A lot of guys would complain about being so far from home. I love it. The Ontario Hockey League is the staging ground for the next generation of NHL stars. Names like Gretzky, Francis, Lindros, MacInnis, Potvin, Coffey, Thornton and Staal all played in the league before going on to superstardom in the NHL. I'm not saying that I'm going to be those guys, I probably won't be but this year is my draft year and I intend to make the scouts pay as much attention to me as humanly possible.
So, I won't deny that it was a bit of a distraction to have Sasha here this weekend. A pleasant distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. I understand why dad's here; it's a big year for me and my brothers Jack and Tim, so dad's doing his best to get us through it with the best possible result. Jack and Harry are here because they like watching hockey games and as entertaining as High School hockey might be, it's not Canadian Major Junior. Even Sasha's dad, I mean I can understand why he'd come along on the trip, he hates Washington almost as much as dad now.
But Sasha? She might like hockey, but would she travel a thousand kilometres to watch a game? Unlikely. She is my friend, but how much could she possibly miss me that she couldn't wait until I get a little time off? There's gotta be something more going on here. Anyway, back to what I was saying, and the fact that I have to get back to it tells you how much of a distraction Sasha can be.
I followed my routine pretty close to the letter yesterday; until I got to the workout after the skate. Normally, I can run a few miles on the treadmill, get on the bike for a few more miles and then do a few reps on the bench. I didn't do as many miles on the treadmill as I usually do, I didn't go as far on the bike as I usually do and I only did ten reps with the 150 instead of fifteen. I was out of the gym about thirty minutes early, which isn't good. Then I showed her around the city, not like there's a lot to see compared to D.C. but I showed her around anyway. We ran into a few guys from the team at Dairy Queen near the arena; Huddy, Gags, Chunky, Mr. Fabulous, Doc and Chief were real nice to her but I could tell just from their tone yesterday that I was gonna hear it before the game this afternoon.
So, now we're sitting around the dressing room before our Sunday afternoon game against London. The London Knights are one of only two or three other teams in the Ontario League with a program on par with ours. We're sitting around, tying our skates or taping our socks around our shin-guards. "So Cap', come clean, how long have you been tappin' that ass we saw you with yesterday?" Carey Moore's a bit of a pain in the ass and a little arrogant but he's funny as hell.
"Back off, Carey." I toss a rolled up ball of tape at him.
"I don't know, Cap'." Doc is pulling the laces on his skates tight. "She seemed awful cozy with you, I find it hard to believe any guy our age spends a lot of time with that woman without getting a horizontal dancing lesson."
"I said back off, guys." I stare down at the hard blue rubber mat under my feet.
"Back off, fellows." Huddy steps in to act the part of my older brother. He gives me a fraternal pat on the shoulder and the room goes quiet. It's amazing how the guys in this room respect him. Him and snowman are the oldest guys in the room; they've earned the silence when they ask for it. "Besides, he just said he hasn't, doesn't mean he won't." And once again the laughter in the room sparks up.
"Alright, cut the grab-assing." Coach walks in and with a thundering baritone, he silences the room. "Now, we've got something to prove, men. The London Knights have been touted as favourites to win our division this year. Everyone thinks that they've got what it takes to march over the rest of the league and all the way to Kingston for the Memorial Cup in May. Here, right now, is where we start our quest to stop them. You've all read The Hockey News and you've all watched television and you all know what the pundits and the "experts" think. But none of that matters because a hockey season is played sixty minutes at a time and for the next sixty minutes; it's your job to stop the London Knights, alright!"
"Yeah!" The guys all shout. Now that we're all finished putting on our equipment, we line up at the door to head for the rink. Team Co-Captain Paul "Snowman" Winters, is standing at the door tapping each of us on the shin-guards as we pass. The arena here is the loudest I've ever skated in. Fans turn out 6,500 strong to watch us play, kids come up to me before and after the game to ask for my autograph and they do it while wearing a blue and white Ranger jersey with my name and number on it.
There's a quick skate for the starting line before we stand on the blue-line for the national anthem. It's the same starting line as it was against Erie. I'm starting on right wing and Huddy is between me and Mr. Fabulous. One thing I love about this league as opposed to playing High School hockey in the States is the pace. In my last season in Virginia (technically a half season, since I left for here in January) I had ninety goals in twenty-eight games. It was easy when I was the biggest, fastest guy on the ice with the best shot. Here, I'm just one guy out of twenty three in a red, white and blue jersey and a red helmet.
