Page 141 of Second-Rate Superstar

It was a huge blow to morale to see our captain taken out. He was the backbone of our team, but we found a way to rally without him, earning that fourth win in the Conference Finals and making it to the championship round.

It would be us against the Minneapolis Freeze, my hometown team.

Talk about a childhood dream. As a rookie, I was staring down the possibility of winning a championship against the team I grew up cheering for as a child.

I couldn’t have drawn it up any better. It seemed like fate.

The Speed struggled without our leader, who could only watch on from the press box with the other injured players. Even as Jenner Knight—one of our alternate captains—stepped in, it was clear we were lacking a crucial piece of our team on the ice.

We dropped the first two games on home ice to the Freeze but managed to steal one on the road in Game 3. Losing Game 4 away, we returned home, knowing each game from that point forward would mean elimination if we lost. Simply put, if we didn’t win out, we were losing the championship. There was no room for error. One more loss, and it was over.

Game 5 was, thankfully, a win in Indy, so we headed back to Minneapolis for Game 6.

Being a Minnesotan, born and raised, my entire family was in attendance for what could be my final game of the season. Nothing like a little extra pressure to perform when your back was against the wall. But I knew they would be proud of me, no matter what.

Well, most of them.

When we took the ice for warmups, I saw my name on a sign in the corner. Skating over, I saw my nieces and nephews smiling and waving as I approached. Beau held a sign that read:Wrong Jersey, Uncle Braxton, but We Love You Anyway!This was the first time I’d seen their faces in person since I left Connecticut, and I silently thanked whomever had allowed strings to be pulled for them to come down to the space normally reserved for the home team’s kids.

Giving them each a fist bump through the glass, I skated off, feeling more energized than I had in months. I knew deep down in my bones that we were going to win this game.

Coach Avery spoke to the team in the locker room between warmups and the anthem. He kept his remarks brief, touching on important points, like playing positionally sound hockey, paying attention to our matchups, and eliminating bad turnovers. Most importantly, he warned us to stay out of the box, not wanting to give the Freeze any extra advantages if we wanted to emerge from the game victorious.

The team clapped as he announced the starting lineup and walked out with the rest of the coaching staff.

Jenner said a few words about playing with heart as our stand-in at the captain position.

When he was done, I raised my hand, asking if I could speak before we headed down the tunnel. He nodded, and I stood at the center of the room.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around the room, making sure to catch the eye of each of my teammates. “I know I’m the new guy, but I just wanted to stand up and say that this is the dream of every man who has ever laced up a pair of skates. But we are the ones here now. If we put one skate in front of the other tonight, I believe we can win, get home to Indy, and raise that trophy high over our heads like we always pictured in front of our home crowd.” There was a round of applause, but I wasn’t done. “Think about our captain. He’s not out there going to battle with us tonight, but no one deserves to have his name immortalized in silver more than him. So, we go out there and win it for Maddox!”

Every player rose to their feet, cheering, “For Maddox!”

Time to make our dream a reality.

For as much energy as we’d left the locker room with, the game was not going our way.

We scored a goal early in the first period that the Freeze challenged as offside, and after review, that was confirmed, wiping our goal off the board. Then, with a minute left in the first, we scored again, but that time was waived off for goaltender interference.

We couldn’t catch a break.

Going into the second period, the Freeze scored, putting us down one. We rallied back, tying the game at one-to-one before the buzzer sounded, signaling intermission.

The third period dragged on for what seemed like hours, and I didn’t know about the other guys, but I was giving it my all, and it didn’t feel like it was enough. In the final minute, the Freeze scored, and even with the goalie pulled, we couldn’t even it up before the final horn sounded.

The sting of defeat sank in as Freeze players threw their gear in the air, celebrating winning a championship we felt should have been ours.

It was a punch to the gut knowing we had two goals erased from the scoreboard early in the game, only to lose by one. There was nothing worse than knowing you were that close and fell short.

After the Freeze settled down, we lined up for the customary end-of-series handshake line. There was always such a stark contrast in these lines. One team was smiling, exuberant as they congratulated their opponents for basically losing, while the other was downcast, knowing their season was over.

The rest of the team filed off to the locker room, but I sat on the bench, watching as the trophy was awarded to the Freeze. I wanted to remember this disappointment; it would fuel me for years to come. I never wanted to feel this way again and would work twice as hard to make sure that, at some point, I was the one screaming and cheering as I lifted that fabled trophy high over my head.

When the families took to the ice, I shuffled down the tunnel. By now, the team would be mostly showered and changed. The press wouldn’t want much to do with the losing team tonight. We would debrief our traveling pack of reporters when we arrived back in Indianapolis tomorrow. Then, locker cleanout and exit interviews would be conducted with the management team.

The season was over.

My eyes were downcast, but a flash of red caught my eye as I moved down the concrete hallway. Peering up, my heart sank.

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