Power Play (7 page)

I
sat on the couch at home in my living room, trying to focus on the TV and trying not to think about the time. Of course, that was basically impossible. The ticking of the game clock kept me aware that time was passing and I still hadn’t received the call.
The call
. That made it seem so casual, a phone call. No big deal. The phone rang all day long. But this was different. It was more important than any phone call I had ever received in my life, maybe more important than anything that had ever happened to me in my whole life. Yet each passing minute meant that I was slipping lower and lower in the draft—maybe nobody was even going to draft me at all.

Coach had called first thing in the morning to reassure me again that he was going to take me in the draft. I was guaranteed to be on his team—unless somebody else drafted me first. That wouldn’t be what I wanted, but it wouldn’t be so bad … would it? I’d still be playing Junior A, just not for him. I’d have to hope that the other coach really wanted me and it wasn’t just a pick made by his GM. And then I’d have to hope that my new coach was good, and that he liked me, and that I’d get playing time, and … it would be so much easier if it was Coach Connors. Everybody knew how good he was, but more important, he knew how good
I
was—how good I could become.

My mother had mentioned to me that having him as my coach would be like having a “father figure.” I knew what she thought that meant, but the last thing I wanted was for anybody else to act like my father did.

Almost on cue, my father walked into the room, holding a beer. He looked at his watch and then at me. He didn’t need to say what he was thinking, but I knew that wasn’t going to stop him.

“Figured there’d be a call by now,” he said. “Assuming there’s going to be a call.”

“There’s going to be a call,” I said, trying to sound confident, trying to convince both of us.

I knew he’d be disappointed if I wasn’t drafted—nothing to brag about at the bar—but I also knew there was another part of him that almost would have welcomed
it. Misery loves company. If he couldn’t make it, then he didn’t want me to make it either. It wasn’t anything he said—I just knew the sort of person he was.

“Nothing is done until it’s done,” I said. “Coach promised me.”

My father snorted. “Promises don’t mean nothing. People say things all the time, but talk don’t mean anything. Haven’t I taught you nothing?”

He’d taught me a lot. You could learn almost as much from a bad example as you could from a good one.

“Coach is going to call,” I insisted.

“It wasn’t that many years ago that I was some hotshot kid thinking I was going to be a pro, thinking I was going to get the call, get the chance … and now?” He shrugged. “I’m just some worn-out bum in a dead-end job who drinks too much.”

I was shocked. That was probably the most honest thing I’d ever heard him say. He did know. Maybe that was why he
did
drink so much.

“Not that that is necessarily gonna happen to you, kid … you’re a talented hockey player,” he said.

Honest
and
caring. Where did that come from? How much had he had to drink?

“You better hope he calls, though, because hockey is all you got going for you,” he snapped.

He was right. It wasn’t just that it was the only thing I was good at, it was the only dream I had, the only chance I had. Out there on the ice was the only place I really
felt good, and I wanted that feeling to keep happening. I didn’t want to become some bitter, drunken bum in a do-nothing job, boring everybody with his stories about what might have been, how he’d been robbed, how he could have been in the Show. I felt almost ill thinking about it, about becoming
him
.

The phone rang and both my father and I jumped. It rang a second time.

“You gonna get that?” he asked.

I got up. What if it was just somebody trying to sell us new windows, or air duct cleaning, or—

“Get the phone!” my father ordered.

I picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hello, Cody!”

“Hey, Coach.”

I looked over at my father as my mother came out of the kitchen and stood beside him, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“You know what this phone call is about. As promised, I’m calling to offer my congratulations on you being drafted,” Coach said.

“Thank you.” I tried to keep my voice calm, my face neutral. In some ways it was easy, because, even hearing it, I didn’t necessarily believe it.

I gave my parents a nod and a thumbs-up, and then allowed myself a small smile. They both burst into big smiles and hugged each other. It was an awkward hug.

“I’m calling to formally tell you that you have been
drafted by the Watertown Warriors. Are you willing to play for me?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? Yes!”

“That’s great to hear. We’ll talk details later, and, of course, we have to arrange for a billet, the family you’ll live with next season. We’ll find you a good home.”

