CHAPTER 38
* * *
THE TEAM WORKS hard, and we win some games, but we can all feel we’re not quite coming together. It’s nothing personal—most of the guys are nice people—but it’s not working yet. Coach Dusan tries changing the lines, tries having individual talks with us all, tries having group talks, tries new drills. It’s driving the coaches crazy that we’re not living up to our preseason—we lose three of our first seven regular games.
Even though the season is the most important thing, all any of us on the team can think of is our tournament in the Chicago area, coming up in two weeks. It’s our chance for redemption! The tournaments are great ’cause they help you see how you stack up against teams from other states. Like if we make finals, we’ll almost certainly be playing a team from Michigan called HoneyBaked—HoneyBaked has one of the best clubs in the country, with teams from multiple levels who are ranked high nationally many years. They’re legend! When you’re not killing it during the season, the chance to win a tournament means a lot, and to be able to play a team from HoneyBaked is pretty much what you dream about when you play kids’ hockey. There’s just nothing that could happen hockey-wise that would be better, except if we win CAHA.
When the third week of November rolls around, I’m super excited but also really worried about leaving Sinbad for several days. It’s like part of me is on a total high, and part of me is on a total low. I feel so guilty about leaving him, it kind of makes me hate myself for being so into hockey. Aunt Mo is coming to stay at the house, and she’s been texting, calling, and e-mailing me literally ten times a day to tell me everything is going to be fine. She even sent me flowers! Like what am I supposed to do with flowers? Like I said, she’s great and embarrassing, but mostly great. Then Thursday when it’s time to leave for Chicago, a part of me wishes I would catch the flu or something, but I don’t. As Dad and I are getting ready to leave, Sinbad’s nervous, ’cause he knows what the suitcases mean. I kiss his nose a few times, then remember to brush his teeth, since I don’t want to ask Aunt Mo to do it. It takes only a minute.
We decide that he should wait inside while we leave. Aunt Mo waves to us and calls out, “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine! I swear I will not let him out of this house when I’m not holding his leash. I’ll be extremely careful when I open the door!” I trust her a lot, so I feel good about that.
In the car, Dad says, “She’s actually the best person I can think of who could possibly take care of him.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, she’s the greatest.”
But I don’t say much all the way to the airport and even inside LAX.
Every time I get on a plane, I can’t believe how uncomfortable it is. The seats feel like wooden planks covered by cloth, and if the person in front of you reclines, your life just goes down the drain. We sit in the plane on the runway for two hours, and for a second it looks like a fistfight is going to break out when a passenger objects to the guy in front of him reclining. I can tell my dad is hating life. Finally the pilot announces that we’re heading for the runway. People applaud. Twenty minutes later we’re cleared for liftoff.
Whoa, I’d forgotten how much I hate flying. The plane shakes like it’s going to fall apart as we rise through the air. When I think about the possibility of flying several times a week, I question whether I want to be in the NHL. Then we reach cruising altitude, and I feel fine about flying.
There’s a movie Dad and I both want to watch, so we don’t talk much. We brought sandwiches we bought at the airport, which we eat during the movie. By the time the film ends, the flight is nearly over.
After landing in the late afternoon, we rent a car and drive straight to the arena where the tournament reception is being held. I’m not even sure what town we’re in—big tournaments are usually held at different rinks in an area near a city. It’s so crowded, you can’t move without touching and bumping people. The actual Stanley Cup is here, so we get in a long line to touch it and have pictures taken with it. There’s a show going on where someone’s talking about hockey equipment, and there are food and equipment booths, as well as reps from prep schools and junior hockey leagues. I figure that including family, players, and coaches, there are about twenty thousand people participating in the tournament. And thousands of them seem to be right here tonight. I keep a close eye on my dad so we don’t get separated.
We stand in line to check out some custom sticks. I don’t like them; they feel too heavy.
“Are you hungry?” Dad asks, raising his voice above the din.
