Page 22 of Pucking Around

Kinnunen takes up his place in front of the goal, flipping his helmet up to take a drink of water. It’s hard to make out much beyond a blond beard.

“Kinnunen is shortlisted for the Finnish Olympic team,” says Tyler. “We’ve got some scouts coming to town to catch a couple games.”

“Cool.” I sit forward on the bench. “Any of the other guys Olympic hopefuls this year?”

“Not sure,” he replies. “I only know about Kinnunen because reps from the Finnish Ice Hockey Association contacted me wanting his medical records.”

“And we can do that?”

“With the player’s consent, yes. If he consents, we can send his medical records to his mailman.”

I laugh again, checking my phone.

CALEB (11:10AM): All the tea in China, Hurricane.

I grin, glancing back down at the bench to see Caleb inside again. He’s talking to one of the guys in teal, handing him his helmet as his number is called and the guy skates on.

“No. 19, Josh O’Sullivan,” says Tyler, pointing to the player. “Guys call him Sully. Had his fair share of injuries. That left shoulder acts up quite a bit. Watch him like a hawk.”

I nod, jotting his number down.

“And the guy in white there, No. 22 is Novy. Lukas Novikov. He’s a big jokester. Idiot tripped on the treadmill two days ago on an untied shoelace, went down hard. Check his knee over the next couple days. He says he’s fine, but these guys will hide a punctured lung if they think it means time away from the ice.”

I jot his name down too.

“I’m sure you know this already, Price, but there’s what theytellyou is wrong, then there’s what you see with your own eyes, and lastly there’s what your gut tells you,” he explains. “You need all three to get to the truth of things.”

“Oh, I know,” I say. “You ever tried telling a linebacker he can’t start with a meniscus tear during the playoffs?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, you get it. It’s not always fun playing bad cop, but we’re ultimately here to protect them, even from themselves,” he adds. “The game only lasts a couple years if they’re lucky. Then they get the rest of their lives to deal with the damage.”

I watch the guys skate into formation as the puck is dropped. They’re playing their own team, so there are no major hits, no violence. The white side offense is constantly taking the puck down the ice. It’s obvious they have the stronger line.

I watch Kinnunen carefully. His first couple saves are easy enough. He hardly had to move his blocker or his stick. Two shots just whacked right off his pads, and he tapped the puck away to a waiting defenseman.

He must be well over 6’ tall. He’s hunched in his stance, his massive body all but blocking access to the top and sides of the net. It’s a clever tactic, just putting the biggest guy you can find in front of the net, but his height actually puts him at a disadvantage. He’s got a massive hole between his legs. The puck has a wide opening to sail right—

“Whoa,” I murmur, eyes wide.

Kinnunen moved so fast, I blinked and missed it. One second, he was casually crouched, the next he was in full butterfly, hips curled in, and knees twisted out, totally flat against the ice. He effectively shut off all access to the net. Another blink and he’s on his feet, crouched and casual.

“He’s so fast,” I murmur. “You’d think with his size—”

“That’s he’s too big to play?” Tyler says with a laugh. “Nah, Mars Kinnunen is smooth as butter. He won’t push too hard for an exhibition game. He’ll let a couple sail through just to give the guys an ego boost like—yep—”

The crowd cheers as white scores a goal. But I was watching Kinnunen the whole time. He didn’t even try to block it.

“Just wait until the points actually matter,” says Tyler. “Then you’ll really see the Bear come out to play.”

We’re only halfwaythrough the exhibition game when a young guy comes up wearing a Ray’s polo shirt. “Sorry, Doc,” he says at Tyler. “Vicki is asking for Doctor Price.”

I cast him an apologetic look, but he shoos me off with a congenial wave. “Go, go. No one keeps Vicki waiting.”

I follow the intern through the hallways back towards the office suites.

“There she is,” Vicki calls by the main doors leading out to the parking garage. “I just came back from lunch, and I got a call that your rental arrived. I need you to sign the waiver and then I can hand over the keys.”

“Oh, great.” My hand holding the pen hovers over the signature line as I notice the make and model. “Umm, Vicki? Is this…was this my only option in rental?”

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