Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
R en
I give pep talks before every game, but I feel this one in my bones. Every pair of eyes in the locker room is fixed on me. I don’t need to look from player to player to know it. The heat of their stares is palpable, and it feels good. It feels right.
No sound other than my voice in the room. No fidgeting. The players are listening.
And for the first time in weeks, I have something new to say.
“We’ve been caught in the trap of great expectations, and I’m not talking about the Charles Dickens novel. Actually, maybe I am.” I shrug, pivoting to something I know a little bit about and hoping my teammates don’t tune out because I sound like an English teacher. “Whether you’ve read the book or not, whether you’ve ever heard of Pip or Mrs. Havisham, the gist is this: we make assumptions about our lot in life and the positions of other people, and they can lead us astray. We have a roster that looks better on paper than almost any team out there. But is that enough?”
The question is rhetorical, and my Dickens reference may not be spot-on, so I wait to see if anyone’s still with me. I hear a chorus of responses, some of them grudging. “It’s not.” “Not enough.” “No.”
“It’s only a start. We absolutely have what it takes to beat any team on the ice in our league. Any one of them. Do we agree on that?”
I listen for agreement and hear another chorus of “Yes” and “Hell yeah.”
None of this is much different from other pep talks I’ve given, and I don’t sense the tenor of the room changing at all. The players are bored, waiting for me to finish so they can take the ice. I’m not getting through to them because I’m holding back, not giving them anything personal. Playing my own game, as though I don’t trust them to keep up their end of the bargain if I open myself up. That has to stop now.
Lead by example.
Barrington dared me to do better, and maybe the problem is that I’m not digging deep enough. I’m not making this personal, telling them why it matters beyond the obvious need for a win. I don’t have anything prepared, so I dig deep for some thoughts that have meaning to me.
What I realize is that I’m an asshole.
What I realize is that I’ve been trying to compartmentalize my life and prioritize hockey at the expense of Trix, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I’ve pushed her aside to “focus” on hockey when she’s been nothing but supportive and understanding of the pressure I feel. She’s been the one pushing me to be a better version of myself, and I’ve been the one falling short. And if I lose her because of it…
I banish the thought because I can’t face that possibility right now .
Instead, I start talking to my teammates. This time, I’m speaking from the heart.
“Listen, in a few months, I’m going to be a first-time dad.” If I thought the room was silent before, it’s a vacuum of sound now. “I haven’t said anything because I was too busy trying to be a leader, trying to be a machine. But that’s not gonna build our chemistry. That’s me playing my own game, staying in my head.” I look around the room. “Sound familiar? I’m betting we’re each out there carrying around our own version of a story with one lead character.” Shaking my head, I hear all the tiny lessons, the words of advice Trix gave freely to help me get past my fears about being a father. To show me I’m not in it alone.
“I’m scared shitless I’m gonna screw it up. Some of you’ve been there, you have kids. I’ve got nothing but respect because this feels like a mountain. I’m going to be coming to you for advice, trust me. And on the ice, I’ll have your backs, every one of you. This sport goes deeper than the skills we have. It’s personal. It’s taking the most vulnerable shit in our lives and blocking it out, using it on the ice, letting the team carry it for you. You know your own stakes—getting more play time, making up for a fuck up in the last game, impressing a woman.” There are some titters in the room. Expected. “Come on, isn’t that why we all started playing sports in the first place? That, or so much unbounded energy that it was either play sports or get into fistfights on the daily? No? Just me?” A few more laughs. The guys are paying attention.
“We’re taught that there’s no “I” in team, but I disagree. It all starts with the personal. It all starts with a demon each of us has inside. We have to dig deep and find something worth fighting for. That’s where the passion lies. It’s basic, primal. Ego, big and surly. And we meet that challenge by lifting someone else up. Pouring all of our individual hopes and dreams into something we can only do together.”
Something shifts in the room. The air gets lighter, easier to pull in with each breath. Instead of slumping on the benches, players are sitting upright. Even I feel empowered by the words because I’m not dreaming them up as much as letting them flow through me. I’m channeling what we need to believe in order to give everything we have to the team.
“We have what it takes to beat any team in the league. That’s powerful. We just need to leave everything we’ve got on the ice. The best player out there becomes the worst player when he forgets that, and we’ve all forgotten it. We’ve all relied a little too much on our stats and our trade value and all the shit that doesn’t help us. The team is the only way for the individual to shine.”
I let that thought resonate, hearing it myself and knowing that something’s shifted in me as well. I was part of the problem, too, thinking the team’s record was mine to engineer. I’m only a part of it. Trix’s words ring in my ears.
“ You’re not alone in this. That’s the beauty. Realize that, and you’ll succeed.”
I feel like the grade-A jerk I am, giving a pep talk based on Trix’s support of me and my career while I’ve been a shit to her. She gave me a second chance to be a better man than I was in college and what did I do? I gave her some half-assed text replies and told myself it was for the good of the team. Unacceptable to hide behind hockey because I couldn’t figure out how to prioritize the woman I love in a stressful situation. I’ve got some heavy duty groveling to do.
I know I’ve been absent these past couple weeks. I need to apologize to Trix and double down on my commitment to her and the baby. I need to make sure she knows how important she is to me.
The thought of losing her again because I’ve been a shitty boyfriend makes me want to vomit.
I need to talk to her. I need to hear her voice.
There’s some throat clearing in the room, and I realize I’ve been silent for the past thirty seconds. I look from face to face of the men on my team and return to the challenge directly in front of me. The energy in the room is restless now. The players are antsy to get on the ice and manifest whatever individual spark drives them. They’re nodding and starting to feel a little bit of the magic we feel in anticipation of a game we want to win.
“It’s not about the odds. I fucking hate the odds. Nothing gets in my head more than some bookmaker telling me ahead of time whether we’re going to win or lose a game. How does that fucking guy know what’s about to happen in a game we haven’t even played?”
I don’t wait for a response. “He fucking doesn’t. We control the game. We control how we play and whether we work together as a team or whether we get bogged down in stupid shit that we decided to make important.”
The players are getting restless, and it’s a good thing. They’re amped, and we need to get that energy out onto the ice. Coach Barrington needs them warming up and feeling the desire to win. So I wrap it up. “We are winners. Let’s play that way.”
My teammates bring it in for a cheer before disbanding to finish getting suited up to play.
Coach Barrington meets my eyes, and I see approval. It feels good. It also feels good to have my focus on hockey. This is our game to win, and this is my team to lead.
I’ll call Trix as soon as I’m off the ice.