“Yeah, but look at the lines,” I reply.
Every food booth has a long line, and we already spent an hour waiting to touch the Stanley Cup and another hour waiting to look over the sticks. I mean, it’s cool that there are this many people, but it’s kind of overwhelming, and I have a game at seven a.m. the next morning. “Can we just go eat somewhere?” I ask, and Dad agrees.
We go outside and cross through the cold parking lot. Man, it’s cold in Illinois! We drive toward the hotel. I keep hoping for a Mexican restaurant, but we don’t see any, so we decide on a random Chinese place we see. We buy four different dishes and eat every bite. It’s actually not that good, don’t know why I ate so much!
At the hotel, there are kids from another team talking in the lobby. Their voices have changed, and they’re big, and they’re all wearing jackets that read CHICAGO MISSION. “Dad!” I hiss. “Do you think that’s the bantams?” Chicago Mission almost always has a great bantam club—some people think they have the best team of fourteen-year-olds in the country this season. I can’t take my eyes off them. “Do you think that’s them?” I say again. “Why are they staying in a hotel if they’re local?”
“Looks like it might be them. Let’s ask.”
“NO, it’ll be embarrassing!” I pause. “But do you think that’s them?”
“Con, just ask.”
It’s embarrassing—I don’t want to seem like a fanboy—but I have to know. So I casually saunter up and say, “Are you guys bantams?”
They look at me like I’m an ant, and one of them says, “Yeah, bud.”
“I’m a peewee. I’ll be aging up to bantam next year. Are you going to win nationals in the spring?”
“Yeah,” a couple of them say, laughing, and they’re friendly now.
“Don’t jinx us,” one warns the two who said “yeah.”
“Cool!” I say. “Wow!” and then I can’t think of anything else to say, so I smile stupidly at them before slinking away and going upstairs with Dad.
The hotel is all suites—I take the sofa bed per usual on these trips. “I want you to get a good night’s sleep,” Dad says, looking a little anxious.
There’s a baseball movie on, but baseball being so slow and all, the movie makes me fall asleep, and when I wake up, it’s after midnight. The bedroom is dark, so Dad must be asleep. I turn off the TV. And suddenly I feel good. In fact, I feel great! I’m going to be in a huge hockey tournament starting tomorrow, and hopefully at the end of the weekend, I’m playing one of the best teams in the country from one of the best clubs in the country. Lucas has been praying that him, Jae-won, and me all score against them. It’s gonna be lit! If God’s going to listen to anyone, wouldn’t it be a great guy like Lucas? Isn’t that how it would work? I’m not scared of HoneyBaked!
It seems like for my previous hockey life, I was always chasing something: the chance to be on a better team. I’m still chasing something, but it feels closer now. I’m an elite athlete! Then suddenly I think of Sinbad at home, and it’s like someone just poured a bucket of worry over my head. Yet that makes me feel like a professional too. Sometimes in the pros, you probably have to accept missing someone in return for advancing your hockey life. That is, I’ll always have Sinbad for as long as he lives, but I’ll have to go away a few times now that I’m on a AAA team. So am I sad or happy? My brain is all over the map, like even when I close my eyes, I ju
st see wild shapes and movements.
It’s two o’clock before I wind down again, and then I pray for Sinbad, and then I’m asleep.
CHAPTER 39
* * *
THE TEAM MEETS for breakfast at four thirty a.m. in the twenty-four-hour restaurant next door. The players eat at several pushed-together tables, while the parents spread out. There are a couple of other teams at the restaurant as well. Coach Dusan sits with us, so there are no food fights or anything like that. Actually, we’re all pretty quiet. For my part, I’m nervous, and I expect the other guys feel the same way. This morning I’m feeling more realistic. Considering our record, we probably don’t have a chance to get to the finals. But who knows? I remind myself over and over that we have some super-talented kids.
