I shoot a quick text back. Gotta turn off my phone now. I’ll see you after the game.
But I don’t put my phone away. I wait a few seconds because I know she’ll respond.
When it comes through, I can’t help but smile. You’re going to kick ass tonight!
And she put a heart emoji after it.
That heart changes the flavor of our exchange. It’s nothing but a small red icon, but it tells me she cares. The impact of that knowledge extends all the way down to my toes.
Sophie Winters is becoming a mind-fuck, but not in a bad way. Just in a way I hadn’t expected.
Most of the players have finished dressing and are undergoing last-minute prep, taping sticks and checking their equipment. I move over to my goalie—Patrik Stenlund—who actually got the nod to start tonight. While his attitude is nowhere near as pleasant as Jesper’s, the last two days he has shown a bit more technical edge out on the ice. Whether that will translate into withstanding the pressures of his very first professional game in this league remains to be seen, but he’s getting first shot tonight.
Regardless of how he plays, I talked it over with Coach Keller, and we’re going to let Jesper start the next game. We want them to have real, in-game experience for us to compare so we can decide who will eventually land the primary starter role.
The architect who designed the Titans’ arena clearly had a thing for oblong shapes. Not only is The Bowl shaped like the rink itself, so is the portion of the locker room where the gear cubbies are located. The cubbies make a three-quarter arcing circle rather than laid out in rows like we had in the Vengeance locker rooms. As such, there are no pockets for private conversation because everything is out in the open. I move over to where Patrik is fiddling with the straps on his goalie mask.
I clap his shoulder. “You good?”
He nods, the expression on his face determined and focused. “I’m good. Ready to get out there.”
And this is where I need to have the right motivational techniques to keep my goalie’s psyche at peak performance. “Just remember, if you perform the way you did in practices this week, you have the absolute ability to walk away with a shutout tonight. I don’t want you to think about this being any different from any game you played down in the minors. The caliber of players in the minors is such that you’re able to walk right into this league. You deserve this spot on the team, and you deserve the go-ahead to start tonight. You get out there, and don’t you forget that.”
He nods effusively, then moves his head side to side in a hyped-up need for motion. “Got it. I got this. I’m ready.”
“Deep breath,” I tell him. Because he may be a little too hyped up.
Patrik inhales deeply through his nose and lets it out slowly between his lips.
“Can you feel it?” I ask him.
“You mean that buzzing, electric vibe that feels like I just got hit with lightning?”
I laugh. “Yeah. I’m feeling it too. Everyone here is. Even the fans are feeling it. So while tonight is important to go out there and play your best and represent this team with a hundred and fifty percent effort, I want you to remember one thing that’s just as important.”
“What’s that?”
“Have fun. Enjoy this experience. You’ll never forget it.”
Patrik smiles and says something I know I will never forget. “Thanks, Coach.”
It’s the first time I’ve been acknowledged as a coach with gratitude for my guidance.
For the next twenty minutes, I move around the locker room, talking to various players, giving as much motivational support as I can. Everyone is bouncing with feverish anticipation laced with fear, and it makes for a volatile combination. It may be that they go out there and channel that energy into an amazing first-time win. It may be that they go out there and lose their fucking minds and fail miserably.
The one thing I can guarantee is that the fans won’t care one way or the other. Since the arena doors opened to let people in, there has been a continuous roar of cheering mixed with loud rock music and an exuberant announcer who’s keeping the fans whipped up. We can hear them down in the locker room, and it’s exhilarating.
And then it’s time to go out for warm-ups. The players wait in the hallway that leads to the ice as the announcer gives a dramatic lead-up. The deep-voiced man talks about triumph over tragedy and a new era on the ice. Likens us to a phoenix rising from the ashes. And then he booms over the speakers, “Let’s welcome your brand-new Pittsburgh Titans to the ice!”
The screams and cheers and stomping feet and clapping hands are deafening. The players vibrate as the gate to the ice opens. The arena is plunged into darkness, and rotating beams of spotlights circle all around. “Renegade” by Styx plays as the team—led by Coen Highsmith, who’s been named captain—steps onto the ice and leads a brisk skate in a large circle.
Normally, the coaches don’t watch the opening warm-up drills. The players are more than capable of handling this on their own, but tonight we’re all standing at the gate, watching our men soak up the crowd’s adulation in what is, for many of the players, their first game in this league.
Warm-up drills last about fifteen minutes, but just before they wind down, the opposing team, the Washington Breakers, enter our side of the rink one by one. They move around to our players, shaking hands, giving backslaps and pats on the head with their big-gloved hands. It’s not a usual acknowledgment done before a game, and I imagine the words we cannot hear are of encouragement and good luck.
It’s an unusual show of camaraderie, and I’d venture a guess that this will happen a lot in upcoming games.
The players eventually trickle off the ice and head to the locker room. Sitting in front of their cubbies, it’s clear why the three-quarter circular shape is a great idea. Keller stands in the middle and gives his last-moment instructions. It’s his chance to motivate, and after his dismal failure on the first day trying to get the players to bare their emotions, he’s managed to pull together some decent lines. The men seem to respect his coaching skills, although he still falls a little flat on inspiration. Seasoned league players wouldn’t need it so much, but this team does.
It’s why I wince slightly when Keller wraps up his remarks. “You will not be on track to win a lot of games the rest of the year, but you certainly have the opportunity to win some. And that’s more than what was probably ever expected. You’re already winners in my book.”
I don’t know everything about coaching, but I’ve been coached my entire life. As a player, those words might be a little demoralizing, not because they’re untrue, but because everyone already knows it and they don’t need the reminder. They need to be told they have unforeseen potential, and anything can happen with hard work and dedication. Hell, we proved that on the Arizona Vengeance by coming into the league as an expansion team and winning the championship.
Luckily, Keller doesn’t say anything more, and from some of the expressions on the players’ faces, they’re glad of it.
Everyone starts filing out of the locker room, once again heading to the hallway that leads out onto the ice. It will be done with even bigger fanfare. The music will be louder, the announcer more passionate, and the bass turned up to make his voice really boom. The crowd will go nuts.