The Meaning of Hockey, Chapter 28

Troy ran morning skate in Medicine Hat the next day because Bobby had some important business. His son Mike had mentioned a player whom he had met in Boston who lived in Saskatchewan just across the provincial border from Medicine Hat. According to Mike, Matt Hollingsworth was the smartest defenceman he ever played against. Matt was currently playing on an intermediate team in Maple Creek and helping his dad out on their ranch. Bobby had called the family the day before, rented a car and was supposed to meet them for lunch.

The land in this part of Saskatchewan was a little drier, but topographically much the same as the area where Bobby grew up. The hills and occasional deep coulee brought back memories of aimless walks when he was a restless 12-year old. Everyone thought you see forever on the prairie, but not here or where Bobby grew up. In these parts the land is rugged and so are the people, or at least that was a line that always garnered applause in the days when Bobby did the banquet circuit "to put something back into the game" and make a few extra bucks. Less than a month of "two a days" would pay an entire year's child support.

Why had he felt better when extra work paid for the son he never knew?

The dirt road to the Hollingsworth ranch stretched a couple of miles from the gravel road that ran ten miles off the paved highway to Maple Creek. It was a moody pre-winter day and the crispness of the low-pressure weather system moving in from Alberta reminded Bobby that no one in a right mind wanted to spend winter in this part of the world.

A man about Bobby's age with a windswept face and leathery hands, dressed in greasy coveralls, worked on the engine of a decade-old one-ton truck. He came over to greet the guest who drove into his five-thousand-acre front yard.

"Bobby Benoit, I recognize you from intermission of Hockey Night in Canada," said the man. "I'm George Hollingsworth, Matt's father."

"How do you do, George," said Bobby.

"I sure as hell used to enjoy those end-to-end rushes you could do when you were in your prime," said George.

"That was a long time ago and the story of those rushes gets better with age," said Bobby.

"No, you were a great player," said George. "Everyone from southwestern Saskatchewan was proud of you."

"Thanks," said Bobby, who hadn't had this conversation for some years.

"My Dad knew your Dad," said George.

"My Dad got around," said Bobby with a goofy smile that transformed him once again into a gangly 20-year old NHL rookie returning home to the Saskatchewan banquet circuit for the first time.

"You made us proud," repeated George, as if to politely change the subject away from Bobby's father.

An awkward silence developed quickly.

"How's the weather been?" said Bobby.

"Not bad, not bad at all," said George. "Lots of wind, but that's pretty normal in these parts."

"Almost feels like snow," said Bobby.

"Sure does," said George.

"Pretty close to winter," said Bobby.

"Pretty close," said George.

"Feels like a storm," said Bobby.

"Feels like," said George.

"Well, I guess I should leave you to your work," said Bobby.

"Matt is downstairs working on his computers and the wife is in the kitchen fixing lunch," said George. "Why don't you go in and I'll finish up here. I'll be in at noon."

Bobby knew that George came in every day at noon for lunch. Bobby knew that George likely would have lunch at noon every day for the rest of his life. He felt attracted to and yet repelled by an existence where you knew your schedule one decade hence.

"Mary," shouted George. "Bobby Benoit is here."

As Bobby walked to the house, Mary Hollingsworth, also about Bobby's age, appeared out of the garage at the side of the 20-year-old, white-with-brown-trim bungalow. She was tall and still quite slender and wore a floral print dress, over which was a white apron.

"Bobby Benoit," said Mary and he instantly recognized her from somewhere.

"Bobby Benoit," she repeated and stared at him from the top of the driveway.

"Bobby Benoit," she said a third time as his brain performed an unsuccessful search through its data banks.

"Mary," she said, but his face gave away the fact he still did not remember. "Mary Booth."

"Mary Booth," Bobby mumbled and looked away towards George in embarrassment. Mary's husband pretended to work on the truck but had one eye on the proceedings near the house.

"Mary Booth from Aneroid. Mary Booth from one grade behind you all the way through elementary school," she said.

He remembered the name but could not place it with a person or an event.

She lowered her voice and in an almost conspiratorial tone said "Mary Booth, who you kissed at Rejean Lacoursiere's Grade 8 graduation party."

