The Meaning of Hockey, Chapter 34

Bobby sat at his desk with the lights off. He picked up the phone and hit No. 1 on the speed dial.

“Hi, it’s me. I need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” said Frida.

He stared into the dark for a moment.

“Bobby?”

“I feel good.”

The Totems had won their last two home games and attendance had jumped to over 9,000 for the Sunday matinee and then to an amazing 9,500 for the Tuesday night game.

Vancouver loves a winning hockey team. Frida likes me. Mike likes me, wants to work with me, maybe even play for my team.

“I feel good,” he repeated.

“But?”

“I did something stupid, but I feel good about it too. Start feeling good about one or two things and it’s contagious.”

“What did you do?” Frida said.

“I just borrowed another $250,000 from Anderson.”

“What?” said Frida. “I thought if you needed money your old teammate was going to give you a loan.”

“He would have,” said Bobby. “But I made the mistake of letting Anderson into my office again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had to meet with him about our concert business that he’s supposed to look after, but he’s been ignoring, just to put more economic pressure on me. One thing leads to another and I took the $250,000 from him and I told him I wanted him out of my business completely. He’s such a slime ball and he reminds me of Brad every time I see him.”

“Am I missing something here?” said Frida. “You hate him, so you decided to do more business with him?”

“Something like that,” said Bobby, sighing. “I let my stupid male, testosterone-pumped ego do my thinking for me. Shit!”

“What else?” said Frida. “Another loan was not all you agreed to, was it?”

“No,” said Bobby.

“What else?” repeated Frida.

“I was bragging about how easy it was going to be to pay back his $550,000 by the end of the month and how I could probably pay everything back that he loaned me. I guess I was also bragging about how good the team was turning out and he just suckered me into a bet. Kind of like you and Sylvia.”

“A bet? Like Sylvia and I?”

“Well, not exactly like yours and not exactly a bet, but it might as well be.”

“You’re avoiding something,” said Frida.

“Yes, I’m avoiding. I’m avoiding. I’m avoiding because I’m a stupid immature asshole.”

Bobby conked himself on the head with the phone receiver a few times, softly at first, then a little harder on the second and third hits.

“Bobby, tell me what you did,” said Frida.

“I told you I once had a problem with gambling.”

“What did you do?”

“I made a deal with Anderson that I’d buy him out by paying him two million by January 1 and if I couldn’t, he’d get the 62.5 per cent of the team and I’d get the 27.5 per cent.”

Frida was silent for a few seconds. Bobby knew she’d be thinking of something positive to say. Finally, she said: “But he’s completely gone, if you pay back all the money he’s loaned you?”

“Yes, if I give him the 1.75 million, plus another quarter mil for his troubles.”

“That’s achievable, isn’t it?” said Frida. “You told me you thought 7000 or 8000 paid-for tickets were possible, right? Maybe even likely, you said, right?”

“Right,” said Bobby. “It’s possible.”

“And 7000 brings in almost 2.5 million, right?” said Frida.

“Right,” said Bobby.

“So, paying him two million by January 1 isn’t that big of a gamble,” she said.

“Not that big, but when you add in the other part, it’s pretty big,” said Bobby.

“Other part, Bobby? What other part?”

“The Totems have to be in first place in our division by January 1, as well.”

“Pay him two million and have your team in first place? You agreed to that?

“In writing, with two witnesses,” said Bobby. “It was the only way I could see of getting him out of my life. I know how much he likes to bet.”

“How much he likes to bet?”

“If he stays, there’s no way the team can really be run on anarchist principles. If this works, if I win, I’m going to give his share of the team to minor hockey organizations in the Lower Mainland, like Brendan suggested.”

“And if you lose?”

Bobby took in as much air as he could swallow.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have done it. It was stupid. But I don’t feel bad. For the first time in years, I feel positive about hockey.”

“You do crave a challenge, don’t you?” Frida said. “That’s who you are.”

Was that the explanation?

“You told me you enjoyed sudden death overtime more than anything else in hockey,” said Frida. “‘Sharpens your senses and puts everything into focus,’ I think you said.”

True, but there was something more.

“I do like the adrenaline rush,” said Bobby. “OT, the roll of the dice, knowing I could lose my shirt.”

He did crave a challenge.

“You know what would make this moment absolutely perfect?” he said. “If I came over there right now and made love to you.”

Silence.

“I prefer silence, to ‘no,’” said Bobby.

Silence.

“I prefer ‘okay’ to silence,” said Bobby.

Silence.

“I have never, ever, in my entire life wanted so much to make love with a woman as I do right now with you. This one tops my list of desire and the first dozen times I did it with you all those years ago are the next twelve on my greatest passion of all time inventory.”

Silence.

“Frida? Frizzy? You want to, I know you do.”

Silence.

“Say something,” he said.

“I can’t be disappointed again,” she said.

“More pressure is not what I need,” he said.

“You think I don’t know that?” she answered. “But what about me? You think I have unlimited self-confidence? My self-esteem took a pretty big hit and I don’t know if it can take another. We might be better off just being friends.”

“You can’t do this to me.”

“Concentrate on hockey,” she said. “You’re playing in the most important series of your career and your coach is insisting that the entire team abstain from sex. You can do that, right?”

Bobby sighed. “Save absolutely every ounce of your energy and focus on what needs to be done to make the Totems the best team in junior hockey,” she said. “That makes sense doesn’t it? Do that and we’ll talk about sex later.”

“You are wicked,” Bobby said. “Wicked and wise and I love you.”

Bobby skated over to Troy and Brendan, his new assistant.

“You made up your fucking mind yet?” Troy said.

Bobby shrugged.

“You guys talk about it some more?” said Bobby.

