Chapter Seven
“While the betting scandal raises questions about the structure of ownership and the massive blind spots in NHL oversight enabling it, I would like to start by pointing to the human cost.
Now I know what you’re thinking: These are guys earning millions of dollars to play a game.
How bad can it be? I thought the same thing.
But after spending a full season watching the toll Lewis Trout and Maxwell Van Giesing’s actions took, it is worth remembering these guys are human.
One of Trout’s strategies was to wear out the defensive core during practice both physically and emotionally.
To a certain extent, tough love is an established coaching strategy, but very few people react well to constant criticism.
On the one hand, this led to inconsistent performances during games, which audiences and the media noticed. This was Trout’s aim. He would place bets on injuries, scratches, and trades, all the while overtaxing player injuries and bullying them into breakdowns or trade requests.
On the other hand, athletes live in such a pressure cooker that the psychological effects can be harrowing.
Knowing your performance on ice could ruin the team’s chance at the playoffs, even as your performance is being sabotaged, is a miserable state to be in.
It leaves players on edge, exhausted, and competing with each other in what should be a team sport. ”
(From “The Odds Are Never in Your Favor: An Exposé on the Betting Scandal at the Heart of the San Francisco Sea Lions,” by Ben Sinclair, published in The San Francisco Herald, 07/20/2025)
The team’s first regular season match was an away game in Chicago.
Chris wore his trusty beige suit to the airport, suddenly aware of how the fabric crinkled at the sides and stretched too tight over his shoulders but hung loose around his waist. And, well, there was the crotch bulge, but he’d never found a suit where he didn’t have that problem.
Jeans in thick denim worked sometimes, if they were loose enough, as did baggy sweatpants.
Luckily, barring a brief phase as a teenager, Chris wasn’t one of those guys who got random boners. Those would be a nightmare.
On the flight, Chris sat next to Howie as usual. Luca never said Chris couldn't sit with him, but he often had his headphones on, and Chris liked to talk to the guys. He didn’t want to bother Luca, not when Luca had already gone to so much trouble for him this season.
Besides, Chris owed him an answer, and if they sat together, he’d have to give it.
He’d been half joking when he said he needed a sex coach, but Luca was dead serious when he offered to take the job.
Chris had no idea how to feel about it. He had a blank sheet of paper waiting for a pro/con list in the inside pocket of his suit, but there was no way he could fill it in with Howie sitting next to him, fidgeting every three seconds.
“What’s with you?” Chris asked him.
“Ugh.” Howie burrowed deeper into his seat. “Just nervous, I guess.”
“No matter what Jax says, you aren’t actually a rookie anymore.”
Howie punched him on the shoulder, which Chris deserved. “Did you see Chicago’s preseason games?”
Chris shook his head. Yet another reason it was a good thing he hadn’t gotten the A.
Team leaders had to be up on the opposition, and Chris sucked at that.
He loved playing hockey, but watching made him wince every time someone hit the boards.
Sometimes he got queasy during video review.
He didn’t mind doling out hits or taking them, but seeing them on screen reminded him of all the articles Matty sent him about CTE, and thinking about those for too long made him start imagining symptoms.
“Denisov is an absolute beast this year,” Howie said morosely. “He sent a guy careening into the boards headfirst from ten feet away when they played the Wyverne. Didn’t even do it on purpose. Imagine what he can do when he’s trying.”
“Maybe he forgot the last time we played?” Chris offered.
Howie shook his head. Chris hadn’t heard what he’d said to throw Damir Denisov off back in December, but it had been effective. It had led to the Firecrackers’ star forward losing three quarters of the face-offs for the rest of the game. It had also led to him punching Howie in the face.
Chances were good he’d be out to prove something tonight, especially since the Firecrackers would want to win their home opener.
“Well, I’ll protect you, then. That’s what I’m there for.”
“Aw.” Howie rested his head on Chris’s shoulder. “Best D-man.”
The gesture made Chris think of Luca’s other offer, the offer to cuddle whenever he wanted.
He doubted Luca meant it. Chris wanted to cuddle all the time.
Shutouts were his favorite games because when they won, he got to give Dmitriyev a proper, all-encompassing hug instead of a quick forehead tap.
