Final Try Out July, 1979
As Claire arrived at the arena, the buzz of excitement surrounding the tryouts, the lobby was filled with eager young hockey players, with their gear in hand brimming with anticipation for the tryouts ahead. She watched as they lined up to register, each one eager to pick up their number and have their picture taken.
As she made her way through the crowded lobby, Claire observed the organized chaos with fascination. Volunteers bustled about, ensuring that each player was accounted for and ready to take to the ice.
The sound of cameras clicking filled the air as the boys posed for their official photos, their expressions ranging from confident to nervous anticipation.
She caught the attention of some of the boys, who couldn't help but steal glances, noting her beauty.
"Who's that?" one of them whispered to his friend, nodding subtly in Claire's direction.
"I don't know, but she's gorgeous," the other replied, his eyes lingering on her as she made her way through the crowd.
"Do you think she's lost?" another boy chimed in, earning a chuckle from the group.
Claire pretended not to notice their attention , she was used to being the center of attention, especially among a group of hockey players.
...
As she settled into her seat beside her father, Herb, Claire's focus shifted to the tryouts unfolding below. She watched with keen interest, recognizing some of the players her father had pointed out to her before.
With a crisp pass and sizzling wrist shot drew appreciative murmurs, along with winces whenever bodies crashed together. Claire's nails dug crescents in her palm watching one young man clutch his leg, praying the damage wasn't severe.
"See that kid? Herb pointed out.
They were in the top box watching the tryouts going on below them.
Claire followed her father's gaze. "That's Mark Johnson, right? University of Wisconsin?"
Every so often, her father would test her, and name a player to see what she had picked up. She knew that he was mainly doing it just to voice his thoughts.
"He's a great skater." She said, after a long moment.
"He's easily one of the best out there." Herb agreed and then continued to watch the players.
Claire often found herself doing the same thing—watching them with a sense of awe. She had a profound love for skating, both for the act itself and for observing others glide gracefully across the ice.
While she occasionally joined her friends for scrimmage games, Claire harbored no real desire to play "real" hockey. Instead, she found her greatest happiness on the sidelines, where she could simply bask in the joy and skill of the players as they navigated the rink.
About 20 minutes had passed since Claire joined her father when Herb's assistant coach, Craig Patrick, entered the box, signaling a shift in the proceedings.
"So Doc cleared him, he says it's just a sprain." Craig was referring to a player who had been injured earlier.
"That's good," Herb said, looking down at a piece of paper.
"I just wanted you to know how much I'm looking forward to being able to coach with you," Craig told him.
Claire hid a smirk, wondering if Coach Patrick would still feel that way by the time Lake Placid rolled around. Her father was not always the easiest man to work with. Or to be related to, for that matter.
"You were one Hell of a player, Craig," Herb admitted. "You're going to make one Hell of a Coach."
"And that's about the most praise Dad ever gives, so savor the moment," Clarie told Craig with a smirk.
Herb just shot her a look and continued to address Craig. "I'm gonna need you to stick too tight with these kids. If there are any big problems, you let me know, otherwise, you take care of it. That goes for you too, Clarie."
Claire nodded, she had been expecting that was how things had worked at the U.
However, Craig looked a little surprised. "Okay."
He looked even more surprised when Herb handed him the piece of paper he had been working on.
"What's this?" Craig asked.
"Twenty-six names," Herb answered. "The tough part's going to be getting it down to twenty before the opening ceremony."
"This is the final roster?" Craig gaped. "You're kidding me, right? This is our first day, Herb. We've got a week of this. What about the advisory staff, aren't they supposed to have a say in this?"
"Technically," Herb admitted.
"That means yes, but that he doesn't care." Claire translated for Craig, earning a glare from her father.
"You're missing some of the best players." Craig continued to protest.
Claire looked at her father expectantly, already knowing what he was going to say. She wasn't disappointed.
"I'm not looking for the best players, Craig, I'm looking for the right ones," Herb answered.
"You have Jim Craig to back up Steve Janaszak?" Craig asked, looking over the list again.
"Other way around," Herb answered.
"Other way around? I'm sorry didn't Janaszak just win you a National Championship?" Craig asked, seeming a little confused.
"You're not playing for the Nationals," Clarie answered before her father could. "Janney's solid, but not spectacular."
Craig shot her a look and then focused on Herb. "You know people I've talked to say Craig's game had been off since his mom died."
"Did they ever see him when his game was on?" Herb asked and then he walked away before Craig could say anything else.
Craig looked at Clarie. "Is he always like that?"
She smiled. "Always. It's part of his charm."
"So, are any of the dorms at the U willing to accommodate 26 people?" Craig asked, going directly to the point.
"And Isn't Buzzy on the roster?"
"What's your point?" stated Herb.
"He just got married. I can't imagine him being alright with having to live away from his wife for the next seven months."
"I'm not here to cater to what they want. I'm here to put a team together. You know that," he replied evenly. "Besides, it makes things easier for them to be in one place, with limited distractions."
...
A while later, Clarie, Craig, and Doc stood at the bottom of the stands facing the large crowd of hopeful hockey players praying that their name was on the list. The players hung on every word listening to Coach Patrick start to read off the list of twenty-six names.
She was also watching for reactions, seeking out familiar faces and trying to put names to a few of the unfamiliar faces. She knew most of the names on the list, though there were one or two that she hadn't heard before, and she had been unsurprised by most of her father's choices.
