Power Play (3 page)

“Yes, of course!”

“Good, because I can only help you if you are prepared to dig down and, most important, do what I tell you. Will you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I’m prepared to help you get that dream.” He flashed a big smile and held out his hand once more. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

We shook.

“You’ll hear from me,” he said.

He climbed into his car and started it up, and I watched as he drove away.

As soon as he disappeared I could hardly believe that what had happened had
really
happened. Was he real, this guy in an expensive suit, driving an Escalade, giving away
hockey tickets and free sticks? Somebody who believed in me, somebody who thought I could make it to the Show and wanted to help me get there? But there in my hands was the proof. Two first-rate, expensive hockey sticks.

S
tay still,” my mother pleaded as she fixed my tie.

She tightened it around my neck. “There, that looks really nice.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, you’re going to have to learn to tie your own tie someday,” she said.

“I hope that day is soon.” All Junior A teams had game-day dress codes that included a tie and jacket and dress pants.

“And your father’s jacket fits you very nicely,” she added. “You’re almost as big as him now.”

I was almost as tall and we were about the same weight, although it was in different places—his was around his stomach and mine around the shoulders and arms. Over
the past few years, I’d gotten bigger and stronger, and he’d just gotten older and fatter. I’d started to think about what would happen if the two of us ever got into it. I’d seen my father lose his temper with people on the street, at a bar, at the arena, and he could be a wild man. One of the few things that I’d inherited from him. I wondered if I could take him now. I wasn’t sure, but I knew I could give him a fight. That thought was comforting and disturbing all at once.

“You don’t want to keep Mr. Connors waiting,” she said.

She always called him “Mr. Connors” or “Coach” when she spoke about him or to him. He was more than just a scout for Junior A, he was a really successful coach himself. Since that first meeting, he’d made regular phone calls to the house. He’d always talk to me, but he’d spend more time talking to my parents, especially my father. I could tell just from my father’s side of the conversation that Coach was buttering him up. I was okay with that. Since this had all started happening, it was like my father was sort of proud of me.

“What time are you meeting Coach Connors?” my mother asked.

“The game starts at seven-thirty so we’re meeting by the main entrance to the ACC at seven.”

“Who’s Toronto playing tonight?” she asked.

“Montreal.”

“Your father would have loved to see that game.”

“Coach already gave him tickets. You’re the only one who still hasn’t been to a game.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t even like hockey that much.”

“You
don’t
?”

“Well … I like the hockey games where my son is playing.”

“In that case, then, I’m hoping you’re going to see a lot of NHL games someday. And do you know what I’m going to do with my signing bonus?”

“Buy a fancy car?” she asked.

“Buy a new house … for you.”

She smiled. “Your father would be so happy to own something nice instead of renting this sort of place … it would be wonderful to have something that nobody could take away from us.”

“It’s not for him. I’m buying the house for
you
. He can live there—as long as you want him to live with you, as long as he behaves—but it’ll be
your
house.”

She gave me a hug. “That is so sweet, but let’s keep this our little secret.”

I nodded in agreement. She was right. It was better to keep this from him, like it was important to keep lots of things from him.

“Here you go,” my mother said as she handed me a twenty-dollar bill.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Buy yourself a hot dog or some popcorn. It’s always good to have a few dollars with you.”

I stuffed the bill in my pocket. There was never a lot of extra money lying around the house, so I couldn’t help but wonder if that came out of our grocery money. I guess I’d find out if we had mac and cheese more than twice this week. That wouldn’t bother me. I liked mac and cheese.

I shuffled nervously from foot to foot, watching the crowd stream past the ticket takers. It was almost 7:20. I had been early, and now Coach was late and the game was going to start in ten minutes. It was tonight’s game that we were going to … right? I looked up at the marquee—Toronto versus Montreal. Even if I’d gotten the day wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten the teams wrong. Maybe he’d gotten hung up in traffic, or … I saw him walking through the crowd.

He was, as always, dressed in a really nice suit. Even from a distance I could tell that it was a lot fancier and more expensive than the jacket I was wearing. I felt even more out of place standing there in my father’s old jacket, which smelled of cigarette smoke and spilled drinks.

