Chapter 5 – Imbalance
"Come on, Gordo!" Ted roared through the empty arena; he could see his breath puffing out in a cloud of white as he yelled. "Push it! Don't slow down! You're a machine! Go faster, come on! You get no rest."
He watched sternly as Gordon skated laps around the ice. When Gordon approached him about trying out for the minor league club, The Waves, Ted decided he would train Gordon. Just because Gordon helped a bunch of kids win at Peewees, that didn't mean the guy wasn't out of practice. He was rusty, to say the least. Gordon's coaching tactics might've worked for children. But this was for men. That meant Gordon needed someone who would push him harder and make him work for it.
And Ted didn't start soft, either. He had Gordon up at the break of dawn since five in the morning, skating around the arena for a good while – he had Gordon at first see how long it took him to do twenty laps. After the timer stopped, Ted decided he wanted to see how Gordon broke that record time.
Gordon was close to breaking his record. He was now on the nineteenth lap, skating hard and fast and panting hard.
"Come on, come on! Push it! You're almost there!" Ted yelled. "One more, come on!"
Gordon finished the final lap, gasping loudly and coughing, his lungs heaving up and down as he nearly bent over.
"No, come on, straighten up and walk it off. Put your arms behind your head and breathe. You know to fucking breathe!" Ted snapped, walking alongside Gordon and handing him a water bottle while he watched him sternly.
Finally, Gordon caught his breath enough to speak. "Thanks, Ted."
"I told you, after all this is said and done, you're going to hate me," Ted joked.
"I could never. You're a better coach than Reilly was," Gordon said, grinning.
"Don't mention him. I'm just surprised Daniel Larson's father finally did something about him."
"I'm even more surprised that Ducksworth convinced Reilly to plead guilty. And that Phillip Banks supported the prosecution."
Ted nodded in grim agreement. After the Hawks lost that Peewees championship, Daniel Larson's father, Montgomery Larson, walked into the locker room to find Jack Reilly viciously assaulting the boy by breaking a hockey stick over Daniel's wrist while he screamed at the boys, calling them "a bunch of losers" and "wussies," blaming them for the loss. As a result, Montgomery and Tonia Larson, Phillip and Allyson Banks, Wyatt and Lylah Brown, Max and Nora Foote, and Sean and Kimberly Herek all collectively ended up suing Reilly for physical and emotional abuse and reckless endangerment of minors. Apparently, even Ducksworth knew that Reilly stood no chance because he convinced Reilly to plead guilty, and Reilly was currently waiting to start his five-year prison sentence.
Ted supposed karma was a real bitch. Not only did Reilly lose at the championship, he lost his job and his reputation, and there would be no possible way for him to rebuild. Now, the Hawks were scrambling, looking for a new coach for their next season. He wouldn't lie that he felt a little bad for the Hawks; there was no way they'd be able to recover from something like that. But looking at Gordon, who was making it to the minors, he felt that there was some justice, knowing the kid that Jack Reilly had beaten down the most was succeeding in life while Reilly would spend five years behind bars in a prison cell.
"Well, we're not done training yet," he said to Gordon. "We're going back to my house because you need weight training. And I wanna see how many burpees and jumping jacks you can do, too, because you'll need all the stamina you can get if you're gonna keep up with the youngsters trying out."
"Don't remind me that I'm old, Ted," laughed Gordon.
"I would think coaching those kids would make you feel younger."
"They do. But they can only do so much. I'll be going up against kids half my age."
"But you'll be here in Minnesota still; it won't require you to live somewhere else, so you'll never be far from home unless it's an away game."
"That's not the part I'm worried about."
"Let me guess? You've found someone special?" Ted grinned at him, bumping his shoulder with Gordon's.
"You could say that," Gordon said wistfully.
"Yeah, you made it no secret at the game."
Gordon blushed all the way to his hairline. "She told me her condition is commitment. I'm not sure how committed I can be while on the road. It makes me wonder if I could keep that promise."
"Well, what does she expect? A ring?"
"No. Just that I don't lose touch, ever. And that I put her kid first. I can put her son first. That's not even a question for me. I just . . . I don't want to lose anything when I just got it, you know?"
"You can't be afraid of that," Ted said. "If it's not meant to be, then you've got to face it head-on. You can't be afraid of her rejecting you or you guys not being able to work it out. Because if you really care about her kid as much as you do, then you two will remain friends and set things aside and you will continue coming around for the kid. That's what matters most."
Gordon sighed audibly. "Yeah, yeah, I guess you're right. When did you get so wise?"
"I've been spending a lot of time with Jan and Hans," Ted said. "When you spend so much time with two old Scandinavian geezers who sound like walking fortune cookies, you learn a thing or two."
Gordon grinned at this. "Yeah. They're rarely ever wrong about anything. Hans made it clear that I'd succeed by teaching those kids to have fun."
"And that's great and all, but fun and games won't cut it when they get older."
"That's true. But they're not at that point yet," Gordon said seriously. "And I could see you coaching, too, Ted. Though I think high schoolers would be much more for you."