The puck hits the ice and our white jerseys clash with the black jerseys of the London Knights. The puck slides into our end and White chases it down and around behind the net. He slides an outlet pass up to Carey at the half-boards in our defensive zone. Carey takes a quick survey of his options before throwing a quick pass up to Huddy who's streaking through the middle of the ice.
When Huddy gets a full head of steam, there's almost no one in the league that can put a hand on him. Huddy moves his way around three London Knights and soon there's only one London defenseman standing between him and the London goal. Huddy moves to his left to go around the defenseman but at the last second, the London defenseman sticks out his knee to trip up Huddy on his way by. Huddy crumbles to the ice and just as he does, he slides me a pass and I fire a quick shot over the shoulder of the London goalie into the net. The red light goes on and the referee motions that the goal counts but back in front of the London net there's a fracas between our two teams. I skate over into the middle of it and I notice that Huddy is down on the ice clutching his knee. Carey's getting in the face of London's resident shit disturber, Brendan Danko. I step between Carey and Danko to try and separate them but Danko takes a swing with his glove and punches the side of my helmet.
I turn back toward him. "You wanna go, Danko?" I charge. Danko's a little pain in the ass, I've probably got four or five inches on him and at least twenty pounds. Danko nods hard at me and the two of us move away from the fray and the refs at the same time. We drop our gloves and pull our helmets off. We spend a few seconds circling each other before launching into the fight. What a lot of non-hockey people don't understand about fighting is that it's how the players police each other during the course of the game. If someone goes after one of your best players, than it's the job of one of your tough guys to go out there and set him straight so that the rest of your guys are left alone. If you don't respond, then it keeps happening.
I can hold Danko at arm's length with my left arm while just swinging away with my right fist. I land a few good hard punches to his cheekbone and forehead. I think he only lands two punches, one hits my shoulder and the other only glances my chin. I've pull his jersey over his and I've got him bent over. Now, I'm going straight upper cuts and I land two or three really hard ones right square on his nose. Danko begins to bleed, his nose is probably broken and he falls to the ice. The referees come over and separate us. The fight's over.
Danko's being guided to the London dressing room so that the Knights' trainer can patch up the three cuts he received in the fight. The fans here in Kitchener are on their feet giving me an ovation as the ref guides me to the penalty box. Carey brings my gloves, stick and helmet over to the penalty box and hands them to me. "If you didn't straighten the little fucker out, I was going to." He tells me with a wide smile.
"Glad I could be of service." I chuckle as I put my helmet back on my head and wait for the public address announcer.
"Ranger goal, his third of the season, scored by number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross! Assists to number sixty-eight, Tomas Hudarcik and number ninety-four, Carey Moore; time of the goal, 1:02." The PA announcer clears his throat. "Kitchener Ranger penalty to number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross, five minutes for fighting. London Knights penalty to number six, Brendan Danko, two minute for unsportsmanlike conduct, five minutes for fighting and a ten minute misconduct." There's a cheer from the crowd when they hear about the added penalty time to Danko.
It's my draft year, and I know that as much as the scouts love watching guys score goals, make beautiful plays to set up goals, lay down big hits and skate like the wind; they love seeing guys stand up for their team-mates like I just did. So, I'll admit that standing up for Huddy wasn't a completely altruistic endeavour. But for my efforts, I get a five minute sit-down here in the box.
We've got one of the best power-play units in the league but with Huddy in the dressing room getting his knee looked at and me sitting here in the penalty box, it's lacking a bit. We run four forwards with Nolan White as the lone defenseman because of his thundering slap-shot. Nick Bay (we call him 'Doc') wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Gags (Aaron Gagne) at the point. Gags, works the puck around to Chief (Henry White Owl) at the half-boards. Chief works the puck back up to Gags at the point. Gags shifts a pass over to White. Carey and Doc rush the front of the net and Nolan powers a slap-shot on net that goes through a maze of legs, including those of the London goaltender, and into the net. The arena erupts with cheers again and I thump my stick on the penalty box door to cheer on my team-mates. Within seconds, the public address announcer takes over again.
"Ranger goal, his second of the season, scored by number four, Nolan White! Assists to number twelve, Aaron Gagne and number twenty-seven, Henry White Owl; time of the goal, 3:01." The Public Addresses announcers is soon drowned out by loud choruses of "oh-oh-oh, let's go Rangers!" from the crowd. I'll sit out the remaining, three minutes and one second of my penalty a little easier now.
At the end of the period, we're still leading the Knights 2-0 as we head for the dressing room. I walk in and sit at my dressing stall while our trainer Raff Leopold works on Huddy's knee. "What's the prognosis, Raff?" Coach looks down at the trainer.