" O'Callahan. McClanahan. Silk. Johnson. Craig. Cox. Eruzione. That's the roster for now. The rest of you, thanks for coming out."
After hearing Mac's name Clarie grinned proudly at her friend she was expecting him to make the team, after all, she had spent a good portion of the last three years in his company and knew what a great asset he would be to this team.
Everyone started to congratulate each other as some guy yelled above everyone else, "Way to go, Rizzo."
As the majority of the athletes exited, those who had secured their spots on the hockey team began to exchange congratulatory gestures, basking in their shared achievement.
Amid this, Coach Patrick started outlining the practice schedule and expectations.
However, there was a silent exchange unfolding as Claire's gaze settled on that of Jack O'Callahan, known among his Boston circle as "OC". Their eyes met, sparking an electric connection that neither could ignore, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them.
Clarie, with her striking blue eyes and blonde waves pulled back into a low pony only highlighted her natural beauty despite her casual attire of leggings and an oversized Minnesota sweatshirt. Her beauty, effortless and radiant, was undeniable.
Jack, with his unruly dirty blonde brown hair and piercing hazel gaze, matched her intensity. The moment they locked eyes, a silent acknowledgment of attraction and a hint of something more profound passed between them, each admiring the other's striking features amidst the surrounding excitement.
Her father's voice momentarily interrupted their silent exchange.
"Take a good look around, boys," his voice, unexpected even to Clarie, drew her attention away from Jack to her father descending the stairs.
"Cause they're the ones getting off easy. We're putting a few of you on reserve, in case someone gets injured or their performance falters. The final roster will have twenty names on it, meaning more of you will be leaving. Give ninety-nine percent, and you're making my job very easy. I'm your coach, not your friend. My daughter, Clarie, over there—she might be your friend if she chooses. Otherwise, for friendship, you've got Doc or Coach Patrick."
He paused, then added sternly, "And gentlemen, cozying up to my daughter in hopes of gaining favor? Think again. It might just lead to your downfall."
"Thanks, Dad," Clarie retorted, her words laced with a playful sarcasm as she flashed a flirtatious smile towards the players.
The boys exchanged glances, some stifling chuckles while others looked surprised by Claire's boldness. Her casual demeanor eased the tension slightly, though Herb's admonition lingered in the back of their minds. Whispers were heard between some of the boys -
"She seems cool," Ralph Cox remarked quietly.
"Yeah, but did you hear what Herb said?" another replied, his tone cautious.
"I wouldn't risk it," Augie added, nodding toward Claire with a knowing look.
"Trust me, none of you stand a chance with Claire," Rammer, a player from Minnesota, stated matter-of-factly, knowing damn well how Claire was.
"Congratulations," Craig addressed the group. "Before you celebrate, make sure to grab one of these from Claire. You've got a bit of homework to do."
Claire stifled a grin as she heard the collective groans from the players, anticipating their reaction to the test her father had prepared for them.
As the players queued to collect their tests, Clarie took her place, distributing them and offering congratulations to each player for making it this far into the selection process.
When Jack approached, the earlier spark reignited. Claire handed him the test, their fingers brushing slightly, a subtle but charged connection.
"Congratulations," she said, her voice carrying a mix of professionalism and an undercurrent of their shared moment earlier.
"Looks like you've got a bit of homework," she added, a playful glint in her eyes hinting at the challenge the test posed and perhaps something more, an unspoken invitation to navigate this new dynamic between coach's daughter and player.
...
As Robbie strolled toward the exit, he stopped beside Claire with a teasingly friendly tone. "Hey there, beautiful."
Claire, unimpressed by his antics, rolled her eyes. "Hey, Mac," she replied, using the nickname favored by his teammates.
Offering Robbie a friendly hug, Claire congratulated him, and without a shred of doubt in her voice. "Congratulations, I knew you'd make the cut."
"Thinking of celebrating with us tonight? A bunch of us are heading out," he inquired with his confidence, assuming her presence was a given.
"And you're inviting the coach's daughter to join?" Claire countered; one eyebrow arched in skepticism.
He flashed a grin. "Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"
Claire exhaled a weary sigh. "I'm not up for this, Mac."
"What exactly are you 'not up for'?" Robbie prodded, smirking.
"Just...this. It's become tiresome," she confessed.
"Ah, come on. It'll be fun," he urged, trying to sway her.
She merely shrugged, a gesture of indifference.
Robbie let out a resigned sigh. "Come on you have to come celebrate; your best friend just made the preliminary Olympic team. Just think about it, okay?" he said before departing.
Her attention was then drawn by her father's voice.
"You should go," he suggested, having caught the tail end of her conversation with Robbie, her surprise evident given she thought he had left.
"Where did you pop up from?" she queried.
"Just finished talking with Walter," he explained. "He's not a fan of my methods."
"Shocking," Clarie responded, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Her father affectionately chided her, "Brat," then, looking her directly in the eyes, he reiterated, "You should go tonight."
Claire, taken aback by his advice, questioned, "Since when do you approve of me hanging out with your players?"
"I don't," Herb stated bluntly. "And let me be clear, I don't want you getting involved with any of them. But I do believe you should get to know them. Plus, you could use some fun."
Clarie couldn't help but scoff. "Fun? Is that what we're calling it now?" she challenged, incredulous at the notion of her father endorsing a night out with the team.
"Not exactly. I'm suggesting you do your part and familiarize yourself with the team. And stick to soda," he added, setting his expectations.
Realizing the underlying duty in his words, Clarie resignedly agreed, "Fine. I'll go. "