Chapter 2 #2
A few more softball questions come our way — strengths, weaknesses, how we’re feeling about some upcoming matchups.
Then, the PR guy calls on a guy from The Neutral Zone. Purportedly ‘the best blog in hockey’, it’s pretty much a gossip rag. I’ve known guys who learned about their divorces there before their wives even told them.
Needless to say, they play a prominent role in my nightmares.
“Jamie, how do you think your sexuality will affect your ability to play here this season?”
The question is loaded, impossible to answer well. The best answer is probably “No comment”, but even that will give the blog something to cover. Suddenly, the hope I’ve been feeling dissolves away. Apparently, there is no chance Carter can just be a hockey player.
“Can you clarify the question? I’m not sure I understand.”
The move isn’t a bad one; The Neutral Zone likes to maintain its reputation as exactly that — ‘neutral’.
They won’t come out and say ‘Do you think your teammates will pass to you even though you like dick?’ But they’ll come right up to the edge of it.
This reporter must be new, because he goes a little over the line.
“I mean, it’s well known that teams were hesitant to sign you because of your sexuality. Worried it would be a distraction in the room. Is it?”
“Ah, thank you for your insight…Reuben? Is that right?” He squints at the reporter’s press pass, and I can tell he’s memorizing him for future reference.
“Um, yes. Reuben Santos, from The Neutral Zone.”
“Great. So, Reuben, I think I can only say what I’ve said before. I struggle to understand why my sexual preferences would affect my ability to skate, or to make a play, or to score a goal. They certainly never seemed to at UCLA. And yet, it seems to be all some news outlets can think about.”
The cut at The Neutral Zone is clear, his media training slipping a bit.
“I am a gay man, and I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with that.
It might be that some of the coaches and front offices disagree with that — I’ll never know for sure.
But I’m confident in my ability, as a gay man, to create the offensive production the Huskies need.
As for whether it’s a distraction in the room, that question is probably better for Ethan. ”
I hold back my cringe, wishing he hadn’t dragged me into this.
“I, uh, I’m confident that Carter’s skills will be an important piece of our offensive lines this season. And for everyone in that room, hockey comes first.”
The answer feels clumsy on my tongue, and I’m glad PR wraps the conference rather than letting Reuben get in a follow up. Carter and I head to the locker room, now empty except for the smell of sweat. We head to our stalls and begin the process of getting ready to leave.
“So, um… listen. I know you’ve, uh, gotten a lot of press this year. With the draft and all.”
His eyes flick toward me, guarded now.
“But I just want to make sure you’re ready to hit the ice hard. We’ve got playoffs to make, and a bunch of press isn’t going to get us there.”
“You’re worried about my… press.” His voice is flat, unreadable.
“I just think it’s time to keep your head down and work hard to make the team. Some helpful advice, from one player to another.”
His glare does not suggest he finds this helpful.
“It's just...probably not the time to stir the pot or whatever. Keep quiet and work hard, and I'm sure the press will stop.”
“I’m sorry, were we in the same press conference just now?
I don’t think I was the one to bring it up in there.
But sure enough, I can’t set foot in a press room without some dumbass asking about it.
And you know what? That’s fine. I've known for years that entering the draft as the first openly gay player would come with press, good and bad.
I'm prepared for the realities of that and so is my agent.
I will absolutely work hard; but I don't think I can promise to keep my head down or my name out of the press.”
“Look, I know you being the first gay player is gonna draw attention–”
He cuts me off.
“First out player.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“No, you said the first gay player. And statistically speaking, that’s not likely.”
Why are we talking about statistics?
The confusion must show on my face.
“On average, five percent of men are queer. There are over one thousand men in the NHL. You do the math.”
Is he telling me that there are other gay players in the league? That’s fucking rich.
“Yeah, but none of them are talking about it. And they sure as shit aren’t hanging rainbow flags up in their lockers.”
If looks could kill, I would be dead. Not just dead, but a pile of ashes on the floor.
“Wow, Cap. Thank you so much for your advice. As though I never thought that being less gay could solve the problem.”
Christ. I’m just trying to help this kid find success in the league. Would it kill him to listen?
“Not be less gay, just act less–”
“Nope,” he says, cutting me off. “Don’t finish that sentence. And where were you? Where was your support for me as a player on your team, Captain? ‘Hockey comes first’ is the best you’ve got?”
I don’t have an answer for him, and my face shows it.
Instead, I grab my bag and leave.