Mary Booth! His first groupie experience. Bobby remembered now. She had followed him around all through grade eight and had thrown herself all over him at the elementary school grad party. Hers were the very first breasts he had ever touched in passion. Well, as much as she had at twelve. Which, as he remembered, was the most of any girl her age.

"Mary Booth," Bobby said as his eyes glanced from her face down to her chest. Still impressive.

Her eyes followed his and she immediately folded her arms. She also turned bright red, as did Bobby, who again turned away to look at George. His glare was subtle, but unmistakable. Bobby turned back to Mary.

"Mary Booth," he repeated as he tried to compose himself. "So you're Matt's mother. What a small world."

"It's Saskatchewan," said Mary. "Some of us didn't move away."

Bobby detected bitterness in her voice, probably aimed at her husband, who Mary was looking at as she spoke, but perhaps she was angry with him. Bobby had experienced bitterness before from people he barely knew. That was one cost of fame: People feel they know you. Sometimes they think about you every day when you don't know them at all.

"How are you doing?" said Bobby, who could think of nothing more appropriate to say.

Mary just glared at him.

Bobby tried to smile.

"You came here to see Matt," said Mary, mercifully changing the subject. "He's downstairs."

She took a few steps into the garage and then up a couple of stairs. She opened the door to the house and waited for Bobby to enter. He hesitated but then realized he had to get closer. He turned back to George, who still pretended to be working. Finally Bobby walked into the garage and up the stairs as Mary stood guard at the door. Bobby smiled as he attempted to slide through the narrow opening.

"Social studies," she said and moved towards him, brushing her breasts against his arm as he passed quickly by. "I helped you on the social studies test."

"Sure, I remember" Bobby said as he sprinted towards the basement stairs a few feet inside the door.

"I'll just go talk to Matt," he said, skipping down the stairs.

Bobby tripped as the staircase shifted direction at a landing, but nimbly recovered enough of his balance to stumble into the basement.

It was like falling into a parallel universe. One where night was day. One based on an old Boris Karloff film. As his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, Bobby realized he was in a room made up to look like an old castle dungeon.

Matt appeared from a hidden door in the wall.

"Mr. Benoit?"

The fright lifted Bobby's feet off the ground for at least a few seconds.

"I'm Matt."

Light flooded into the room along with Matt. He was a tall, very strong looking young man without fangs or a black cape.

"I'm really sorry," said Matt. "This place is creepy, hey? I did this when I was 13 and in love with Dungeons and Dragons. Come on in here."

Bobby followed him into another room with no windows, but at least this one had decent light. It was also filled with computers. Bobby quickly counted 11, plus printers and a fax machine and some other computer-looking devices that he did not recognize.

"I didn't hear you," said Matt. "I get caught up in my work."

"That's okay," said Bobby, as he continued to study the room. "It's good to meet you, Matt."

They shook hands.

"I'm shaking the hand of Bobby Benoit," said Matt.

Bobby smiled.

"I'm sure you get this all the time, but I feel like I know you. I heard so much about you when I was growing up. I mean, you were sort of at the end of your career when I started paying attention to hockey, but my parents … they talked a lot about you."

"Oh?" The word slipped out of Bobby's mouth and he immediately regretted its invitation to further comment.

"My Dad, he hated you," said Matt. "You always seemed to be playing against his favorite team. And of course, since you were from around here, I think every coach I ever had claimed to have played against you or with you when he was a kid."

Bobby waited for a mention of Matt's mother, but none was made. It seemed best to change the subject.

"You must be some whiz with computers?" Bobby said.

"I guess," said Matt. "I'm co-owner of a small start-up in Calgary. We own a few patents in the area of wireless data transmission."

"You work from down here?" asked Bobby.

"Sure," said Matt. "It doesn't really make much difference if you're a hundred feet or a hundred miles away. Oh, there are some bandwidth problems, but we're working on them. In fact, that is exactly what our company is working on, so it's sort of cool that I'm here and they're there."

"In Calgary?" said Bobby, who didn't understand much of what Matt was telling him.

"Ya. We've achieved T1000 speeds. That was our goal. Consistent T1000 speeds."

"That's fast?" said Bobby. "T1000?"

"That's the speed of the fastest Ethernet connections."

"Ethernet?" said Bobby.

"The wiring system used to connect a computer network."

"Right," said Bobby.

