Page 2 of Unmasking Love
For the better part of my adult life I’ve moved from one place to another for hockey. And, while I don’t emotionally invest anymore, it is still draining to relocate. My parents followed me out east to Boston for college but have settled back in Minnesota once I started bouncing around between teams. I better call and tell them the news. Get it over with.
I know you lost the last round but how much do you want to bet my mom will be glad I’m moving to another major city with multiple airports, cultural experiences, and reputable medical systems?
No dice? Fine, I respect that. It would be easy money for me and I would feel a little bad sandbagging you again today.
Chapter 1
Aiden
Aiden Youngren, reporting for duty.
"HowyoufeelingAiden?"
"I feel fine,” I know it’s an evasive answer and my mom probably wants a more detailed description of my current state but honestly I’m a little nervous. Instead of swirling up my mother’s anxieties too, I focus on locking my bike up to the rack outside the practice arena. The bike trails around D.C. are impressive and in close proximity to almost everything I need. After a month on a bike tour through Switzerland and south eastern France this summer, I was glad I didn't have to abandon the two wheels for ride shares.
"You sound a little anxious." Mom projects as I slide my keys into my pocket. "But you’ve done this before and they’re lucky to have you. Remember to be open and stay positive."
“I will Mom.” I try not to groan like a teenager. I understand why she’s saying it.
“There was an article about positive social connections and its impact on health outcomes for cancer patients.”
“That’s interesting.” I offer because she really does mean well.
I pause as I look up at the practice facility. I stopped in last week to meet with Coach Bradford but this is my first time meeting the guys. The group of hockey players I’ll train and play alongside for as long as D.C. will have me.
"Aw hjärtat,” she says using the Swedish endearment meaning heart that she’s used since I was little. “Try to make friends, Aiden. It’ll do you good to bond with your teammates."
"Okay." I reluctantly agree. “I gotta go Ma, love you.” She returns the love and says goodbye before I pull out my earbuds and slip them into the case, ending the call and letting the ambient noise of the outdoors rush in.
I disagree with her though, I don't think whether I’m friends with the guys makes one iota of difference. If I can do my job effectively then I'll stay on the team. If not, I'm out.
I haven't had the chance to be a difference maker. And I doubt I'll get one here. Gavin “Ironman” McKenna has been in the league for twelve years and he's only 30. He was drafted out of high school and started right away. I remember watching his debut game and thinking how fluid his movements were. How dialed in he was. I'm only a few years younger than he is but I didn't get my break in the big leagues until after college.
And that “big break” involved a lot of riding the bench.
After stints in the minors on affiliate teams, I rode the bench in Chicago, San Jose, Denver, Seattle, St. Louis, Tampa, and then New York. After the first trade I was still optimistic I'd have a historic, legendary career. But with each move I left a little bit of ambition behind.
I still have the drive. I'd quit if I didn't because being a goalie at the professional level is not for the meek. I simply wish I could become a franchise cornerstone. The guy the team relies on.
I'm literally the last chance on the ice. When the opposing team has broken through the other five guys it's up to me. And instead of feeling fear or apprehension like you might expect, I feel solid. I feel locked in. It's me, the threat, and the puck.
I watch the small joints. It's the ankles and wrists that tell you where the puck is going. Hips too but these days players are so strong they can whip a puck across their body with terrible form and still sneak it in.
Sometimes during the scraps and the scrums in front of the net the only chance I have is to watch the gloves of the other team. Those moments feel like whack-a-mole. My head is on a swivel tracking the puck.
But since I haven't played a full game in about six months, it's been a while since I've felt the rush of that moment.
I hike my backpack up my shoulders and walk towards the practice facility entrance. This is the first informal skate, I expect there to be a few drills but nothing too heavy. We'll meet with the trainers and coaches, get our condition checked, and get a training plan in place. I plan to stay later and work with their simulator which tracks my eye movement to make sure I'm following the puck quickly enough.
The practice facility is a few miles from the arena. I got a tour from Coach Bradford last week. He’s got an office here that overlooks the ice. We sat there and he talked to me about his philosophy for this team. How he believes in bonding on and off the ice. How the team’s history is strong and he is proud to be a part of it. How he wants his players to be proud of it too.
I’m not sure if he was the one to decorate the practice facility but sweaters of Hall of Fame Renegades hang along the wall. Banners from conference titles line the rafters and the team’s single Stanley Cup banner from the 90s holds centerstage, right above the locker room entrance.
It must be their version of Play Like A Champion Today.
As I approach the locker room door, it swings shut and I hear "He's coming!" in a shouted hiss. I slow down and narrow my eyes. Are they waiting for me?
I've had teams try to startle and prank players. Usually around April Fools Day though, not on the first day of the year. It makes good social media content, I get that, but as a goalie I have to keep myself as even keeled as possible so I don't give them much to work with.