I glance curiously at the other teams also eating at the restaurant. They look like they’re midgets—fifteen and up. They seem a little nervous too. The midget games are going to be scouted. That would make me plenty nervous.
Four scrambled eggs, three slices of bacon, and three pieces of toast later, I’m ready to go. Coach tells everyone to drink their orange juice, so I guzzle mine down. Then we head to the rink.
Dad pulls out of the lot, then tells me, “Don’t forget, focus. Remember in tryouts how you were holding back during the first shift? Don’t let that happen to you today. Head up, but stay low.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. I don’t say more ’cause there are serious butterflies in my stomach, and it’s all I can do to keep from grinding my teeth or screaming or something. Then I decide to say, “Dad, I’m kind of nervous. Any advice about that?”
Dad nods, as if he’s been waiting for me to say this. “I remember an attack of nerves for my first game here too. I played terrible. I lost all my focus. My nerves destroyed me that day. One of the worst games I ever played at any level. That’s why I’m reminding you to focus. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”
“Thanks,” I say glumly.
“No, I’m not jinxing you or trying to scare you. I just want you to be aware. Don’t be so nervous—in the end it’s only another game.” He nods a couple times, as if I’ve said something. “You guys are good. And the other team is human, just like you. Just get in the flow. A game’s a living thing with its own particular flow.”
I stare out the windshield. There’s hardly any traffic at this hour, and it’s still dark out. I look at the few people in the cars around us and think I’d like to change places with any of them. I would change places with my dad, anyone. I just want to change places. I don’t even feel like playing hockey. I wish we could go home. I feel like crap. My stomach is a mess. Breakfast now feels heavy and sour. My heart is fluttery. And it’s all ’cause of stupid HoneyBaked.
“You okay?” Dad asks.
“Sure, what do you mean?” I say defensively. “No, not really.”
“By the end of the weekend, you’re going to be loving every second, I promise you that. Hang in there today, and you’re going to love tomorrow.”
“Are you sure? ’Cause I feel like I’m going to hate tomorrow.”
“I loved day two,” Dad says, patting my shoulder.
So I resolve to love day two. All I have to do is survive day one, which might not happen.
“Don’t worry, you’re going to survive day one,” Dad says, reading my mind.
“I feel like I don’t even want to play. Like what’s the point?”
“I know, right?” Dad says. “I asked the same question of my dad.”
“What did he answer?”
“He got annoyed with me, but don’t worry, I’m not going to get annoyed at you. He never went through the same thing, so he didn’t get it. I know it seems like a big deal, but really it’s just another game.”
“I’ve played lots of games, and none of them felt like this, except maybe my first game ever,” I say.
“I know, right?”
I don’t answer. The rink is only ten minutes away, which makes my heart sink. I feel like I need more time, but I plain don’t have it. No changing that. After we park, Dad says, “Good luck, Conor. I’ll be proud of you no matter what.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say. I get out of the car and grab my bag and sticks from the trunk. As we reach the main door, other guys with bags and sticks are trickling in. “Are you sure tomorrow will be fun?” I ask.
“Positive. A hundred percent.”
All right, so all I have to do is get through today. I should be able to manage that.
There’s a board inside telling players which locker room and rink they’re assigned, and whether teams should wear white or dark jerseys. Dad walks me to the locker room and says, “Okay, I’ll be in the stands. Good luck. Remember, focus and flow.”
“Thanks,” I answer unenthusiastically. I go inside the locker room. Aidan 1’s boombox is on, and he’s dancing. Aidan’s been in AAA since he was what’s called an atom in Canada, so he never gets nervous. Atoms are nine or ten. Saw some on video on YouTube—the little atom AAAs are fire.
“Does someone have some tape I can borrow? I forgot mine,” Avery says worriedly. He looks kind of sick today.
“Yeah,” we all say at the same time. Someone throws him a roll of black tape, and he starts to tape his stick. Who waits until the last minute to tape his stick?