“I’ll live with anybody, anywhere. It doesn’t matter. I just want to play hockey.”

“I’ll make sure you’re living with a nice family. You might be the only player there, or there might be one or two other players, if that’s what you want. Maybe you’ll want to share with Josh.”

“So you drafted him too? That’s great,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. I wasn’t even sure I wanted him around. He was really skilled, and too much competition wasn’t necessarily the best thing when you were trying to land a job and get ice time.

“I was lucky to get him. I don’t think he would have lasted another pick, and he certainly wouldn’t have lasted to the next round,” Coach said.

“Did he go first round?” I asked.

“Fourth pick in the first round.”

“And me?” I asked, blurting it out before I thought about maybe not wanting to know the answer.

“Fourth round.”

“Oh,” I mumbled. “I thought I’d go, you know, higher.”

“Don’t be disappointed. It isn’t the round that you go that matters, it’s that you were drafted that matters. You
think anybody remembers that Mark Messier was drafted in the third round?”

“He was?”

“How about Dino Ciccarelli and his 1,200 points, or Stumpy Thomas with 933 points in twenty NHL seasons, or Adam Oates with 1,420 points?”

“You mean they weren’t drafted high either?”

“Lots of players weren’t drafted into the Show, or came into Junior A un-drafted, and went on to NHL careers. Don’t sweat it.”

“I won’t … it’s just that I thought you or somebody else was going to take me higher than that.”

“It was a gamble on my part, but not a big one. If somebody else had drafted you, I would have worked out a deal to get you back,” he said.

“You would have?”

“I know how good you are, and—more important—how good you’re going to be. The reason you sank lower had nothing to do with your skills,” he said.

“Then what
did
it have to do with?”

“Some of the scouts questioned your character. There were the problems at school, and then the whole incident at the camp … you know, being out after curfew and being caught intoxicated.”

Terry—he must have told one of the other coaches or somebody outside the organization. It was just more proof of what Coach kept saying—the hockey world was a small one and everybody was connected. If Terry had really
wanted to help me, he would have kept his mouth shut.

“You were the steal of the entire draft,” he said. “I
know
what sort of person you are. You now have a chance to show them just how wrong they were. Use your disappointment and your anger as fuel, as motivation.”

“I don’t need any more motivation. I’m going to prove them all wrong.”

“And you’re going to make me look like a genius. I’m going to give you every chance. You’re going to spend some time on the power play, on penalty kill, and you’ll start right off as the second line centre.”

I didn’t question why only the second line centre. I’d show everyone that the first line was where I belonged.

“The important thing is that you’ve been drafted. You’re going to play Junior A, and you’re going to be on
my
team. You’re
my
player.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Thanks, thanks for everything. And could you thank Terry too?”

There was silence. “I maybe shouldn’t be saying this, but Terry is one of those people you have to prove wrong.”

I guess he didn’t just talk bad about me, he thought bad about me.

“Not that he disagreed with having you on the team,” Coach said. “And he certainly didn’t question my choice. It’s just that he thought you could have been taken with a later pick.”

Great. I had an owner who wanted me but thought I wasn’t worth the price they paid.

“Believe me, you’re going to prove him wrong too. Now put your father or mother on the phone so I can give them my formal congratulations.”

“Okay. And Coach … I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t … I know you won’t.”

W
e pulled up to the motel, and Coach stopped the car at the front door—the office.

“I’ll get the rooms. Why don’t you boys grab yourself something cool to drink,” he suggested. He handed me a five-dollar bill.

“Thanks, sure.”

He headed into the office while Josh and Jake and I climbed out. We walked over to the pop machine. The motel looked practically deserted.

“Man, is it ever hot,” Jake said.

Jake was one of the other players drafted by Coach. There were four new players, and three of us were on this six-day road trip to and from Watertown. The season wouldn’t start for another month, but Coach wanted us
to meet the principal of the high school we’d be attending, spend some time with our billet family, and just get to know the town better. It made sense to be prepared because he said there would be so many new things. Advance planning like this was typical for Coach. He was always looking ahead, always doing the little things to make sure everything went well. Already he was drilling it into us that he didn’t just have a plan, he had a backup plan, and a backup for the backup.