Coach glided toward me. Despite the crush, it almost looked as if people were moving aside to let him by and … there was somebody with him. Another kid about my age … and he looked familiar.

Why had he brought somebody else? I’d thought this was going to be just him and me. And then I felt relieved. It was hard having to make conversation with an adult, especially one I really didn’t know that well. He was nice and everything, but still.

He saw me and waved. I waved back.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” he said. “I had to pick up Josh.”

Josh didn’t look very comfortable either, and I wondered if the jacket he was wearing—a little too big—was
his
father’s jacket too.

“Josh, this is Cody,” he said.

We mumbled hellos.

“Although, you two already know each other pretty well from playing hockey against each other,” Coach said.

Suddenly I recognized him: Josh Snead. I’d played against him for years. We
hated
each other.

“You broke a stick over my arm last year,” he said to me.

“I’m sorry, because—” I said.

“No problem,” he said, cutting me off. “It didn’t hurt for that long.”

“I wasn’t sorry about slashing you. I was sorry because sticks are expensive. I hate to waste them.”

He looked surprised … and then he laughed. “I gave you a few good licks after that.”

We’d
danced
, with both of us getting a fighting major and me getting two for slashing, and him two for instigating. I had to give it to him—he was a scorer, not a fighter, but he hadn’t backed down.

“You got in a couple of shots,” I agreed. “But it wasn’t me who went to the penalty box bleeding.”

“Not bleeding
badly
,” he protested. “I also remember I got two goals that game.”

“That would explain why I broke the stick over you. We can’t all get a Gordie Howe hat trick,” I said.

Josh looked confused, and Coach chuckled.

“Well, I guess I got the last laugh,” Josh said. “We did finish first and made it to the semifinals. Your team really tanked.”

There were no gloves to drop, but if he wanted to get into it right there, that was okay with me. My hands, still at my side, were curling into fists.

“Are you two planning on having a rematch right here in the lobby?” Coach asked.

“Of course not,” Josh said. “Hey, all your team really needed was a good goaltender.”

I relaxed my hands. “I would have settled for one who was only half bad instead of all bad.”

“Okay, gentlemen, let’s get to our seats,” Coach said.

I couldn’t believe the seats. Platinum, a dozen rows behind the Leafs bench. We were so close that I could hear the players yelling and swearing. There are players from all over the world speaking lots of different languages on an NHL roster, but everybody seemed to speak fluent swearing.
Tonight there was a lot of “communication” going on. Of course, there was no love lost between Toronto and Montreal, or the players who were on their teams.

I was a Toronto fan—frustrating because they never won anything. Being a Leafs fan meant hating everything about the Montreal Canadiens. The only thing worse than Toronto doing badly was Montreal doing well. But at least we weren’t burdened by any hopes, while the Montreal fans always believed that winning was possible, even in a year like this, when they weren’t any better than us. We Toronto fans
knew
we weren’t going to win. Expect nothing and you don’t get disappointed.

This game was, like most between these two teams, pretty close. No matter how bad Toronto was, they always seemed to save their best for Montreal. It was a 1–1 tie—which was sort of a victory for the Leafs.

The first period ended with the Leafs on a power play. Well, at least what passed for a power play. I’d given up thinking that they’d score and just hoped they wouldn’t give up a short-handed goal before the period ticked off. The buzzer finally sounded.

“Anybody want anything to eat?” Coach asked. “How about a dog, a drink, and some popcorn for each of you?”

We both agreed. Coach pulled a thick wad of bills from his pocket, peeled off a couple of twenties, and handed them to Josh.

“You do the honours this time, and Cody will get ‘em the next intermission.”

After Josh left, sideslipping down the aisle, Coach leaned over. “Can you keep a secret?”

“No problem.”

“I want to tell you something that basically nobody else
does
, or
can
, know about.” He lowered his voice. “It won’t be official for another two weeks, but I’m going to be named head coach of the Watertown Warriors.”

“Junior A, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“Thank you. And that has some important implications for you.”

“For me?”

“I’m going to be working with the GM and the owner to determine who we’re going to draft. How would you feel about playing with Watertown next year, playing for me?”

“That would be incredible!”

