Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Approval roars from the players as they clap their hands. I turn to leave with the other coaches so we can make our way onto the bench. It’s on the players to take the information and advice and apply it.
It’s up to them to go out there and grab that win.
♦
The atmosphere in the locker room after the win is almost carnival-like. I stay in the revelry until it dies down as the players get showered, changed, and head out for celebrations. Only then do I go to the media room to do the press conference to field questions, most of which are legit. There’s a dumbass one, though.
“Coach… given this is a newly built team after the crash eight months ago, do you think today’s win was a fluke?”
I’m irritated but keep a genial smile on my face. “I don’t know, Tim. Was our loss against Minnesota a fluke?”
I let him stammer for only a few seconds before calling on another reporter.
With the players gone—the last few headed over to Mario’s for some celebratory drinks—I settle in at my desk to record my game observations.
I watch a lot during the game, write down notes, and don’t give much individual direction to players. That’s a job my assistant coaches handle, and they do it well, as they know the mechanics of the game as thoroughly as I do. They know the pre-scouts. I’ll suggest a line change, but it’s the assistants who call it out, and if they feel something is better served, they’ll do that as well, with impunity. It’s important they know I trust their judgment as much as the players’. Sometimes being hands-off is the best way to build confidence.
I tap away on my laptop, adding notes. We left the upper slot weak during some clutch moments, but luckily, our goalie, Drake McGinn, was on fire tonight.
My biggest dilemma—and this has been an issue since preseason—is that our second line defenseman, Camden Poe, seems to be struggling. I watched video of him last season, and it’s not a new problem. He seemed a little off in everything, about a quarter of a step behind on a breakaway or a second too late getting his stick on a puck. It’s hard to define, but when you watch him game after game, you can see that he might not belong on our second line.
Camden is one of the three players who wasn’t on the Titans’ plane when it went down last February. While he seems to have coped well with the trauma and survivor’s guilt, it might be weighing him down more than we think. It’s something I need to discuss with him.
There’s a knock on my door and I lift my head to see Gage Heyward standing there. He’s our newest assistant coach, replacing Bill Perry, who moved on at the end of last season. Gage moved from the first-line center to coach after serving as a major unifier for the newly rebuilt team. But it was never his intent to stay long and when the coaching position opened up, he was the most obvious choice.
“What’s up?” I ask, motioning him in.
He doesn’t enter, merely leans against the doorjamb. He arrived to the game in a suit, but he’s changed into jeans and a sweater. “Maurice, Sam, and I are going to head out for a beer. Come join us?”
I know I should go. The Titans are a family, and part of that is strengthening bonds off the ice. But fuck… I’m tired. I’ve been going nonstop for over sixteen hours, and I need sleep, not beer.
“I’m going to take a rain check, man. I’m ready for bed.”
Gage smirks. “I’d call you an old man, but we’re essentially the same age and I’m tired as shit too.”
“Maybe we exert more mental energy as coaches than the players do on the ice and it’s just more exhausting.”
“I like that analysis.” Gage pushes off the jamb. “Which is why I’m only going to have one beer before heading home.”
“Well, I guess I could do one beer,” I drawl, closing my laptop and rising from my chair.
“Grab your cane and let’s head over to Mario’s. We’ll stand in solidarity to have just one drink.”
I snort as I grab my overcoat since it’s dipping into the forties most nights. I wish I’d had the forethought to bring casual clothes, but I’ll make do by loosening the knot on my tie.
Mario’s is packed. My understanding is it’s always been a popular hangout spot following hockey games due to its proximity to the arena, but after the team was rebuilt, the fans were rabid in their support of the new players. That spilled into after-game celebrations, so it’s crowded by the time we get there.
Luckily, the bar owners let the players reserve tables, so they’re guaranteed a place.