Love For A Game

Chapter 30

I wake up at nine the next morning, the day of the big game. Quite possibly my final game as a Ryerson Raider. The thought chills me to my very core.

Winning prolongs my final days just a few games more. However, it is inevitable. My days in bantam hockey are numbered.

It is a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Sunny outside, and a warm seventeen degrees. A perfect day for a nice walk in the park, or a late-night stroll.

It will feel the opposite inside the arena. The sunny feeling outside sets up a storm from Hell itself inside. Two hundred feet of ice must contain the rivalry that is the Raiders and the Crusaders. The very thought of it happening today makes this day a whole lot more interesting than most.

I know that at eight o'clock tonight, Dave Hodge will open Hockey Night in Canada for what will be the final time. The Stanley Cup Finals has reached game five, the Edmonton Oilers garnering a 3-1 series lead over the reigning four-year champions, the New York Islanders. Hodge will elegantly present the NHL's final game, and then Bob Cole will deliver the play-by-play, as only he can.

The most important thing for me is this game. A win cements our legacy as champions, a team that exemplifies such greatness, befitting of a winning club. The team that is victorious gets the laurels of winners, and are seen as such. The losing side gets all the scornful looks of disappointment, and must wallow in self-pity until the start of the following season. The latter is a road I do not wish to go down. The former is one full of greatness and euphoria.

I eat a good breakfast of eggs and sausage with orange juice and toast. Once I am done eating, I go back up to my room and crawl into bed. It is sort of a ritual for me to nap before games, big games, especially. Pro hockey players always do it, and look where they got. So I adopted the ritual.

I wake at three that afternoon. I get up and drive to the arena with my equipment. Since I have almost two hours to spare, I put my skates, socks, pants, and undershirt on, and go out to the ice with my stick and some pucks.

I skate laps around the ice, trying to take it in for the last time. As I skate around the ice without a helmet on, letting my hair flow behind me, I reflect on my greatest moments of my hockey career.

I remember my first ever time on the ice. I could barely stand up on skates, let alone skate on the ice. I remember falling all over the place and having to clutch the boards for dear life. I picture my dad laughing as he watched me.

I remember my first organized game. I skate down the ice, a puck much too large for a four year old to carry. I pass the line and shoot. It slides slowly along the ice, and beats the goalie and goes in. I raise my arms in glory and see my dad in the audience, cheering louder than anyone else.

My thoughts are interrupted by another person coming onto the ice. She wears a Raiders jersey with the number twenty-two on it. It's Nicole, and I smile at her. She grins back.

"Soaking it in, huh?" She says.

"Yeah," I reply. "The last time I'll ever grace this ice surface with my presence. I can't believe after all these years it's finally here."

"I know. It must be hard for you."

"It is."

We shoot around for a little bit, until the zamboni driver signals to us that he needs to clean the ice. We nod to him, pick up our pucks, and go to our dressing room.

I sit in my stall with my head down. I sneak glances around the room, where some players have already started putting on equipment. I see Noel standing there, and my mind drifts to the moment where I first met him. He could barely speak English; it was his second language. But once he stood between the pipes, boy he lit it up. We saw something in him, and took him in as one of our own.

I remember seeing a seven year old Luke, blazing up the ice as if he had jets attached to his skates. The only problem at the time was, he couldn't stop. One time he skated full tilt into the boards and separated his shoulder. He was eleven at the time. After that, I showed him how to stop. It made him a much better player as a result.

I remember seeing Charlie as a twelve year old. At the time, he was short, and big. I met him trying to skate, but constantly falling on his ass. I befriended him, helped him skate a little better, and also helped him turn some of the fat into muscle.

Over my years of hockey, I have grown a lot, helped many people achieve glory, and have tried my hardest at being a good hockey player. I cannot help but reflect on these experiences, and think about how they've made me who I am today. Hockey has been my life since I was but a toddler, playing peewee with other kids just breaking into the game. Now, over a dozen years later, I head off to junior hockey. Finally, the big step forward that I've been looking forward to for a long time.

Finally, the clock reads five o'clock and our trainer notifies us that it is time to go. As we stand up, put our helmets on, and head towards the ice, I think to myself, This is the big one. My final stand.

I must win. My career depends on it.

_____

The song on the side is "Baba O'Riley", by The Who.