The Meaning of Hockey, Chapter 32

In Regina, Billy Weldon allowed his first goal in a Vancouver jersey, but the Totems ran their unbeaten streak to five games with a 3-2 victory. Matt Hollingsworth played his first game for the Totems and looked better than Bobby had hoped. He was a solid skater who moved the puck well. He seemed especially good at making an outlet pass from behind the net. He had the ability to see a teammate just as he was about to get open. When Bobby played he loved a defenceman with the cunning to understand where he was headed before the opposition had a chance to defend.

***

"Last night Mike came very close to telling me he won't play, but he won't tell me why," Bobby said to Frida through the magic of cellular technology as he sat in the stands after morning skate at the Moose Jaw Civic Centre.

"Maybe he just doesn't like hockey anymore," she answered. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"He seems scared of something," said Bobby.

"Scared?"

"Ya, that's the sense I get," he said.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, it's just a feeling. Nothing rational.

"Fear is usually irrational," she said.

"Is it?" he said.

"Fear of the unknown is the worst fear," said Frida. "That's pretty irrational."

"It's not like that in hockey," said Bobby.

"Well, I guess on the ice with sticks and pucks and sharp skates you've got pretty solid reasons to be scared," said Frida.

Bobby thought about this for a few seconds as he stared at the ice surface below him, where he had learned to confront his fears so many years ago.

"No, you were right, it's the fear of the unknown that's the worst thing, even in hockey. When you grow up with swinging sticks and sharp skates and hard pucks flying around you don't think about how dangerous it is. When I was little, we never even wore equipment most of the time, just skates and gloves and a stick. No shin pads or pants or shoulder pads or elbow pads, or even a helmet. We carried our sticks everywhere. All winter the streets were covered in hard-packed snow, so we even played walking home from the rink. We'd stickhandle or shoot balls and pieces of ice as we walked to school or went to the store. We shot rocks at streetlights. We shot hunks of snow at the girls. We shot pucks at our best friends' heads, just for fun. Kids would get cut, but it all seemed normal and I never remember being scared.

Once we were shooting pucks in Maurice Laberge's backyard. His dad had flooded a patch about the size of the blueline to the goal. Maurice would pretend to be Jacques Plante and I'd be Bobby Hull and I'd shoot pucks at him for hours at a time. Two winters in a row I cut him in the head. One time six stitches above his eye and then the next year, twenty-one across his cheek. I guess my shot was getting harder."

"I'll bet he was scared," said Frida.

"Maybe, but he wasn't very good."

"Maybe he wasn't very good because he was scared."

"Couldn't say, but I don't remember ever being scared of getting hurt. Not even in junior and I saw some pretty bad stuff happen. Marty Hunt, he was a pretty damn good player. I saw him lose an edge and go feet first into the boards and break his leg so bad the bone between his ankle and his knee was showing right through the skin when the trainer took off his shin pads. He never played again. I saw Mike Fitzpatrick, not a bad defenceman for Regina, get a puck deflected during warm-ups right into his face, shattering his left eye socket. Never regained much vision on that side, never played again. Lots of concussions, but we never took them seriously. A whiff of smelling salts and then back on."

"That's terrible," said Frida.

"Worst thing that ever happened to me was in junior, right here on the same ice surface I'm looking at now, when this crazy little bastard from Estevan -- don't remember his name, -- swung his stick at my head, just as I was sitting down at the players' bench. It was a two-hander, as hard as he could swing and I didn't see it coming because I was turned towards the trainer, asking for a water bottle. I don't know what would have happened. Maybe it would have been the last game I ever played. But, my left winger, Billy Hay, saw it and just as the heel of the blade was about to catch me across the temple, he swung his stick across and blocked it. Two inches later and I might not be here."

"I can't believe you say that so matter-of-factly," she said.

"I don't remember being scared until I was in the NHL. And then the fear wasn't about getting hurt. It was about what would happen when my career was over. That's the worst fear in hockey. The fear of being cut. And I don't mean a skate blade through your skin. Fear of being cut from the team. The fear of not being good enough. The fear of some fresh-face junior punk coming along to take your spot on the roster. The fear of failure. The fear of the unknown. The fear of failure as a father. The fear of the unknown. The fear of never finding love. The fear of the unknown."

"The fear of getting to know your father. The fear of the unknown," Frida said.

***

That night in Moose Jaw, Bobby decided to give Weldon a rest and Guy Tremblay came up big for his tired teammates, stopping all but one of 46 shots as Blair Kiniski earned a hat trick in a 3-1 victory. Hollingsworth earned assists on all three markers and could have had more if Buckinghorse had scored on any of the three first period breakaways that the defenceman had set up. Matt's seeing-eye passes had the Warriors' coach screaming at his D-men to back up to the red line every time he touched the puck.

