Amelia
SIXTY-FOUR
SEPTEMBER, ONE SEASON AGO
GE
Happy training camp day!
Me
And to you too! See you tonight to celebrate?
GE
I’m thinking Pete’s. I’ll bring sandwiches by later.
Mustache included! No one will know it’s me.
Me
Can’t wait!
GE
Knock ’em dead, baby.
Jude
How are you feeling, kid? Ready for your big day?
Me
I think so.
I’m dreading talking to the media, but I know it’s part of the job.
Jude
You don’t owe them anything.
But you’re going to kill it.
I’m so proud of you, Amelia.
Me
Did you all send me this gorgeous bouquet?!
Lainey
We wanted you to have something special for your first day!
Sienna
Wish we could be there, but we’re cheering you on from here!
Me
I can’t to see you all soon.
Lainey
Us too!
Sienna
Kick ass, sweetie!
“Hi.” I sit across from Darcy in the conference room and smile. With the coffee in my hand and the red lipstick on my mouth, I can do anything. “Today is finally here.”
“And we’re kicking things off by being busy as hell.” She flashes me an apologetic look. “Sorry for throwing you to the wolves in the media right off the bat.”
“That marketing and publicity training you suggested is going to come in handy.” I take a sip of coffee. “I’m ready to give the media the politest non-answer answers I can.”
“I hope you’re ready now because it’s time to get going.
” Darcy taps her phone and stands. “I listened to Brody Saunders’s press junket yesterday, and not a single reporter asked him how he felt about being a man in this league.
They better extend the same courtesy to you.
” She holds the door open for me, and I step into the hall, clutching my cup tight.
“But if you feel like diving into the unfair expectations women affiliated with professional sports are held to, I’ll pay the fines you accrue. ”
“The power you have is remarkable, Darcy.”
“It’s fun to step on men on my way to the top.
” She swipes her ID and punches the down button on the elevator.
“After your time with the media, you have your first practice on the ice, a full team meeting, then a welcome reception with our most prominent season-ticket holders. Things should slow down by November.”
I chuckle on our way to the lower level of the Hutchinson Center. Darcy and I walk to the media room together, finding it packed with reporters. I can barely hear myself think when I slide into the chair in front of a dozen microphones and hide my coffee behind the dark blue table cloth.
“This might be a record for interest in an expansion team that has yet to have a winning season,” Darcy announces, projecting her voice.
The noise dies down, and she puts a hand on her hip.
“That must mean you’re excited to hear from our new head coach.
Amelia Green comes to Baltimore with years of experience, most recently working in Denver as an associate coach with the Goldminers where she won two Stanley Cups.
Her time under Jude Hunter and her impressive college career have prepared her for this next step in her journey.
Our organization is honored to be her landing spot as she makes history, so please help me to officially welcome Amelia Green to the Sea Crabs. ”
“Hi,” I say, addressing everyone when the applause dies down. “Thank you, Darcy, for the introduction. I’d love to answer some of your questions before I head to our first practice, so let’s get started.”
Phones whip out to record me. Every hand in the room rises. My heart rate kicks up, and I point to a man sitting two rows from the front.
“Morning, Coach Green. Stetson Barber from the Baltimore Weekly,” he says, introducing himself. “You worked alongside Jude Hunter for many years. Have you spoken to him about your transition into this new role?”
“Just this morning, actually.” I smile. “He was the one who encouraged me to interview, and I’m immensely grateful for my time in Denver.
It allowed me to build my confidence, learn my preferred coaching style, and most importantly, how to fail.
I’m excited for our matchup against the Goldminers in January. ”
“Coach Green,” a woman in the back of the room says. “What are your focuses as the team enters this pivotal period before the season starts? The Sea Crabs are the league’s newest addition, but they haven’t been able to produce anything substantial.”
“We’re going to make sure we’ve constructed a team that will allow us to win as many games as possible,” I say.
“Our top priority is figuring out our first, second, and third lines, then we’ll fill out the rest of the roster.
With a short preseason, we want to make sure we’re implementing our structure early with offensive and defensive systems.”
“Talk to us about Emerson Hartwell,” the man in the front row with glasses says. “She’s been on maternity leave the past fourteen months. Is she ready to work her way into the lineup?”
“More than ready,” I answer, knowing Emmy is stronger now than she was before she got pregnant with Murphy. “She’s extremely valuable to this team and my early pick for the Hart Memorial Trophy.”
“Ms. Green,” a voice calls out, and my stomach twists at the formality. “I’m Simon Buttecker from the—”
“I’d prefer Coach Green when we’re in the press room,” I interrupt. “Mrs. Green is my mother, and I don’t want there to be any confusion about who you’re speaking to.”
I don’t have a clue who this man is, but someone whistles. Another claps. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Darcy wearing a smug smile.
Putting him in his place might have been necessary.
“My apologies, Coach Green,” he says, not sounding sorry.