I straightened the bill out and inserted it into the drink machine. It slid right back out. I turned it around the right way and put it in again. This time it took the money. I pressed the button for a Coke, and the machine whizzed and clicked and a can thudded into the bottom.

“This is all cool,” Jake said. “It’s like our first team trip, but with only part of the team.”

“And with no ice, no games, and boiling hot weather,” Josh added. “So, what was it like sharing a room with Coach last night?”

“He snores,” Jake said. “Sounds like a bear … a bear that swallowed a chainsaw. I guess one of you will find out tonight,” Jake said.

Four separate rooms would have been too expensive, so we were sharing two rooms, rotating roommates each night. Coach said it would give us a chance to get to know each other better.

“I’ll flip you to see who gets him tonight,” Josh said as he pulled a quarter out of his pocket.

“No need to flip. He’s all yours,” I suggested.

“I was thinking loser has to take him.”

“Then Jake should get every night,” I said.

“Funny, very funny.”

“The truth is seldom pretty, but it’s deadly serious,” I replied.

Coach came out of the office. “Okay, we’re checked in. Josh and Jake, you’re bunk mates tonight, and Cody, you’re with me.”

Josh smirked, and when Coach turned his back, he mimed starting up a chainsaw. I would have been angry if it hadn’t been so funny. Besides, his turn would come tomorrow.

“The motel is almost completely booked, so the two rooms are on opposite sides of the compound.” He handed Josh a key. “Get your things in your room and then come and find us. We’re in room 154.”

They grabbed their bags out of the car and I got into the passenger seat. As they walked off in one direction, we drove off in the other. We turned around the side of the motel and drove along the back. There were no cars there either. The other guests must have already been out, or maybe they had made reservations and were checking in later.

“There’s our room,” Coach said. He pulled the car up in front.

We gathered our overnight bags and he opened the door and went in, flicking on the light. It wasn’t much of a room: dingy, bad lighting, with brown carpet and …

“I know, there’s only the one bed,” Coach said.

It had stopped surprising me when he knew what I was thinking. He always seemed to know what people were thinking—not just me, but
everybody
. He said that dealing with people was like playing chess—it was important that you were always thinking three steps ahead.

“I tried to get twin beds in each room, like the last place, but the only rooms left had just one bed. I’ll sleep on the couch,” he offered.

“I could sleep on the couch.”

“It’s not that big a deal … my back has been much better the last year or so … old injury flares up sometimes.”

“Then you definitely need to sleep on the bed.”

He shook his head. “I’d feel guilty. Besides, I can’t let it get around that I take kids on road trips and make them sleep on a couch.”

I looked at the couch and then at the bed. The couch was tiny and the bed was huge, maybe even a queen size.

“It is a big bed. We could share it.”

“Aren’t you worried about my snoring?” he asked. “I’ve been told it’s pretty loud.”

“I don’t think the extra five feet between the bed and couch is going to make much difference.”

“Well … I don’t know,” he said.

“Please, that way I won’t feel guilty.”

“Deal, and I’ll let you choose the side,” Coach said.

It really didn’t matter much to me. I guess it really didn’t make much difference, and it was only for the
night. Besides, it wasn’t like I hadn’t shared a bed before. I took my bag and tossed it on the bed and it landed more on the right than the left—that was
my
side.

There was a knock and I turned to see the guys at the open door.

“That was fast,” Coach said.

“We’re starving,” Josh said.

“Yeah, can we eat soon?” Jake asked.

“For sure.” He turned to me. “Cody, tonight you get to pick the spot where we eat.”

“That was good,” Josh said.

“It was big,” Jake added.

“That’s what made it so good,” Josh replied.

We’d each had a couple of burgers, home fries, and the soft drink was bottomless. I was now highly carbonated.

Coach waved for the waitress. She came over and he pulled out a big wad of bills. I could see by her reaction that she was both surprised and impressed. I was still impressed, but I wasn’t surprised anymore. He always had lots of money on him. He handed her the cash.

“I’ll be back with the change,” she said.

“Don’t be silly, honey. You keep it.”

“Thank you,” she exclaimed. She walked away beaming.