***

"I promise to be all that I can be," said Bobby, on the phone from yet another motel.

"Sounds like a U.S. Marines commercial," said Frida.

"Don't make fun of me," he answered marveling at how words from Frida that would upset him if spoken by anyone else, actually made him feel good, because he loved the sound of her voice.

"I wrote down what you said and I got each one printed on heavy paper so I can put them on the hotel room walls."

"What I said?"

"About your perfect man."

"You didn't!"

"I did."

"Read it to me."

"Okay. 'Thoughtful, kind, caring, a good story teller, funny, strong but gentle, wise, well read, capable of clearly explaining complicated theories, not too career focused, a good friend, a good lover, a good father, finds you sexy at every age, possesses a smile that lifts your spirits, is an eternal optimist, is patient, is considerate of your side of the story, is neat, smells nice, wants to snuggle an awful lot, loves to go for long walks holding hands, is interesting, finds you fascinating, has a face that lights up every time he sees you, looks at the world in a weird and novel way like a perpetual child, but is mature and responsible - a multi-faceted individual."

"You wrote it down?"

"Each idea on a piece of construction paper and I've got them taped up all over the hotel room walls."

"You're joking?"

"And everything you're told me about politics. I will read them to myself all night, every night until I can never possibly forget. I promise to be all that I can. When I set my mind to something, I always succeed. I will not disappoint you. Your friends will be impressed. You will win your bet, I absolutely, unequivocally, guarantee it."

"Bobby?"

"What?"

"You want my professional opinion?"

"About?"

"You."

"Sure."

"You are a computer with a burned out mother board, a radio with a defective transistor, a engine with seized pistons - you are completely and utterly bonkers."

"Ya, but do you miss me?"

***

It was yet another Weldon shutout in a 1-0 win in Prince Albert against the Raiders. The boys were learning to play better defence and waiting for scoring chances off their opponent's mistakes.

***

The team was exhausted and like had often happened in Bobby's lifetime of such excursions, the Totems' second last game of the road trip was a stinker. They lost 7-1with Tremblay in net -- not that the score was in any way a reflection of the play of their netminder. It was what many coaches would call a good loss -- it relieved the pressure of a seven-game winning streak and brought the team back to earth without damage to its confidence.

***

Knowing that the game against Swift Current was their final game of the road trip energized the Totems and the result was a 0-0 tie as Weldon stopped 56 Broncos' shots. It was another stunning performance but all Bobby could think of was returning home.

***

The Totems had left Vancouver a last-place 0-5 team, but when the bus pulled into the Coliseum front parking lot about 20 hours after it left Swift Current, the new-look team was 7-6-1 and only six points out of first in the Pacific Division.

Bobby ached from a lack of sleep and old injuries, but he felt good nonetheless. The office staff had kept him informed of the progress of season ticket payments, which the successful road trip had pushed over the 400 mark. A couple of wins at home and Bobby was confident that he would be able to pay off Anderson before the Dec. 1 deadline. Also helping his good mood were the happy drills, which Bobby had faithfully worked through every day. And Frida was in her car, waiting in the parking lot as the bus pulled in off Renfrew Street.

Bobby was the first off the bus and they hugged. He felt a pleasant mix of joy and lust. It was good, after a busy road trip, to feel a longing for something other than another victory.

"You run out of room for your hockey stick or are you just happy to see me," said Frida, smiling as she pulled back from an embarrassed Bobby. Bobby hung his head like a Grade 2 boy sent to the principal's office.

"I just wanted to say hi before I went to work," Frida said. "But we could head back to my house."

"Don't get your hopes up too much," said Bobby, looking down below his belt. "I don't know how much it means. I mean, it means something, but I don't know for how long."

"We'll talk about it tonight," said Frida.

"You want to go out for dinner?" said Bobby.

"Aren't you tired of restaurant food?"

Bobby shrugged.

"I started the beans this morning for my world-renowned burritos," said Frida.

"Sounds great," said Bobby. "Seven-thirty? I got some TV and radio things to do. Oh, shit. Can I phone from your place to a radio station? It's a live sports talk show I promised to do."

"Sure," said Frida. "But I've got to go. Full day."

"Me too," said Bobby as he kissed her on the cheek.

He watched her climb into her car and drive off, south down Renfrew. As Bobby turned back to the bus, some of the players were still holding hands with their girlfriends and catching up on the past two weeks. The newcomers to the team stood, not knowing quite what to do, in the parking lot. At least the sun had cooperated and welcomed them to Vancouver. Then Bobby saw his son Mike standing inside the glass door of the office entrance. It was the first time he had ever returned home to a son.

Next chapter: Monday

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