“Of course, that would mean moving and being billeted locally. Some kids from big cities have trouble adapting to life in a small town. And Watertown isn’t just a small town, it’s a hockey-crazy town. The Junior A players are local celebrities. You live under a bit of a microscope … everybody is watching what you do. Do you think you could handle that?”

“I’d like to try.”

“What would you think of having Josh as a teammate?” Coach asked.

I didn’t like him, or anybody I’d ever played against, but that wasn’t the answer I was supposed to give. “He’s a good player.”

“He led the league in scoring,” Coach said. “But you and I know that there’s more to being a hockey player than scoring goals. What do you think of him as a teammate? What sort of guy do you think he’d be on the bench and in the dressing room?”

“I’ve never heard anything bad about him. If we’re in the same dressing room, then he’s my teammate.”

“Good to hear. He might be worth a pick if he’s still there when it’s our team’s turn to choose.”

“I’m just not sure how he’d feel about being on the same team as me,” I said. “It wasn’t him that broke a stick on me. Maybe you need to ask him the same question.”

“Indirectly he already told me,” Coach said. “On the drive down, he said he hated to play against you—one of the highest compliments a player can give another player—but he’d love to have you on his team.”

“Does he know about you being named the head coach?” I asked.

“You’re the only player I’ve told. Keep it under your hat until it’s officially announced.”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure why he trusted me with this, but I wasn’t going to let him down.

The final buzzer sounded and the Leafs had another moral victory—they’d lost by only two goals, the last one an empty-netter.

“Not a bad game,” Coach said. “Especially if you’re a Habs fan.”

“Cheering for Montreal to win is like getting up at five in the morning and cheering for the sun to rise,” I said. “It’s gonna happen whether you cheer for it or not.”

“He’s right,” Josh said. “Anybody can be a fan of Montreal. You have to be a real diehard fan to cheer for Toronto.”

He held up his hand and we exchanged a high-five.

“I hope neither of you is in a rush to get home,” Coach said. “I have a surprise. We’re going to meet some people before we leave.”

“Who?” I asked.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

We followed him out of the stands and through a corridor. He led us past a pair of security guards—both of whom recognized Coach and shook his hand—and into a sort of party. There were lots of people, sipping on drinks and nibbling on food. Coach was greeted with smiles and handshakes. He seemed to know everybody and everybody seemed to know him. And because they all seemed so glad to see him, they seemed happy to meet us as well.

Some didn’t need introductions; they were former Leafs, people I’d either watched on TV or just knew because I knew hockey. The hardest part was mumbling out a few words so I didn’t look like a total idiot standing in front of one of my heroes. I fought the urge to ask them for autographs.

What was almost as impressive was watching how the
players treated Coach—with respect. They talked hockey, and while they didn’t necessarily agree with everything he said, they certainly didn’t argue very hard.

“There’s somebody you
really
need to meet,” Coach said to us.

We walked toward an older gentleman. He looked familiar … then I realized why. He was a former NHL player—a real star in his day. Man, my father would have gone crazy if he’d been there. He gave Coach a smile and the two of them hugged!

“Boys, I’d like you to meet—”

“Terry Fisher,” I said, cutting him off. “It’s a real honour, sir,” I said as we shook hands.

Coach introduced us by name and Mr. Fisher shook Josh’s hand as well. Of course, Josh knew of him too, but probably not the way I did.

“Mr. Fisher, you’re just about my father’s favourite player in the world,” I said.

“Call me Terry, son.”

“Sure … okay. Terry, my father still talks about plays you made.”

“Tell your father thanks for me,” he said. “My guess is that I’ve been retired too long for either one of you to have ever seen me play.”

“Yes, sir,” Josh said.

“Not live, but I’ve seen footage … lots of it,” I said. “That goal you scored in game six of the playoffs against Boston in 1985 was unbelievable.”

“Lots of people come up and talk to me about that goal, but very few of them are … how old are you?”

“I’m turning sixteen, sir.”

“Well, not many of them are turning sixteen. It’s nice to have people remember.” He turned to Coach. “I’m assuming that these two are players.”

“
Excellent
players. Both of them will likely be in Junior A this coming year.”

“Then I might be seeing more of you two. I’m part of the ownership group of the Watertown Warriors.”