Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
JAMIE
September turns to October, and before I know it the regular season has begun. With this, we lose some of the guys from camp — Matthews and I stay up, but Finn, predictably, gets sent to Des Moines to grow and develop.
For the first time since I got off my flight in Minneapolis, I’m feeling good about my place on the team.
After Dallas, we continued to string together a series of strong games through the end of the preseason.
Tremblay’s directions to the team in that locker room seem to have stuck, and as the wound on my head heals over, it feels like I’m finally a part of the team.
Unfortunately, we are starting the season on a road trip — St. Louis, Detroit, and Columbus. The flight to St. Louis is a quick one — so quick it feels a little insane to even bother with a plane. With the extra time, Coach calls a team meeting before we board.
“Alright, guys. I think we can all agree that we saw some improvements during the preseason. Now we’re going to be going up against the best of the best, and we’re going to have to get even better. Don’t forget what your captain said in Dallas — things are only gonna get harder now.”
If I’m not mistaken, Gagnon is cracking his knuckles while looking at me. Thank God he’s on my side.
“I’ve got some tape pulled up on iPads for you guys to review on the flight. Kovalenko, I need you to check out the fake out this kid in St. Louis keeps pulling. He embarrassed five goalies with it in the preseason; don’t be the sixth.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Cap, I’m gonna ask you to walk through St. Louis’s defense with Carter. I want you two to come up with a game plan for managing them.”
My eyes widen a bit at that. Tremblay and I have not had the active antagonism from early in the preseason, but our interactions are still incredibly awkward.
“Yessir, Coach.” Tremblay says obediently.
I guess he’s not as surprised as I am — or at least not unwilling.
Coach goes through the rest of the team, making assignments — Lindy and Matty are watching goalie tape, Gagnon is analyzing the new left winger and finding ways to shut him down.
As we walk out to the plane, I find myself a little grateful for Coach’s assignment.
I’d fallen into the habit of sitting with Finn and some of the other rookies who've gone down to Des Moines. Without them around, I’d have had to figure out a new seatmate — now, I can put that off for at least another day.
Tremblay sits toward the front of the plane, and I sit down next to him.
“You good with the aisle seat?” He asks, again surprising me with his consideration.
“Uh, yeah. That’s fine.”
“Sorry you have to sit up here with the old guys — I know it’s probably more fun in the back.”
“Oh, no, that’s ok. I, uh, look forward to your insight on the defense.”
“My insight, huh?” His look is sardonic, as though he knows I’m bullshitting him.
I snort a laugh.
“Pull that iPad out. I don’t want to get in trouble with Coach.”
He laughs, but does what I ask. On the iPad, we find a series of videos of St. Louis’s defense.
First, there is a series of clips of their top d-pair. I expect to see film of them blocking shots or stealing the puck, but no – it's just shots of them passing to one another.
“Um, do you think Coach picked the wrong film?” I ask Tremblay, still struggling to see the value in this.
But something has caught his attention, and I see a wrinkle form on his forehead as he rewinds the film again, then pauses it.
“Here,” he says, pointing at Maguire. “Why's he passing like that?”
I look away from Tremblay's face to the iPad, rewinding to watch again.
“Like what?” It looks like a standard pass as far as I can tell.
Tremblay replays the clip again, stopping at the point where Maguire brings his body around the puck to aim it toward his partner.
“If I were in that position, looking to get the puck to Mac, I'd use a backhand pass, wouldn't I?”
I play the clip again, and sure enough, he's right.
For whatever reason, Maguire seems to be avoiding the backhand.
One clip might be a mistake, but the next three clips show the same thing.
In positions where the backhand is the right call, he just isn't making it, adding unnecessary time to the pass – and, in at least one case, sending the pass off target.
“Why wouldn't he use the backhand? He has before, yeah?”
Maguire's been in the league almost as long as Tremblay, and is usually one of the better defensemen.
“Who knows? Maybe The Neutral Zone wrote something about a weak backhand and he's in his head about it. Maybe it's an injury he's trying to nurse. But what matters to us is that he isn't.”
Tremblay and I spend the rest of the flight discussing how to use this to our advantage, from him forcing turnovers by limiting forehand options to me using the extra seconds Maguire is giving us to steal the puck.
Sure enough, Maguire does exactly what Tremblay predicted, and we end up with a 2-0 shutout for our first game of the regular season.