Having Howie lean on him this way was nice.
But platonic, team hugs didn’t give him the same safe, content feeling as when he had someone to hold in the evenings while he watched TV, or maybe all night long.
He could be happy without sex indefinitely, but without cuddling? No chance. He didn’t miss dating for the most part, but he did miss cuddling.
For all that he was as approachable as a cactus, Luca gave great hugs, hard enough for Chris to feel wanted and appreciated, soft enough to be cozy. If Luca really meant it, Chris would absolutely be cuddling him more.
Still lying against him, Howie snickered.
“Hm?”
“Best D-man. ’Cause of your massive schlong.”
“Oh my God.” Chris would never live down admitting he was a little above average.
Mooney’s head popped up over the back of the seat in front of them. “Is that what happened with all your girlfriends last year? Took one look at the anaconda and dipped?”
A dull thud followed his question, and then he said, “Ow! What?”
“You are being mean. Do you want me to download the foghorn app?”
Chris smiled to himself. Luca ribbed Chris as mercilessly as any of the guys when he thought Chris had done something dumb—like claim to be Italian.
Chris would argue this was because his parents had drilled it into him; he hadn’t had cause to think about it much until Luca.
But Luca never made fun of things he knew would hurt.
It was why Chris had felt comfortable admitting his problems with dating.
“Ben tells me it’s one of the silliest things about hockey,” Phil said, joining the conversation from the other side of the aisle.
They all turned to stare at him.
“How we all call defense ‘the D’ as if the abbreviation isn’t already taken.”
“Well, yeah,” Howie said. “That’s why it’s funny. Didn’t everyone’s U-15 team get the giggles during a strategy meeting at least once?”
They all agreed, except Luca, who shrugged. Chris could see the line of his shoulders rising and falling in the seat in front of him.
“The joke does not work in Italian,” Luca said.
“Lucky,” Howie moaned. “Coach made us do bag skates until no one was laughing anymore. It took an hour.”
Bag skates for an hour sounded brutal. So far, Lindy hadn’t used them as a punishment or as a team bonding exercise, with the exception of the very first memorable practice.
Chris hoped she kept it up. He was all right at sprinting because he did a lot of endurance work on the spinning bikes and ellipticals to make sure of it.
Otherwise, his size would put him at too much of a disadvantage.
But it always made the whole team grumble, made everyone grumpy and prone to lashing out. Some coaches thought they could unite the team against a common enemy if they acted like dicks, but Chris had never found it very effective.
A thought occurred to Chris. “Hey, Howie, wasn’t your U-15 coach your dad?”
“Yup.” Howie grimaced. “I had to run sprints longer than anyone.”
Chris winced in sympathy. He was so glad his dad never got into coaching.
The idea alone made him hunch his shoulders to be less noticeable, though his instant fear filled him with guilt.
Hockey was an expensive sport, and his dad had always paid for his gear.
He should be thankful for how much effort Dad had put into his career, not thankful he hadn’t put in more.
“Hey, Luca,” Howie said. “You live with Breezy. You must have seen the D. Is it —”
“What other silly things are there about hockey according to Ben?” Luca asked loudly as though he hadn’t heard Howie speak.
Again, gratefulness made Chris’s stomach flutter happily.
As Phil explained something about a running list Ben had taped to the fridge, Chris wondered what it might be like if he took Luca up on his coaching offer.
Luca would definitely see his dick then.
The thought didn’t bother Chris. It wasn’t that the dick itself embarrassed him.
It was more the way people talked about it.
He kept it covered in the locker room to spare himself the ribbing happening right now.
Guys could get weirdly obsessed with dick size.
On his team in Juniors, he’d had a teammate who wouldn’t stop making jokes about it, asking questions, staring at Chris’s lap even when he was fully clothed.
It made him uncomfortable enough that he got into the habit of staying out of any locker room cock talk, but it had never been much of an issue otherwise.
Sure, a few of the girls he’d gone out with hadn’t been into it because having sex would hurt, but taking fucking out of rotation left plenty of other things to do.
Actually, Chris enjoyed it more when he didn’t have to pretend that sticking his dick in something was a life-changing experience.
He sounded so mean.