As I get dressed, more players come in. Usually we have dryland before games, but Coach Dusan decided not to do dryland today ’cause some people flew in kind of late last night. I’m not in the mood for dryland anyway. I get dressed so fast that I’m the first one done. As I wait for everyone else to finish, I decide to break the ice. “Is anyone else nervous?” I ask.
“I am.” “Yeah.” “Really nervous.” “Nah.” We all look at Aidan 1, who has said the “Nah.”
“What?” he says. “I’m not. I’m excited. I’ve been waiting for this since summer, man. We’re gonna make the finals and give HoneyBaked a beatdown.”
“Yeah, but I’m still nervous,” I say.
Eric suddenly pukes, and we all jump up. “Man, that’s gross!” Aidan 2 shouts. “It’s just a freakin’ game!” Eric’s kind of a nervous guy. I’m not judging him, just commenting.
It smells, so we all hurry out. I’m not sure exactly where the rink is, but I obediently follow the guy in front of me. As we march in our skates, I start to get more of that familiar gladiator feeling. Gladiator is the best movie ever made, by the way. It’s rated R, but Mr. Kang let us watch it anyway ’cause he’s seen it about twelve times and wanted to share it with Jae-won and me. “Look at the floor!” Jae-won says. The soft flooring is new, unlike at our home rink. In fact, the whole rink is pretty spiffy. There are probably twenty or thirty different rinks in the general Chicago area where games are being held today. Got no idea what suburb we’re in.
When we reach our rink, we sit on the home bench, since we’re white today. Coach is going to wonder where we all went, since he usually gives us a locker-room pep talk before games.
“Man, I can’t believe you puked!” Aidan 2 says.
We all laugh. Eric happens to be sitting next to me, so I push him with my shoulder and say, “It’s only a game, man. We just gotta get in the flow.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m fine now.”
The puking turns out to be a good thing, ’cause now the guys are talking and laughing. Jae-won and Ryan are laughing about something. I feel a lot better, like I’m the one who puked and I got something out of my system. “Here comes Coach!” someone says, and we all turn to watch Coach Dusan striding toward us. He doesn’t walk, he strides.
“What happened in there?” he asks.
“Eric puked!” Aidan 1 cries out. “Is someone going to clean it up?”
“Yeah, I got someone,” Coach says. “So listen up, some of you have a tendency to follow the pass when you’re not thinking. So focus out there, follow the player, not the pass. I know that sounds basic, but I also know that some of you may be nervous and might forget some of the basics. And don’t
try to show off your stick-handling. These guys will make you pay for that. When all else fails, remember the saucer pass. It opens up the ice. Matt is our goalie today. All right, warm-up!”
Jeffrey’s face falls, and for a brief moment I feel sorry for him, even though he’s kind of the team jerk.
We spill onto the ice, skating a circle around our side of the rink. Someone throws out some pucks, and we practice passing and shooting. Matt seems to be having a bad warm-up. Everything’s getting past him. I skate up and pat his shoulder, and he nods.
The buzzer sounds, and we clean up the pucks and huddle around Matt. “Let’s win this thing!” Avery shouts. “Grizzlies on three. One-two-three!”
“GRIZZLIES!”
“Who’s gonna win?”
“GRIZZLIES!”
And . . . Coach sends me out! I skate to center ice and take my position. The guy standing next to me is a good four inches taller than I am, and I’m one of the taller kids on our team. Great. But maybe he’s slow, I tell myself.
“I saw your mom in the parking lot,” he says. “She says you suck at hockey.”
“I don’t have a mom, fool.”
“Then how were you born?”
The ref drops the puck, and the game begins!
Jae-won swipes the puck toward me. I can’t find the handle. Bad start! I try to steal it back but fail, and my guy gets away. I dig in and skate my fastest as the opposing player is on a breakaway. I almost catch up, but he shoots—AGHH—and misses. Thank you! I’m thinking too much. Focus!
Checked Page 20