Page 100 of Well Played

I prowl, nose around, pick up various products to examine. The X-ray machine is a new model, and I glance at the manual sitting underneath to see what kinds of advances have happened in the last couple of years.

With a tap on my shoulder, Gnauss says, “If you have any suggestions, either for stuff we should carry or anything else that improves treatment or accessibility, let me know. I’m always open to innovation.”

I shove the booklet back into its space. “Don’t expect anything right away, but once I’m into the swing of things, I’ll have a better idea of what works and doesn’t work for me.”

The sound of a throat clearing breaks into our little tête-à-tête and we both swing around, nearly bumping against Madison.

“Can I help you, Madman?” Gnauss asks softly, as if trying to make sure we’re not overheard.

“Uh, yeah, Doc. It’s Sauer. He’s blowing it off, but I think he’s not in great shape. If you watch him, the effort he puts in trying to hide a limp is crazy. Word is he told Coach that he won’t work with Maya.”

“Yeah, he told both of us after practice this morning. Not that he has a choice.”

“Where is he now?”

“Working on the weights. I told him that yoga might be better.” Madison turns to me. “We have a yoga instructor for the team. Adnan is great at working on rehab with the physios and the AD. I can introduce you if Doc wants to have a chat with Sourpuss.”

With hearty German bonhomie, Gnauss says, “Good idea, Madman. I’m pretty sure Adnan is in his studio space.”

With soft lighting and attractive pullout bins that hold mats, blocks, straps, neck rests, and blankets, along with shoe cubbies, the large rectangular room, with underfloor heating that warms the hardwood, is both luxurious and understated. A cutting-edge sound system plays soft classical music, fostering an immediate feeling of peace.

In the corner is a small glassed-in space housing a man in yoga clothes, who peers at a generously sized computer screen. We slip off our shoes and slide across the floor toward him.

He doesn’t even look up, just says, “Can I help you, Madison?”

“Adnan, this is our new senior physiotherapist. Today is her first day and I knew you were someone she needed to meet. Maya Pullman, this is Adnan Faraj.”

Liquid brown eyes gaze into mine and my brain itches a little, as if he reads me like a deck of tarot cards. “Ax said you would be working on rehab with Frank Sauer. If you need any help, let me know. He’s not a fan of yoga, but the stretching would do him good. Perhaps you’ll be able to persuade him.”

My laugh, with its bitter tinge, spurs Madison. “He already made his feelings known about working with her. Maybe the two of you could kidnap him, withhold food and water, and force him to take care of himself. I just put Doc onto him. The stubborn ass.”

Lightening the mood, Adnan says, “I’ll get the family hitmen onto him.”

My eyes are tearing but I manage a small smile. “I appreciate that. Maybe my hockey player brothers can help them.” Then, as I remember one reason why I wanted to meet Adnan, I go on, “By the way, if you don’t mind, I’d love to join your sessions.”

“Sure. Won’t hurt to have you as a role model for the team too. Some of the guys, like this guy and the goalies, are passionate converts, but others are still reluctant to participate.”

“Older players, defensemen?”

“Not always. There are a couple of rookies who think they are too good for yoga. But attendance is required and I hope to win them over in time.” He moves out from behind the desk and holds out his hand. When I give him mine, he puts both palms around it, then gives a little bow. “Hank was never interested in cooperating with me, but I look forward to a fruitful partnership.”

Madison turns to go with a wave. “Thanks, Adnan. See you tomorrow. Time to go back to Doc Gnauss and see if the lion tamer has been successful.”

Feeling better and a little mischievous, I ask, “And what happens if the lion wins?”

He makes his fingers into a gun. “Bang.”

5

I didn’t hear him because my two Stanley Cup rings were plugging my ears.

– Patrick Roy

Frank

The FaceTime pingcomes through just after I finish on the weight machines. I’ve been remembering the good times on the ice, the Stanley Cup teams I was on, and the surprising year when I was awarded the Lady Byng for "player adjudged to have exhibited the best type ofsportsmanshipand gentlemanly conduct combined with a high standard of playing ability." Three Norris trophies too.

Hockey is my home, my only love, the one thing I could do well. Now I’m on a steep downhill slide and for the first time in my life, I’m scared of the future.

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