestly, I don’t think you could go wrong with any choice. The whole menu’s worth sampling.”
My mouth waters at the thought of trying a little of everything. I haven’t had Mexican food in a while, and I often find myself missing it while home in Chicago.
“Do you want to share a few entrées then?” I suggest.
Eric smiles. “Sure, sounds like a great idea.”
A waitress brings us a bowl of tortilla chips and salsa. One whiff of the peppers, onion, citrus, and garlic, and I already know we’ll be going through the salsa at an alarming rate.
We both order water to drink, and then Eric orders our lunch, picking four entrées: chicken enchiladas with verde sauce, soft fish tacos, fajitas, and chile relleno.
From the way the waitresses’ brows shoot up, she’s stunned by the amount of food he’s ordered for two people.
Either no one told her a big sporting event was happening a block away, or she’s skeptical athletes actually require this many calories.
“Anything else?” she asks, taking the menus from Eric.
“Nope. Thanks.”
I’m starving, and Eric must be as well, for we both roll up our sleeves and dig in. As expected, we demolish the first bowl of chips and salsa before the waitress comes back with our drinks.
“Okay. I’ve been informed by the kitchen’s sole hockey fan you two are big deals, and you aren’t pulling my leg by ordering that much food. I’ll be sure to bring out some more chips and salsa soon.”
We both thank her as she steps away to tend to other busy tables, leaving Eric and I alone again.
“So… How did you discover this restaurant?”
Eric leans closer. “It was actually Braydan who found it. We had a game end late, and we were starving. He wanted Mexican food, and this place was near the arena.” He pauses to take a drink. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what got you into goaltending?”
The easiest icebreaker among hockey players: sharing details about our relationship to the game and how we got into the sport.
“Well, my dad always says I was born with a goalie stick in one hand and a glove in the other. I’ve always loved playing goalie since my mom introduced me to it.
She was a goalie herself in college, and she was on one of the first women’s NCAA teams. They won a title while she was in her junior year.
After college, she stopped playing, became pregnant with me, and shifted her focus to coaching and supporting my goalie development.
She always joked that if I ended up wanting to be a forward, she’d have to do a lot of soul searching. ”
“She didn’t want to see a talented goaltender wasted as a forward.” Eric snorts. “I’ll have to thank her someday for pushing you in the right direction.”
“Well, she… Unfortunately she passed away last year.”
Eric’s face falls. “Oh, James, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say, mustering up the strength with a deep breath. “She at least got to see me play in the NHL for a few seasons.”
Still, I miss her every day. I would give anything to have prevented her from experiencing so much pain, so much suffering… but I wish she was here. I wish my family was still whole.
Eric reaches out and pats my arm, pulling me away from the ledge. “If you ever want to talk about goalie stuff, your mom, hell, even the weather, just reach out. You’ve got my number now.”
The gathering clouds part thanks to Eric’s offer. “Thanks,” I mumble, “I appreciate that.”
Eric’s own warm smile fills me with relief. Thank God I haven’t brought down the mood.
“So…” I clear my throat, ready to move on from that dark detour. “Guess it’s my turn to ask that same question now?”
“I love telling the story, so I don’t mind,” Eric starts, eager to share the happy memory.
“Back in elementary school, my sister and I went on a class field trip to a hockey game in San Jose. I remember being amazed by the goalie. I couldn’t believe anyone would be willing to get hit so much by the puck.
I thought it was easily the coolest position.
The field trip was Elizabeth’s big realization too.
Our parents started us off with rollerblades and sticks, but we found out pretty quickly we both wanted to be the one in the net, not the person shooting. ”
“That must’ve been so weird.”
“Yeah,” Eric says with a chuckle. “It was probably strange for our parents. Both of their kids wanted to go into the same sport, the same position. My dad always says it must’ve been a spooky twin thing.
Definitely made it hard on the finances.
Thankfully Elizabeth and I were able to share gear for a while when we were younger. ”
Goalie gear isn’t cheap, and kids grow out of equipment fast. I can only imagine how that must’ve been for his parents.
“We were lucky San Jose had a youth hockey program. We took turns in the net for a while, but we were both pretty competitive.” He shakes his head. “In some ways, we still are.”
I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so I can only imagine how intense a sibling rivalry could be while growing up.
Whenever the Sinclair siblings talk about each other in the media, it’s always in a positive light.
They’re both so supportive of each others’ careers, especially during Eric’s two Stanley Cup runs.
“What were your Stanley Cup runs like?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
Eric gives me a teasing look across the table. “Hey, shouldn’t it be my turn for a question?”
“Oh,” my face grows warm, “are we actually doing a back and forth thing?”
“Not officially, no,” he says with a wink, “so I’ll let it slide this time.”
The waitress returns with the promised extra order of chips and salsa.
We both thank her and dig back in for another serving.
Eric scoops up a big helping of salsa on a fresh, warm chip, and I lean forward in the booth, eager to hear his story.
I may have tuned in to both of his deep playoff runs years ago, but watching the events unfold on television and having Eric recount the firsthand experience are completely different.
“During our first cup run, the regular season had been a rollercoaster. Constant ups and downs because a few of our key players had injuries. Management called up some players who didn’t have much experience in the NHL. I felt like I had to play even harder every game.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
Speaking from my own limited experience, the expectations on a goalie can feel astronomically burdensome.
Some games feel decided by the goalies more than the regular players.
Having to play sixty minutes night after night knowing your team’s relying on you to patch up weak spots in the defense is a pressure I’ve dealt with, and my team has been lucky to not face many injuries.
“When the injured guys came back,” Eric continues, “we were chasing after the rest of the division for a playoff spot, but we had a fire under us.
We focused on one game at a time. It was an uphill battle just to earn two points night after night.
We were determined to prove everyone who had written us off for the season wrong.
We ended up securing the final wildcard spot.
“We carried our momentum into the playoffs all the way to the end. We weren’t nervous or scared because no one expected us to be there anyways.
I know it sounds cheesy, but we were having fun out on the ice.
We were a full team again and playing some of our best hockey. All those factors helped us stay calm.”
For me, just watching the Stanley Cup finals was far more stressful than the college exams I was taking that June. The media considered the Seadogs to be a “real Cinderella story”, a potential comeback of grand proportions.
“The nail-biter double-overtime game five against New York looked so intense. I can’t even imagine facing forty extra minutes on top of everything prior. How did you manage?”
Eric half-shrugs, chuckling sheepishly. “Lots of water and stretching between periods.”
“I heard New York’s goalie lost twenty pounds thanks to that game alone. Insane.”
“You witnessed all that and still wanted to become a professional goalie yourself?” he teases.
“Absolutely! After all the hard work, it must’ve been so satisfying the moment you hoisted the Cup over your head…”
Eric nods. “It was magical. Once in a lifetime.”
For fans, the finals between Seattle and New York was peak hockey, a brutal back and forth display of resilience and dedication. In the end, the Seadogs won the series, earning their franchise’s first Stanley Cup.
I snicker. “But then it happened again.”
“Yeah, but no less magical the second time.”
Two years after their first, the Seadogs won their second Stanley Cup. At the time, I was just beginning to play in the AHL.
“What was different about that run?”
“The mentality of our core. Those of us who’d been there for the first win weren’t as nervous.
We’d already experienced the grind once before, so we could shed insight for the new guys on the team we’d picked up.
Us vets were much more aware of the physical and mental demands.
Just having that confidence of knowing we could make it was huge. ”