Brienne moves to the center of the circular floor while Callum takes a seat in the front row next to the coaches.
This brings me back to the first team meeting with the Arizona Vengeance over eighteen months ago. We were in our meeting room, and Dominik came in to welcome us all aboard. In some respects, it was the same atmosphere, rife with nerves and doubts and insecurities, given that we were an expansion team. We were a hodgepodge of players from other teams who had to create a new one.
That’s the same thing here, except the skill level of players coming to the Titans is of a lower caliber.
In Arizona, however, a level of excitement rippled through the room that first day. Players chatted easily with one another, many of whom had played on a prior team together.
Right now, there’s utter silence. No doubt these circumstances are unparalleled. There has to be suspicion—of Brienne, Callum, the coaches—and most likely an inherent distrust in the possibility we can actually put something decent on the ice.
I feel bad for Brienne. She’s getting ready to set the tone for the entire season, and the poor woman has been running this team for all of a week. I’m afraid she’s going to flub it and not say the right thing to motivate. I have her back, though, and I’m determined to give her resounding applause when she’s done, no matter if she stinks it up.
Craning my neck to look around, I note that all the players stare at her intently, but their expressions are closed off.
I look back to Brienne, and she has her hands clasped so tightly in front of her, her knuckles bleach white.
Brienne clears her throat, and I half expect her voice to be meek and hard to hear in this large room. Instead, it comes out clear and strong, and I have no doubt the men sitting at the top of The Bowl can hear her just fine.
“Gentlemen… you must know first that I owe every one of you an apology.” That stirs a flutter, men shifting in their seats, a few whispering. Brienne waits until the room settles and looks around, slowly spinning her body three hundred and sixty degrees, as if she’s trying to make eye contact with every single person.
Let every single man in this room know she’s talking directly to him.
She lifts her chin. “I apologize because I am bound to make mistakes. I’m new at this. Admittedly, I don’t know what I’m doing. There may even be times when I say or do something that causes you great embarrassment as a member of this team. The only thing I ask is that you give me a bit of grace and help me learn what this business is all about. Right now, every one of you in this room is so much more knowledgeable than I am.”
She pauses, takes in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. Her knuckles are still white, but she looks calm and composed.
“The one thing that gives me hope—truly a realistic expectation of greatness—is the gathering of players we’ve accumulated in this room. We are an odd combination. We don’t know each other. We’re going to have missteps. Those are all things we’re going to have to fumble through. However, every one of you was chosen because you have talent. You are elite. And this is your shot to prove yourself.”
More shifting in chairs. A few murmurs of assent. The vibe in the room has a slight electric charge.
In just a few words, Brienne Norcross has touched every person in this room, even if she doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.
Brienne gives a nervous laugh. “But you don’t want to sit here and listen to me prattle. I know all of you want to get on the ice. I know all of you want to get out there and do your job. So I’m going to do my job now and hand it over to Callum Derringer, our new general manager. I have utter confidence in his game plan to make a team that’ll be proud to represent the great city of Pittsburgh. Just as I have confidence in the coaching staff we have selected. Just as I have the utmost confidence in every one of you sitting in this room. Have a great first practice, gentlemen, and if you need anything from me at all, you only have to ask.”
Brienne gives a slight nod to Callum and heads toward the door. My heart skips a beat because the room is once again quiet, and I prepare to stand and clap as I’d promised myself I would do for her.
But then the room erupts with thunderous applause and a deafening roar of approval from the men.
I notice a smile on Brienne’s face as she walks out.
Callum moves to the center, and the applause quiets naturally. He puts his hands in his pockets and bows his head a second, as if he’s collecting himself. When he looks up, he, too, turns in a circle so everyone knows he’s talking to all.
It’s a shock to hear him say, “I sucked at being a general manager.”
Whispers, mutters, and one person in the very back says, “What the fuck?”
Callum grins sheepishly. “It’s true. Or at least I sucked at my last GM job.”
He pauses, lets that sink in.
Some brave soul calls out, “Do you suck now?”
Callum looks around for the person who was bold enough to call him out. He connects his gaze to a player and points. “That’s the million-dollar question now, isn’t it?”
I lean forward, captivated. I want to know the answer, and I’m sure everyone else does too.
Callum shrugs. “I don’t know. I might suck, but I hope not. What I can tell you is that I learned a lot from my last stint as a GM. I know what my mistakes were, and I’m going to do things differently. I can only hope that my plans will help make this team successful. But I’m throwing out a challenge to all of you now… if you think I’m doing things wrong, you need to tell me. Doesn’t mean I’ll agree with you, but it does mean I will listen.”
I’m wowed by the brutal honesty from Brienne and Callum so far. I expect if I were given the floor to talk, I’d have my own apologies to make, for I am not a coach. I hope I can become a good one, though.
“Seriously,” Callum continues, “my office door is open, as is Brienne’s. We are making history, and we have immense pressure on our shoulders. We are also under the weight of grief as this entire league is still mourning the loss of our friends who were on that plane. I beg of you… if you are feeling depressed, out of sorts, angry, or anything at all, we have resources available for you. Sure, come sit in my office and talk, but also know I’ll get you to a therapist or a doctor or a support group. There are no judgments. We must take care of our mental health as much as our physical bodies.”
There’s more fidgeting, but a few players make sounds of affirmation. I expect every person in this room is reeling in some way over the events of the last week and a half. However, men tend to not want to talk about their feelings, and we repress way too much shit. I know this from personal experience—I was very angry, sullen, and withdrawn after my injuries. I didn’t come out of that with a gung ho attitude on my own. I went to therapy myself and joined a support group. I was grieving the loss of my legs and potentially my career, and I’m grateful for the help Dominik got me. I’m beyond impressed with the tone Brienne and Callum are setting to start this new team.
“One last housekeeping matter, then I’m going to pass things on to Coach Keller. As you know, the league has voted in a points freeze retroactively to the plane crash, and we have four days to get in some shape to step out on the ice and reenter competitive play. The league just announced that they’re giving an allowance to the Titans that any trades made going forward will not be penalized by making players sit out of the playoffs.”