“Ya and we’re at the same fucking place we were at two fucking hours ago,” said Troy. “We both say Ladner and Smith. I say Martin and Hemingway and he says Miller and Friesen.”

“Why Miller?” Bobby said to Brendan.

“I’ve watched him since he was seven,” said Brendan, a thirty-year-old, fifth-generation Chinese-Canadian who had coached in the Burnaby Minor organization for 12 years and then two years as an assistant in Castlegar and Creston before Bobby had surprised the Lower Mainland hockey world by hiring him. “And I had him in peewee three years ago when we won the provincials.”

“When you had to fucking suspend him for the entire fucking playoffs,” said Troy.

“He’s got a very bad attitude,” said Brendan. “There’s a huge chip on his shoulder, I won’t deny that.”

“Hard to fucking deny when the fucking Pacific Coast Minor won’t fucking let him play this fucking season,” said Troy.

“The kid has had a rough life. Bounced around his grandparents’ homes and back to his Mom. Last two years he’s been with his mother and she’s really cleaned up her act.”

“I hear she’s on fucking methadone,” said Troy.

“Exactly,” said Brendan. “She was a heroin addict for five years after Steven’s Dad was killed in an industrial accident. He was a faller, killed by a chain saw.”

“We’re not the fucking Family Services,” said Troy.

“He’s 16, six-foot three and still growing. He’s the third fastest skater out there. He can play any position but goal. He’s banned from minor hockey for a year because he beat the crap out of all three guys on Langley’s top line who were taunting him by saying ‘your mother’s got needle tracks.’ I tell you, I know the kid and he’s straightening his life out. He’ll be fine and if you’re loyal to him he’ll skate through a wall for you. He’ll understand if he has to sit in the press box and he’ll fill in wherever you need him when you get injuries.”

“Brendan makes a good case,” said Bobby. ‘I like how the kid looks on the ice and if you’re convinced the mind can catch up to the body …”

“He’ll be high maintenance,” said Brendan.

“So long was you’re willing to look after it,” said Bobby.

“Sure,” said Brendan. “I’ll introduce you both to his mother. You’ll like her, you’ll see. Fucking Troy here, might like her a fucking lot.”

Troy’s goofy smiley mutt-face appeared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brendan motioned with his head towards a gorgeous mid-thirties blonde woman about eight rows up. “That’s mom and she’s been making goo-goo eyes at you the last two days.”

Troy turned Montreal Canadiens’ red. “Fuck,” he said as he looked at Mrs. Miller. “Fucking beautiful.”

“She worked as an exotic dancer to make ends meet after Steve’s dad died,” said Brendan.

“Fuck me,” said Troy.

“In your dreams,” said Brendan.

“Fucking right on,” said Troy.

“So I take it you are now in agreement?” said Bobby.

Troy shrugged and then thought about it for all of two seconds before nodding.

“You’ll make young Steve a wonderful step-dad,” said Bobby, but Troy wasn’t listening.

Brendan laughed and Bobby smiled.

“So Miller it is,” Bobby said. “And I agree with you both on Ladner. He’s a 20-year-old with four years of junior A, who still wants a chance to play major junior. He can skate and he’s smart and he can fight. He’ll be the perfect linemate and big brother for Webster. Teach him how to pick his spots. And I’m with Troy on Martin. First time I saw him in the circle I could tell he’s a natural at face-offs. Smart and he’s an in-your-face checker. A yapper. I like that. Two years of junior A experience. Tells me he’s never scored more than thirty goals in a season but believes he can make the NHL as a checker. When you need a checker you’ve got to go with a kid who aspires to the job. He’ll be perfect as the center to Miller and Webster.”

“So that’s it,” said Troy. “Miller, Webster, Martin and Smith?”

“No,” said Bobby. “I’m not with you guys on Smith. Sure, he’s probably the safest bet on defence. Big, decent skater, but I think we got somebody a lot better out there.”

“Who?” said Brendan.

“Fastest skater forwards and backwards,” said Bobby.

“Fucking Wickermasinghe?” said Troy. “He’s fucking five-foot six in fucking high heels.”

“One of the best skaters I’ve ever seen,” said Brendan. “But I don’t know anything about him, except he’s from Toronto.”

“Played Metro Junior B last season,” said Bobby. “I phoned an old teammate who scouts that league. He says Mo was called the Tamil Tiger. Apparently his father used to be some kind of terrorist from Sri Lanka. Or Ceylon, as they used to call it. Anyhow, the old man decided to move out here because he didn’t want Mo to go back to the old country and get killed in some civil war. Mo got his nickname, the Tamil Tiger, after he knocked out a six-foot-four up-and-coming superstar who liked to skate with his head down and then, on the same shift, pounded out the even bigger goon who was out there to protect Mr. Superstar. Mackie tells me that by the end of the season no one would go near him.”

“Awfully fucking small for a fucking defenceman,” said Troy.

“What have we got to lose?” said Brendan.

Troy shrugged.

“The Tamil Tiger certainly has a bigger upside than a steady Mr. Smith,” said Brendan.

Troy shrugged again.

“Okay,” said Bobby. “We achieve consensus then? Martin, Ladner, Miller and the Tamil Tiger?”

Brendan nodded and then both he and Bobby looked at Troy. Finally, he nodded as well.

“Good,” said Bobby. “Brendan, you take the top half of the list and spend five minutes with each kid. Tell each one something you like about his game. When you come to one of the guys we’re keeping, tell him why and then send him to see me in my office. Troy, you get the bottom half of the list.”

“Fucking hate doing this,” said Troy.

“You and every other fucking coach in history,” said Brendan.

Four of them get a shot at fame and fortune from hockey, thought Bobby. And the other sixteen get freedom.

Next Chapter: Friday

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