Page 69 of Goaltender Interference

“Jack,” Matt said, without turning. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” Jack Crane said. “I was just thinking about how you always stay out here. I guess I should’ve asked why you do it sooner, huh?”

Matt glanced over his shoulder at the future hope of the Montreal Royal. “Well, you didn’t really need to.”

Jack’s serious brown eyes crinkled a little at the edges. It wasn’t quite a smile. He had made the team out of camp this year after being sent back for another year in juniors last year, but he hadn’t quite gotten used to the major leagues yet, and it showed. “I’m going to need to learn all of the ins and outs eventually.”

Matt looked back out at the stands. He couldn’t see much from this distance, with the glare of the lights in his eyes. “What do you know about the Colisée?”

“I know it was where the Royal played from the beginning, until sometime in the mid-nineties when we moved to l’Arène.”

“It was, and it was more than that. There was a history in the Colisée that you could feel. It wasn’t just the building itself, it was on the ice, too. Teams used to say that when you played in the Colisée, you weren’t just playing the men on the ice, you were playing the crowd, and the ghosts of all of those who’d come before them.”

“Yeah?” Jack asked, skeptical, as he stared up at the lights. “More thanhere?”

“It wasn’t just atmosphere or vibes, you know? They used to say that it was almost magic. A stick lift when you really needed it. That extra bit of a push when you were rushing for the puck. The referee’s eye turned at just the right moment. It was the ghosts, giving that last small extra bit that they had, for us.” Matt exhaled. Even now, talking about it, he got the little shivery chill, the joy of that history and the part he’d played in it. Not everyone got the opportunity to play in Montreal, and he had done it for so long.

“I didn’t know you were so superstitious, Cap.”

“It’s hard not to be when you play here long enough. You see enough shit that it really...sinks in.”

“So—the Colisée? The ghosts?”

“Right. The Colisée, and the history. So they say that when the Colisée shut down, got converted to shops and a theater and we moved to the new facilities, the ghosts didn’t come with us.”

“I heard about the curse. I never put much stock into it.”

“The curse isn’t just about the building—it was moving from the Colisée, trading Belanger out of Montreal, too—but they used to say that we’d never win a Cup until things were made right, one way or another. Either we made peace with him, or we brought the ghosts to l’Arène again with us somehow.”

Around them, the bustle of the pregame routine: some of the guys were coming back out into the tunnel to work through their exercises; the equipment staff were rushing back and forth to handle problems and requests; the coaches were deep in conversation outside of their office. Above them, the hum of the crowd as people streamed toward their seats from outside and from below, where they’d been watching the team warm up at the glass.

“Butyouwon a Cup,” Jack said. “You wontwo. So what does that mean—the ghosts, the curse? It wasn’t real after all?”

“I don’t know. Before that season, it had been decades since the Royal had won a Cup. Since any Canadian team had won a Cup. I think... I don’t know. I think about it sometimes. Was that enough? Are the ghosts still restless, or will they finally follow us home? Did I do enough to cement my legacy here? Did I do enough for the city, when I’m gone...?”

It wasn’t a thought that he could articulate well. Matt had thought about this, obsessively, over the years. The Royal weren’t just a team, they were a history, a religion. The captains who had come before him hadn’t just won one Cup or two Cups, some of them had won ten. The captains who had come before him werelegends, men who’d made the sport what it was, men whose nicknames were still household names in Montreal. Matt had won the Cups, but it was just a drop in the ocean of history that made up the Royal’s bloodline. He was reminded of it every time he went into the dressing room and looked up at their pictures above the stalls. He was reminded of it every time he walked through the halls of the arena or stood by the statues outside. He’d brought the Cup home, but what did it mean for the city,really? What did it even mean for him?

He’d always felt like he could or should do more. But he was running out of time.

Jack slanted a sideways look at him. He was slight for a hockey player, young enough that he was still growing into his lanky body, with the kind of posture that said “recalcitrant teenager” more than “superstar hockey player in the making.” The posture didn’t go with his attitude at all, serious and solemn like he knew what it meant that Matt was taking the time to talk about it with him. “This is the shit you have going through your head every time you’re standing out here looking at the lights?”

“Sometimes. Not exactly this. But I think about legacy a lot. The history of the team and what that means to the city. Andwhat I’ve built here, and what I’m leaving behind when I’m gone.”

“You’ve built a good culture, at least.” Jack’s arms crossed over his chest, like he was shielding himself from the fans. “Even I could tell that, just coming in. And you had the Cup.”

“It’s important. The culture, I mean. Not just what you’re doing with the team, and with the boys. But knowing about the men who came before you. The history of it. It matters to the city and to the fans, the same way that working at your French will take you a long way. I’m always...conscious of it, to some extent. It’s a heavy weight. But it’s an honor, Jack.”

“You sound like you’re trying to, uh, set up a will or something.”

Matt exhaled again. He was conscious of the weight again, on his shoulders, on his knee. “I’m not going to be here forever. You and the rest of the rookies are going to have to carry the torch, you know?”

“But you’re not...you’re not retiring?”

“No. Not yet. I just don’t know what the trade deadline’s going to bring. That’s something else you’ll learn the longer you play. That a no-move clause is worth negotiating. Or you never really know your future.”

“It’s really hard to imagine you playing anywhere else,” Jack said, with another one of those sideways looks.

“It’s hard to imagine playing anywhere else,” Matt admitted. “I’ve been here my whole career. I really thought I’d retire here.”

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