“I always pay in cash,” he said. “That way, the waitress gets to keep her share and she doesn’t have to split
it with the government. As well, unless the service is crummy, you should give a good tip … around fifteen percent. Remember that, especially if you make it to the Show. Be generous, and always be kind, because people are watching you all the time. Tip crummy and it might end up on YouTube. You just remember that for a lot of people, you’re their hero, their role model, so behave accordingly.”

I
loved
when he talked about the Show. It made it seem more real, more possible.

We got up to leave.

“Thanks for coming!” the waitress sang out, waved, and gave us a big smile.

“Like I said, people remember, take note, when you treat them well,” Coach said.

“I’d like the chance to treat
her
well,” Josh said.

“It’s good to have a dream, but I think she’s a little out of your age bracket,” Coach said. “But there are lots of girls in Watertown. They’re going to be
all
over the three of you. You’re going to have to fight them off with a hockey stick.”

“I’m not planning on fighting that hard,” Jake said. Josh gave him a high-five. The two of them seemed to be getting on really well, making me feel like I was on the outside. Nothing new there.

I knew there’d be time for girls, but I wasn’t going to let some puck-bunnies get in the way of what I needed to do and where I was going. Coach had said that to me
a couple of times, and I didn’t need to be told many things more than once … well … if I thought they were right.

We walked outside and along the street to where we’d parked our car. There weren’t that many vehicles in the lot, but one of the few, a big pickup truck, was tucked in tightly beside us.

“A whole parking lot and this donkey had to park right here,” Coach said.

He tried to squeeze between the two vehicles, swearing under his breath. He brushed against both of them as he moved.

“Look, he’s so tight I probably won’t even be able to open my door.”

He unlocked it and opened it, banging his door against the truck with a loud thud. He then did it again and again, the sound of the door hitting against the truck echoing throughout the parking lot, getting louder each time as he hit it harder.

“You can get in through the passenger side,” Josh offered.

“I could, but not yet,” Coach exclaimed. “I’m not through with this guy yet!”

His face was bright red and he was looking mad enough to spit. He stomped back toward the street. What was he going to do? Was he going to try to find the guy?

“Should we go with him?” Jake asked a bit nervously.

“I don’t think …”

Coach stopped beside a newspaper box. Suddenly he picked it up and lifted it over his head! I couldn’t believe that he could do that! The thing had to weigh a ton. But why would he …? He started to carry it back.

“What is he doing?” Jake said.

There was only one reason I could think of. He carried it over and then he dropped the newspaper box onto the hood of the truck! It landed with a thunderous crash!

Josh and Jake jumped in shock. I’d seen it coming, so I wasn’t completely surprised. I looked all around. There was nobody around to see or hear what he’d done—thank goodness. There was no way that the hood hadn’t been scratched or dented or damaged in some way.

“
Now
we can go,” Coach said.

Quickly we all climbed into the car and drove away.

“I hate rude jerks,” Coach said. “They get me so angry … sometimes my temper gets the better of me.” He paused. “But I bet he won’t park that close to somebody again!”

Coach started laughing and we all joined in.

“Aren’t you afraid that you could get in trouble if you got caught?” Josh asked.

“I’m not worried. I’ve already gotten to know some of the police around Watertown and they know the police in this town. A Junior A coach is a big thing in a town like this, even if it’s not his town … If they did make a fuss, I’d make sure to give them extra tickets for games, get things signed for their kids. I’ve always done that wherever
I’ve coached … I’ve tried to develop an
understanding
,” he said.

He did seem to know everybody, and to go out of his way to get to know the people he needed to know.

What had surprised me was the anger. Not just what he’d done but how such a little thing had triggered it, how big it got, and then, almost instantly, how it was gone. It was something I could see my father doing, but there was a big difference. With my father, there was always a slow buildup, and then he took a long, long time to cool down. With Coach, both sides of the mountain had been steep.

“We have one more stop,” Coach said. “I was thinking we should get a case of beer to bring back to the motel … unless, of course, you gentlemen don’t drink.”

Both Josh and Jake protested that they’d had “a beer or two” before.

“And since Cody chose such a good place for dinner, I’ll leave it up to him to choose the type of beer. You’re partial to Canadian, as I recall.”