"Looks like an ACL problem." Raff says with a scowl on his face. "Can't tell if it's bad enough to require surgery or not." Everyone in the room fears hearing those three letters from Raff's mouth: ACL. If it's not bad, then you're out for 5-6 weeks. If it does require surgery, then your season is over.
"Alright." Coach nods. "Doc, you're up on the top line with Brad and Carey." Nick Bay gives the coach a nod. Coach turns to me and laughs. "Since when do you fight?"
"Couldn't let a little shit like Danko get away with a cheap shot on Huddy, coach." I answer trying to avoid the glare that is likely burning holes in the top of my head.
"Alright, just remember not to swing above your weight class." Coach laughs. "Alright guys, we're controlling the play well but I'd like to see us take the Knights out of the game here in the second period. You're bigger than they are and you're stronger than they are. No one crosses your blue-line, understood?"
"Yeah." There's a round of mumbles.
"Good!" Coach's voice gets a little louder. "Take the body to them and don't let up just because we've got a few more goals. Keep your feet moving, you draw more penalties that way." After a few more minutes of stressing the game plan, coach pulls the third and fourth liners aside for a little fine tuning while the rest of us tighten our skates and re-tape our sticks.
"Hey, Cap." Huddy taps my shoulder pads.
"What's up, Hudd?" I question as I look back over my shoulder.
"Thanks for getting that little bastard for me." He grunts in pain as Raff examines his knee.
"Don't mention it, Hudd." I groan as I pull the laces on my skates tight. "You'd do the same thing if it were me, right?"
"Hell yeah." Hudd says somewhat enthusiastically.
"We'll win the game for ya, Hudd." I give him a pat on the shoulder as the buzzer goes out on the rink meaning the ice cleaning is over and we've got to line up to go back out for the second period. Coach sends Gags, Chief and Connor Langford over the boards as the forwards to start the period while the rest of us sit on the bench. My family's still here, they'll go home tonight because Jack, Harry and Sasha all actually have to be in class tomorrow. The lines change on the fly and the coach give me, Doc and Carey pats on the back to climb over the boards.
Doc's normally our top shutdown centre but he'll be playing an offensive role now that he's with me and Carey. Doc jumps right into the play coming back toward our own end and throws a huge body-check that knocks the Knights' Captain flat on his back. Doc scoops up the puck and fires a crisp pass up to me. After a few strides, I reach top speed and it's me and Carey headed in on the London net. I shuffle the puck, backhand to forehand and then back to the backhand. I'm turning on my skates slowly, always aware of where Carey is. As we get in close to the net, I flip a quick backhand pass over to Carey who drives a shot passed the London goalie. We've now got a 3-0 lead.
"Ranger goal, his second of the season, scored by number ninety-four, Carey Moore! Assists to number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross and number seventeen, Nick Bay. Time of the goal, 2:44." We head over to the bench as Doc gives me and Carey a pat on the head.
We score three more goals and London answers with only one and I manage two more assists on the night giving me my second four point game in only two games played this season. After the game, I come out and do a quick curtain call after being named the game's first star. I head back to the dressing room, shower and change into my suit. I walk out of the dressing room to see a familiar five-foot-seven form.
"You're only slightly less dominant here than you were back home." She tells me with a fond smile. She's so beautiful it's amazing; it really is. There are a lot of girls who are hot or sexy or cute or even pretty but Sasha can just look effortlessly beautiful. In a lot of ways, it's kind of Audrey Hepburn-like, her beauty. But I'm ranting on about beautiful things, a characteristic never associated with hockey players, trust me.
"It's not dominance when you've got help like I have at this level." I answer with a smirk.
"Call it what you will, you've put up eight points in two games this weekend." She replies with another of those sly, suspicious smiles that I've gotten used to over the years. You know the kind that only slightly hide her teeth and only for a second or two at that.
"You ever think that maybe you're just my good luck charm." I question flirtatiously as we move through the inner annals of the arena to where my dad's limo will be waiting at the back door again.
"You were the rookie of the year last year in spite of the fact that you only played half the season here, I think you do pretty well on your own." She playfully punches my shoulder.
"Yeah, but I figured giving you some credit would keep me out of trouble." I laugh as we walk through the back door and see the waiting limousine. I know dad's a former President and that the Secret Service finds it easier to fulfill their duties with a limo but something about it just makes me a little uneasy. I shake hands with Mr. Rabb before getting hugs from Jack, Harry and of course, my dad. We all pile into the car so that I can ride with them out to the regional airport where dad has the company jet gassed up and ready to go, I'm sure.