“You have experience, but we have to address the elephant in the room. Ninety-nine percent of your team—and the league—is made up of men. What are you going to do to make sure you’re not a distraction to them?
How are you going to regulate your emotions so you don’t interfere with your team’s performance? ”
I knew this moment was coming.
The online chatter about being a woman existing in this space is one thing, but hearing it in person is a tougher pill to swallow. Everyone stares at me, and I have a choice.
The easy thing to do would be to ignore the blatant misogyny directed my way. I can brush it off and perpetuate a cycle that will continue for another generation. It’s not my problem. Someone else can fix it.
But then I think about the social media photos I’ve been tagged in over the last three months with girls wearing Sea Crabs shirts and holding up signs that say Welcome to Baltimore, Coach Amelia and the friendship bracelets with my name on them.
I remember the spike in Emmy’s jersey sales and the emails I’ve gotten from young women letting me know I’ve inspired them to take the leap into a coaching role on various teams, from 10U to local high schools.
My platform doesn’t allow me to stay silent anymore, and I’m glad for it.
What good is being a trailblazer if you don’t light a match to the hurdles you had to jump so the road is smoother for those who come after you?
Fuck the patriarchy and anyone who has ever wanted to blame a woman for a problem she didn’t create.
“That’s an interesting question, Steven,” I say.
“It’s Simon,” he says.
“You mention being a distraction, and I’m curious what you mean.
Is it my hair? I’m guessing not—Louis Bungalow out in LA has blond hair.
Are the suits I wear—the ones that aren’t strictly black or navy blue—a disruption?
Can’t be. Phillip Rodrigo in New Jersey rotates through patterned outfits without objection.
” I tilt my head, staring at him. “You must think that because I’m a woman, I’m causing a commotion.
A valid argument, but last I checked, being on Denver’s coaching staff didn’t impact the Goldminers winning two Stanley Cups.
As for regulating my emotions…” I trail off and pull out my phone.
“I wonder if you’d ask Mario Towns why he was crying in this photo,” I say, holding up the image of a sobbing man.
“And what about this one? Bolden Dempsey looks like he could use a tissue in this picture. Maybe if he had regulated his emotions, they would have only lost the game by two goals, instead of three.”
I click my phone off and shove it to the side. I fold my hands on the table and lean forward so no one can miss what I say next.
“If you’re pissed off that I’m a woman in a coaching position now, I can’t wait to see how angry you’re going to be when we start to win,” I add.
“You manhandled the fuck out of that slimy piece of shit,” Darcy says on our walk to the locker room. “The clip is already making the rounds online. IT told me they’re seeing a spike in traffic to our website, and single game ticket sales are skyrocketing.”
“Years of you need to smile, sweetie got to me, and I let it all out.” I grin and replace my blazer with my team-issued jacket. “I’ll be more professional next time.”
“That dickbag has been causing issues for years. It’s nice to see him put in his place.” She swipes us into the locker room and holds the door open with her high heel. “I won’t hover. Just wanted you to know I’m always going to have your back, Amelia.”
In the locker room, I find the players sitting in front of their stalls in their practice gear. When Thorne Foster, team captain and veteran NHL superstar, spots me, he brightens. He motions for the group to quiet down, and I walk to the front of the room.
“Morning, everyone,” I say.
“Morning, Coach,” they answer, and number forty-six, Jasper Fox, looks my way.
“Is it true you put Simon Buttecker in his place during media availability?” he asks, and when I nod, he lets out a whoop. “Hell yeah. That’s what I’m fucking talking about.”
The rest of the group cheers. Two guys exchange a high five, and I laugh.
“I take it he’s universally hated around here?” I ask.
“Loathed is more like it,” Thorne says. “And since he brought it up, let’s talk about it.
We recognize and respect that you’re a woman, but we’re not going to treat you differently than we would anyone else in your position.
You’re not a distraction. You’re not unqualified.
You deserve to be here, and we’re excited for the opportunity to learn from you. ”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I tell him.
“At the end of the day, we all want the same thing: To put together a successful team and win. This roster has the potential to go far this season, and I’m excited for us to get to work and take the first steps toward our shared goal.
If at any point you have any questions, comments, or concerns, my door is open. ”
“And if any of you want us to paint your nails—because apparently some talk show hosts think that’s all we’re good for—we’re happy to,” Emmy chimes in.
The team finishes getting dressed and grabs their gear to hit the ice for the first practice of the season. When the locker room clears out, Thorne stands in front of me.
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I say.
“You could never be a distraction to me.” His grin is conspiring, and he drops his voice low. “I have a boyfriend of three years I love very much. And I cry more than anyone on the team.”
“You know what, Thorne? We’re going to get along just fine.” Pride blooms in my chest. “Don’t tell the others, but you just became my favorite.”
“It’ll be our secret, Coach,” he says, and I carry that excitement with me for the next two hours.