On our way to the hotel, I slip into a seat about halfway back on the bus. I expect the seat next to me to stay empty, so I’m surprised when Tremblay sits there instead. At my raised eyebrow, he blushes.
“Isn’t this a bit far back for you?”
“We won. Can’t change our seats now.”
I snort at that and lean against the window, watching the lights go by.
“You had the read on that team, Tremblay. Thanks for helping me.”
He smiles gently and catches my eye.
“No problem. We, uh, could do that for Detroit, too. If you want.”
I’m surprised to hear him volunteering to spend time with me, but the value of his advice can’t be overstated.
“Um, yeah. That would be great.”
“Good.”
Our flight to Detroit isn’t much longer than the one the day before, but Tremblay is ready for me with an iPad full of film.
“Alright, Detroit's defensive corps is probably the strongest we've seen so far. That being said, the bottom four guys are slow as shit; as long as the guys and I can keep you from getting hit, you'll out-maneuver them every time.”
I blush a bit at his praise.
“So we need to focus on the top two – Fournier and Volkov. If their coach knows anything about hockey – and he does, unfortunately – he'll put them out as often as possible against you.”
Tremblay cues up a video of the two against Chicago. Chicago's center tries to split the difference between the two, but manages to get stripped of the puck anyway. He rewinds the tape and plays it again in slo-mo.
“Alright, Carter, what do you see?”
As useful as he has been, these conversations make me feel like a bit of an idiot.
When we're on the ice, I feel like my reactions are solid.
But when we look at the tape like this, I see so many different things – Volkov's body, the angle of Fournier's skates, the path the Chicago player is trying to wind through the two.
“Can you give me a hint?" I ask, not wanting him to give it all away.
He chuckles. “Sure. You're gonna focus on Volkov.”
I watch the tape again. And again. And again. The third time through, I think I see it.
“His body – he gives it away.”
“Tell me more.”
I rewind the tape to the moment where I saw it for the first time.
“Well, here, he's still got time to decide whether he's going left or right. The forward hasn't committed yet, and there's still good plays open both ways.”
His smile tells me I'm on the right track.
“Keep going.”
“So, he's still got lots of possibilities, but he's made up his mind – he's going right.”
“How do you know that?”
I play it one more time, looking for every clue I can.
“His right skate – he's already opened it out. And his left arm is up, not back. And his hips – they're starting to point right.”
I'm not sure I've ever seen a smile from Tremblay as big as the one he shows me now, white teeth showing.
“Exactly. He's not only making his choice too soon, he's telegraphing it for everyone to see. So as a forward, how could you take advantage of that?”
I think a little bit more on this.
“Well, there's the obvious – force him to commit too early, then deke to the other side and have open space.”
“Good. How do you force the commit?”
“Well, I think Chicago fucked up – they tried to split the difference between them. He would've done better to head straight for Volkov. The extra pressure and lack of backup would probably force him to commit even earlier. Plus, then Fournier isn't close enough to clean up the play.”
“Yes, but Jonesy doesn't skate like you skate. He probably can't risk getting that close to Volkov. You definitely can, though.
The blush returns to my cheeks.
“But, uh, couldn't we put together a better play if we think about two forwards?”
He looks intrigued at the idea.
“Go on.”
“Well, if we get him to bite just a little, it also opens up a passing lane straight toward the net. If Lindy is there and I don't have the space to get around myself, I can at least get it to him. And if he's ready, it's a great opportunity.”
His eyes flare with a competitive gleam. “Yo, Lindy, come here for a second!”
Lindholm walks down the aisle with a question on his face. Tremblay proceeds to outline the idea to him. After squinting at the film and replaying it a few times, he nods.
“Yes, we can do that. Can I show Sutter? He can probably tie up Fournier.”
He walks back down the aisle, iPad in tow.
“We should practice that move when we get on the ice today.” I say, knowing that we'll have a brief practice tonight before returning to the hotel to sleep.
“Definitely. I’ll talk to Coach. I'll see if I can pretend to be a sub-par defenseman.”
I chuckle at that. With a glance at Tremblay, I decide it's my chance to offer a compliment.
“You know, you’re really good at this, at seeing the ice and the opportunities.”
His cheeks redden.
“Nah, I've just seen these same moves over and over. It gets easier to visualize after a few decades.” He winks at the self-deprecating joke.
“No, I mean it. You've got great hockey IQ. You ever think of coaching when you retire?”
He looks at me, and for a moment he just thinks.