Page 55 of The Friend Zone

With the refreshments taken care of, all we have to do is enjoy the game between the Star Cove Knights and Bridgeport U.

JAGGER

We lose. Again.

This time to be honest it isn’t our fault. Despite the obvious tension between us after the fight Coach had to end during last week’s ill-fated practice, we played pretty well.

What made the difference between the single puck Bridgeport sneaked past Tucker’s goal and our scoreless game is sheer luck.

Every pass, every block, every breakaway our team put forward tonight was on point.

But luck wasn’t on our side. Every single time we shot that puck into our adversaries’ goal we were either blocked by their goalie or we narrowly missed our target.

So Bridgeport U ended the game with a shutout and the only reason the score isn’t even worse, is that Cole and I gave everything we had tonight.

“We’re fucking cursed.” Tucker groans, throwing his helmet on the floor of the guest team’s locker room. “We played welltonight, but we still fucking lost. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that goal, guys. That puck came literally out of nowhere.”

Cole, our team captain, claps Tucker’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, man. You had an amazing game. If it wasn’t for you, we would have lost by more than just one goal.”

Tucker doesn’t look appeased by Cole’s absolution of his performance. “I don’t get it, man. I blocked so many shots tonight, but you and Jagger also played well. Our second line was on point too. It’s like fucking Murphy’s Law. Everything that could go wrong, just did and all Bridgeport had to do was to capitalize on our fucking rotten luck.”

I don’t disagree with his assessment of our performance.

“Maybe we need to change something in our rituals? Do you think I should wash my lucky game underwear?”

A debate begins about it. The consensus is that while Tucker’s “lucky underwear” are a legit biohazard after over eighteen months of being worn during every single game without knowing soap or water, they’re not to be washed.

The conversation turns into an evaluation of every single good luck ritual we have in place.

“Maybe Jagger should get a bj even before away games.” Tucker suggests when it becomes clear that everyone is doing their part to ensure a favorable fate on game day.

Last year, I would have jumped at the opportunity to get head before away games. The only reason I never suggested it is that it can be tricky sneaking a puck bunny into an arena we don’t know as well as our home turf.

There’s also the fact that we don’t always have a lot of loyal fans following us to away games. It really depends on how far away we have to travel and the time of the year.

“That would be a little too complicated,” I say, ignoring the guilt that twists my insides.

I hide behind the difficulties of finding a willing girl and sneaking her into ‘enemy territory.’ But in reality I’m full of shit.

If we have to believe in good luck rituals—and all my teammates do, myself included—then I’m the reason why we keep losing.

The proof is in the fact that we’re playing well despite what the scoreboard says. Further proof is that the only time I got that lucky bj, we obliterated our opponents.

The debate goes on for a while and I’m grateful to Cole and Ryker for not throwing me under the bus.

I know they’re both mad at me for how I handled the situation with Bay, so I appreciate that they save my ass from what could be a really difficult predicament.

“We need to keep playing the way we are,” Cole concludes. “It’s all we can do until we win a game and maybe we can spot something new that will tip the scales in our favor.”

Everyone agrees with our captain. This is how good luck rituals are born. You feel frisky and sneak someone in the locker room to blow you and score a hat trick? Instant keeper.

You forget to bring clean underwear with you and wear an old, smelly pair you left in your locker and get a shutout? You stink the whole team to death by never washing your boxers again.

Hockey players are the most superstitious creatures in existence.

“If we ever win again,” Corey sighs.

“Shut up,” Tucker reacts. “Don’t even think about us losing every game this season. We need to manifest that our luck will change until we get more lucky shit to boost it.”

---