Page 8 of The Alternate Captain
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We did it. We’ve made the playoff finals.
Swinging my legs over the boards, I hit the ice, tossing my helmet and gloves behind me. I don’t give a single shit where they go today—and my stick? Fuck it. Anyone can touch it. The whole team crowds around Ffordey as we jump up and down on the ice. The crowd is almost deafening, and music plays out through the speakers, only elating us further.
“We fucking did it,” Bettsy screams in my ear. And I pull him into a hug, just as another set of arms wrap around me.
“This is all thanks to you, Prez,” I shout, trying to project my voice toward Ryan. We’ve been friends since we were kids, and playing with him this past season has meant we’ve been able to power ahead and secure more wins with his experience.
We’ve still got the playoff semi-finals to go, but getting to the playoff weekend was such a fucking dream. Just four teams heading to the finals. I’d been trying to get this far since I arrived here, and now we’ve finally done it.
I round the guys up, signalling for us to do a victory lap ahead of the ‘Man of the Match’ awards, but protocol is abandoned this evening with all the excitement.
We group together, some guys tossing their excess gear to the ice before we skate around to the benches, showing our appreciation to the support staff first, before we turn our attention to the crowd.
It’s loud. And I’m on top of the fucking world. But only for the time we take to complete a full lap of the ice. Once we’re back at the benches, I’ve got that knot of dread tight in my chest. And when I spot Prez, pulling his girlfriend Jenna up into the air as her hands wind around his neck—jealousy. Would Kelly come to my games and support me like Jenna does Ryan? Christ. I haven’t even met her in person yet, and I’malready fabricating scenarios. Besides, she doesn’t even know I play hockey—what if she hates it? I should probably drop that into the conversation soon.
I stop where my sister stands, her camera up to her face as she looks through the viewfinder. I can tell she’s snapping pictures, so I give her a few photo opportunities before she drops the camera. She’s beaming. At least she’s here for me.
“Well done, Johnny. You guys were awesome,” she says. “How do you feel?” An expectant look crosses her face, but then her smile drops. “Give yourself this evening to celebrate your win. Then you can go back to being ‘serious Johnny’, right?” She walks toward the door, pushing it open so she can step onto the ice.
There’s talking over the loudspeaker, but I can’t make out a word of it. Between the crowd and the guys chatting excitedly around me—I’m struggling to focus. It’s only when Vicky beckons me with her hand, and a kid no older than ten steps tentatively onto the ice, that I realise I need to present my jersey to tonight’s ‘Shirt Off His Back’ winner.
“What’s your name, kid?” I say, dropping to my knee and holding my sweater out in front of us.
His mouth drops open as if he’s trying to speak, but Vicky’s call to look at her pulls his attention away.
“Smile,” she sings, clicking her fingers above her head to get him to focus on her. We both pose, then I hand my jersey over, patting him on the shoulder as he steps off the ice.
Once the rest of the match night awards have been dished out, Vicky disappears, leaving me and the guys to clear the ice, with a little help from the equipment guys.
We file towards the dressing room, our spirits high. Bettsy sings ‘We Are The Champions,’ and most of the team joins in, but I can’t bring myself to. Not yet. Not when we’ve still got games to play and games to win.
“I can’t even say that was a challenge,” says Danny, collapsing in his cubby.
I sit down in my spot and grab a towel, rubbing it over my head before leaving it draped over my neck. I listen to the guys chat as I get to work unlacing my skates.
I clear my throat as I stand up, looking around at the guys now, all of them beaming. “The hard work starts now, boys,” I say, looking around the dressing room. “I don’t need to tell you I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long fucking time. If we can beat these guys, then we can sure as hell make it to the final.”
A chorus of cheers erupts around the dressing room just as the door swings open. Coach strides in, followed by Springy, the assistant coach. They stop just before they reach the team logo in the middle of the room. Coach’s face is stony—hard, even. His mouth is fixed in a straight line as if he’s about to deliver bad news, and everyone’s holding in a breath as we wait. But his face breaks into a wide smile.
“We did it, boys. We did it.” He claps his hands together and beams around the room as everyone feels at ease enough to breathe again. “But don’t let their shit performance fool you into a false sense of security. Before anyone asks, I’m not saying you didn’t deserve that ‘W,’ because you did, but they didn’t play like they usually do. We’ve got a mountain to climb yet.” He pauses, taking his baseball cap from his head and spinning it on his finger before continuing. “Rest up tomorrow. It’s been a busy weekend. Do some dry land or research, whatever, but on Tuesday we go hard.” Coach sets his hat back on his head. “Now hit the showers. It fucking stinks in here.” He paces out of the room, chuckling to himself.
Bettsy strides over to the stereo and turns the volume up, forcing almost everyone to join in the singing.
“Come on, Cap. Join in, won’t you?” He moves right next to me so I can hear him over the noise.
“Nah. I’m going to hit the shower,” I say, getting out of my gear.
“Yeah, but we can celebrate alittle.”
“We’re only past the first hurdle, Betts. Now is not the time to get excited.”
“What did Coach say, John? Tomorrow—” Bettsy begins.
“Tomorrow—my place at 8am. We’re going to watch old games and get as ready as we can be,” I say, grabbing another towel.
There’s no way anyone is slacking off now. I pull out my notebook from my gear bag and make a note of our score and my plus/minus before slipping it back into the pocket it came from.