"Currently the best wireless is just about as fast as T100, the older, medium Ethernet standard and has a range of about 100 feet," said Matt. "We've doubled the range and increased the bandwidth by a factor of 10."

"That would probably be worth a lot of money, hey?" said Bobby.

"We took $10 million for 50 per cent of our company, WinJet Wireless," said Matt.

"Ten million? For half?" said Bobby.

"We'll be offered ten times that for the other half when one of the big companies sees we've actually succeeded," said Matt. "Two years ago, before the market tanked, the company would have been worth a billion. U.S."

"What's your share?" said Bobby.

"Fifteen per cent now and a third of the original half."

The kid was 18 and already worth at least three million dollars. Better than a first round NHL draft pick, thought Bobby. Why would he want to play junior hockey?

"I named it after the Winnipeg Jets," said Matt. "My company. WinJet. The investors think it's a great name because it implies fast and through the air, but that didn't have anything to do with it. The Jets were my favorite team before they got moved to Phoenix."

"So you're still interested in hockey?" said Bobby. "My son Mike tells me you're a pretty good defenceman."

"I've dominated everywhere I played," said Matt, a statement of fact, rather than a boast. "But the highest level I've played is Junior B so I don't really know how I'd do in major junior."

"I'm told that three years ago, as a 15-year-old, the coach of Boston College said you'd be the best defenceman on his team."

"One of the best," said Matt.

"And there's maybe 20 guys in the Western League now who you played against in bantam?"

Matt shrugged.

"But you never got drafted or listed?"

He shrugged again.

"Why?" said Bobby.

"Probably because I was 15 and already doing my engineering degree at MIT. I'm a nerd. Nerds don't play major junior hockey. Teams draft guys in high school, not graduate school."

"But you were interested? In major junior?"

"To be honest, I didn't know what I wanted to do back then. I was thinking maybe a Ph.D. would be fun. You know, try to get it before I was 21 or something."

"But you changed your mind?"

"I know it sounds arrogant when I say this, but it's true, so …" Matt said, shrugging. "What's the point of going to school when you know more than your professors?"

Bobby smiled. He remembered feeling that way about a few coaches in minor hockey.

"Some of them knew more than me about certain things, but not about what I'm interested in. It's been more of a challenge to work on this stuff."

Matt pointed to the computers around the room.

"I like a challenge. I like needing to work hard to accomplish something. School is too easy."

"How about hockey?"

Matt noticed something on one of his computer screens, typed for a moment on a keyboard and then turned back to Bobby.

"Hockey has never been easy for me. It's always been a challenge to keep physically fit. It's always been a challenge to be motivated. It's always been a challenge to fit in."

"With the other players?" asked Bobby.

"Players, coaches, scouts, fans, everybody."

"So you still want to play?"

Matt nodded.

"Yes. I love the game. When I'm out on the ice, playing defence, the world seems so simple. Prevent the other team from scoring. Clear-cut. Focused. Nothing else matters."

He smiled.

"I like that feeling. I like it a lot. I feel refreshed after playing a game."

Refreshed? Now there was a reason to play that Bobby had never heard before.

"Are you interested in playing major junior for the Vancouver Totems?" asked Bobby.

"I've thought about it a lot since you called yesterday," said Matt. "And yes I am interested."

"Sounds like you can make more money by devoting your time to this wireless technology."

"Money? My Dad owns 17 square miles of land free and clear. He gets sixty thousand a year from oil wells on the land, so anything he makes from cattle or wheat he uses to buy more land. Since my sister died I'm his only child. Why the hell would I care about money?"

"So why are you interested?" said Bobby.

Matt began to say something, then stopped. He sighed. He walked a small circle in the center of the room. He stopped.

"Fifteen years from now, there's a pretty good chance I'm going to be as crazy as my mother," Matt said. "I was five when she got sick, so she was 35. My grandfather got sick when he was 36."

Matt stared. Bobby looked away.

"I'm not going to have any children," said Matt. "There's a good chance I'll be dead before I reach 35."

There was no need to explain what he meant.

"I want to see what I can accomplish. In hockey, in business, in engineering. I'd like to see how good I can be."

Bobby understood. The kid was creepy but smart. He'd fit perfectly on the team.

Next Chapter: Friday

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