Chapter 5 #2
“A risk taker?” His tone doesn’t reveal whether he’s impressed or thinks I’m foolish.
“I like to think I have a good sense for investment properties.”
A large man, and likely even more formidable in his day, Badaszek is all sharp edges. Being around ice and blades for decades will probably do that to a guy. His gaze softens as if he recognizes how uncomfortable I am, but nothing changes about the smirk he wears.
He says, “That was some welcome, huh?”
“Sure was.”
“It’s your first season with the team.”
“I haven’t represented yet. Haven’t given the guys a reason to welcome me.”
“You’ll have a chance.”
I nod slowly. “Thanks.”
“The guys trust my judgment when it comes to selecting new players.”
“I thought it was more of a stats thing.” And mine are not good lately. Instead of exponential growth with an eventual plateau with periodic gains, I started at a plateau and am gradually declining.
“There are a lot of factors that go into it. Mostly, I evaluate who will play well together.”
Ah, he’s giving me the whole there’s no I in team talk. I brace myself because I’ve heard it before and agree for the most part.
Instead, Badaszek says, “Historically, I’ve observed that you’re loyal to your team, but not a winner.”
I nearly choke on my own saliva. That’s one way to put it, pointedly, directly. Ouch.
He wags his hand in the air between us. “But I see an underdog story in the making, Roboveitchek.”
I’m not sure whether to be shocked that he pronounced my last name correctly—I’m just Robo because no one wants to attempt all those vowels and consonants—or that he thinks of me as an underdog.
I want to be the top dog. But lately, I’m all bark and no saves. In other words, it was my fault the Rangers didn’t make it to the playoffs last year.
“As the goalie, it’s your job to make sure there is no daylight between the paint and the puck. No five-hole scores.”
I repeat, “No daylight. No five-hole scores.”
“Some people are solely looking out for their own career.”
This is another way of referring to self-absorbed players. I’ve been nominated as such.
Badaszek continues, “By default, that means they’ll throw their teammates under the Zamboni. Not the Knights. We’re a family.”
Don’t have one of those.
He winks. “Tonight was just the beginning.”
“You mean everyone will be back tomorrow?”
Badaszek’s laugh is dry. “No, I mean that we ask for a thousand percent participation on the ice. One hundred percent off.”
The math doesn’t math, but I get the sense the Knights are my last stop before my contract isn’t renewed, so if Badaszek wants a thousand percent, I’d better dig deep and find two thousand. That means I need to show up or show myself out the door. Not that I’d ever admit this to anyone.
Badaszek gazes into the distance. “Some players don’t look much beyond the ice. That won’t keep you warm when the storms of life come.”
“I’ve already been through enough of those,” I mutter.
He catches my gaze. “Maybe so, but remember that sometimes, just when you think you have it made, the floor, the rink will drop out from underneath your feet.”
Is this his way of reminding me I’m third string and on thin ice? Pun not intended.
The corners of Badaszek’s lips lift ever so slightly. “Other times, it’ll rise up and meet you.”
Clearing my throat and intending to be respectful, which I’ve been told comes off as cocky, I ask, “So what are you saying?”
He claps me on the back. “Figure skating lessons.”
I sputter my electrolyte sports drink, having moved on from the Dr. Pepper. “What?”
“Think of it like how football players train with ballerinas.”
“With all due respect—”
He shakes his head as if anticipating what I’m about to say. “You don’t understand my calculus.”
I nod slowly, trying to make one plus one equal five—or a flying lutz as the case may be, which is the extent of my non-hockey ice sports knowledge because my once brother tricked me into telling Leah she was a klutz.
Badaszek says, “You already know how to skate.”
The up-and-down movement of my head continues.
This time, he winks and guesses, “But you don’t know how to dance.”
“Coach …” I lived in Miami. With its nightlife scene and clubs, on the contrary, I do know how to dance. Though not while wearing hockey skates.
“It’ll be good for you.” With that, he shows himself to the door.
After a cordial, if not slightly confusing, goodbye, I lock it behind him and let out a long breath.
When I go to the kitchen, preparing to spend the next hour cleaning up, I find my new space as spotless as it was before a team of hockey players besieged my home.
I expect the garage to be filled with empty pizza boxes, cans, and trash.
Apparently, the Knights adhere to a carry-in, carry-out policy like when visiting a state park.
I hardly believe it and start opening doors and cabinets. When I get to the coat closet, I find the gnome. Thankfully, someone must’ve stashed it.
The guys did get weird about the whole gnome thing and with good reason, since my brother stole it from my new coach.
I never expected I’d be Coach Badaszek’s neighbor.
Taking Howie down from the shelf, I wonder if Badaszek noticed the fuss about the gnome earlier. And if so, perhaps he’s using the figure skating lessons as punishment.
But the real question is why Leah brought Howie back here in the first place.
Before I go to bed, I make sure all the windows and doors are locked, just in case someone else decides to show up unannounced.