"You sure played well this weekend, Brad." Dad breaks the uncomfortable silence
"It's the first weekend of the season, dad." I reply. "No one has their legs yet, it's easy to look good under those circumstances."
"Still, I ran into scouts from the Washington Capitals, Boston Bruins and Detroit Red Wings that were all very impressed." Dad comments as if in passing. The biggest myth that draft eligible hockey players tell is that they don't watch their stock. Central Scouting Services, International Scouting Services, Red Line Report and McKeen's all release reports on the top draft eligible talent. Last I checked, ISS had me as the 12th ranked skater eligible for next June's Entry Draft. Sufficed to say, I'd like to at least crack the top ten by then.
The rest of the ride to the airport is filled with light small talk and whatever we can muster up to pass the time. Harry and Jack tell me about school. Jack tells me about his girlfriend and football. Harry tells me how it sucks to graduate from middle school this year. Sasha tells me what it's like to be student body President or some damn thing. She basically runs every student activity on that campus apparently. Their lives seem remarkably rich and varied. Mine is remarkably not. I go to school, I work out, I practise to play hockey and I play hockey. I normally do all these things with the same group of twelve to fourteen guys and on a pretty rigid schedule.
The car pulls on to the tarmac near the plane. It's not a busy day here, so there aren't many incoming planes and it's a small regional airport anyway. We all walk over to the plane. I shake Mr. Rabb's hand again and he boards the plane. Harry and Jack both give me a big bear hug before boarding the plane. Next up is dad. "Be good and don't give your billets any trouble." He orders with a smile on his face.
"I'll try." I reply.
"And I want to hear that you're leading the league in scoring by Christmas." He's kidding this time, but it's something I'd like to accomplish anyway.
"That might be easier than the first thing." I answer. He leans forward, wraps me in a big bear hug and boards the plane. Now it's just me and Sasha standing on the tarmac, holding up traffic. "I want to get weekly calls when you get back to Washington."
"I'll see if I can pencil you in." She flirts a little. "When are you going to be back home?"
"Well, we play three games the weekend of Canadian Thanksgiving and three the weekend of American Thanksgiving. I'm hoping to be headed to Lake Placid, New York for a week before Christmas for the training camp for the American World Junior team. So, I might get a thirty-six hour reprieve for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Then we have to head up to Philadelphia for the World Junior Championship." I just realized that I won't spend more than a few days with my family until early June. That's kind of depressing.
"Wow, so I'm not gonna see a lot of you?" She questions, suddenly those big eyes I so adore look on the verge of tears. I reach up to touch her cheek. "You know, I always wanted to know why you left to come play up here. Why you didn't just get drafted out of high school? I mean a lot of good players have played American High School hockey, why come here?"
"Scouts only know you're the best if you play against the best." I answer somewhat robotically. "I want to do this with my life, I want to be a professional hockey player. Not just because I'm good at it but because I love playing the game. This is my best shot, this year, right now. I have to do this." I take a deep breath. "Please, don't think it was easy for me to leave home and school and…" Say it, damn it, get it out, "…and all you guys." Coward.
"That's it. It's only ever been about hockey?" She sniffles a bit. "You could just get up and go?"
"Well, I come back in the summer and I'll be back around Christmas, that's pretty good." I try to joke but it falls flat. If we were back in Virginia, this would be the time when I would take a few seconds to let my eyes ogle her. She would then blush, giggle and move on to the next subject. But see this discussion is wading dangerously close to the water of "us" which is a discussion I would rather amputate my scrotum than have right now. "Come on, we'll get to spend Christmas in Philly, it'll be fun."
"The school's planning a winter dance. I know it's not the kind of thing you usually go for or like or whatever, but if you guys break camp early in Lake Placid and you get back for the 23rd of December, consider dropping by." She looks a little longingly at me as she moves to board the plane. "I get kind of tired of being a wallflower at those things, you know?"
"Yeah." I nod. "I'll try." She boards the plane and vanishes from my sight. I turn and head back to the car. There are thirteen members of the team that currently attend high schools in Kitchener, only seven of them go to school with me at Eastwood. In the ten months I've been here, I've seen guys have girlfriends and break-ups; great grades and cram sessions; and just about everything else that comes with being between the ages of fifteen and twenty. I climb back into the car and head for my billets' house. I'd love to make that dance. But knowing my schedule, I got a better chance of landing on Mars on December 23rd.