"I might have to," Ted admitted. "They're talking about moving the team to Anaheim; nothing's been finalized just yet. If that ends up happening, I'd have to go and find something to do. I might talk to Buckley – he's the dean now at Eden Hall. They're looking for a new J.V. coach for the '93-'94 season."
"Then that means you'll have big shoes to fill if you're up to it."
"I will be," Ted said, determined. "You ready to head back to my house?"
"Yeah." Gordon grinned back at him, skating off to remove his ice skates.
The news that Gordon made it into the Waves traveled fast over the summer. Even though the Waves were a rookie team, Gordon was turning them into a team of winners during the new season. Even if Ted couldn't watch a game because he was playing, he listened to it on the radio whenever he could. But one day in late December, when Ted was in the locker room for his own practice with the North Stars, his manager, Patrick Malone, approached him, wearing a serious expression on his face that seemed to match his dark, pinstripe suit.
"Ted, I need to talk to you about something," he said. "We need to discuss your contract and what will happen at the end of the season. And there's also been some developments you should know about."
"What is it?" Ted asked.
"The team won't be moving to Anaheim," Pat said, the tone in his voice letting Ted know how serious this new development was. "Apparently, there's been a contract between the Walt Disney Company and the NHL – they want to form a team in honor of the District Five Ducks; they're planning to call it the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim."
That was far more than Ted expected. Gordon being called the Minnesota Miracle Man was one thing. But Disney wanting to form a team that honored the District Five team? Those kids were going to positively flip when they learned that they would be represented by the House of Mouse; Ted recalled a joke one of the kids told Gordon that he'd relayed to him about the team being sponsored by Donald and Daisy. It couldn't be more ironic and fitting. Even though it was unexpected, Ted felt a swell of happiness at the thought; it meant that the District Five Ducks were being recognized, that they were finally getting that respect they'd never gotten before, all thanks to Gordon, who'd changed their whole lives and made them into something extraordinary. They weren't just famous in Minnesota. They were being known across the country.
But not moving to California . . . where else could the North Stars possibly move to?
"So, what about us?" Ted asked seriously. "If we're not moving to California . . ."
"Green is thinking about Dallas, and the North Stars will most likely be merging with the Cleveland Barons," said Pat.
"So, we'll be the Dallas Stars," Ted whispered, letting that thought sink in. On paper, everything made sense. Texas didn't have an NHL team of its own yet. And the Cleveland Barons hadn't done well at all, having ended in '78, and there were talks of Ohio getting a new team soon called the Blue Jackets.
He wouldn't lie if he said the idea was tempting. Texas was a great state, one of the largest in the nation, and was home to some of the most affordable, high-ranking medical schools; Bella would no doubt be able to teach at some of those classes and offer her expertise as she was considered one of the best in her field despite only being twenty-nine years old. There was year-round warm weather, a change from the bitter frostiness of Minnesota, and no doubt, the education would be better, too, and the neighborhoods would probably be much safer, too, so that Ted wouldn't have to worry about Lucy and her safety as much as she got older.
Still, the move to Dallas would be steep – Bella was so comfortable living in the frigid winters of Minnesota – if only he'd been offered to be signed to a team like Toronto's, that way, he wouldn't have to be so far away from Minnesota, and he and Bella could visit often. But even so, Toronto was a hike from Minneapolis; moving away wouldn't feel right to him or Bella.
"Yeah. Apparently so. And I know this would be an adjustment."
"That's an understatement, Pat," Ted argued. "My wife can't just relocate. She's got a great job at Hennepin County Medical Center. And my daughter's been in physical therapy for the past year or so; I don't want to disrupt her recovery because her doctors are here."
"Even though Dallas would have some of the best hospitals in the nation?"
"I don't care," Ted said, shaking his head. "I just put her in daycare; she's already making friends. She's got cousins who live here."
"I'm not saying you've got to make a decision right now," Pat said sympathetically. "And you know you've got all my sympathy for what you and your family had gone through last year. But this is a really major opportunity, Ted; it would be sad for them to see you go. You've really got the potential to be the next Bobby Orr."
Ted had been told that before. Still, he couldn't picture himself moving away just so he could continue playing hockey, considering he was nearing retirement from the sport, anyway – most hockey players retired before they reached their forties. That meant he needed to consider a backup plan.
Talking to Dean Buckley about coaching sounded inviting right about now.
"Give me some time," he said to Pat.
"Take as much as you need, Ted."
"Well, what do you think you should do?" dear old Hans asked as he handed Ted a steaming cup of hot chocolate.
"Honestly, Hans? I'm considering staying here," he said as Jan entered the living room with a bowl of chips and bottles of Scandinavian IPA.
"It would be best for your family, Theodore," Jan said gently. "We all know how important Lucy's happiness is to you. You mustn't disrupt what you've built. Home is where the heart is, sen."
Ted sighed, fishing his hand into the bowl of potato chips as Hans turned the television on. The channel was turned to Gordon's game with the Waves versus the Hershey Bears. Gordon was currently in the face-off against the Bears' captain.
Watching Gordon play with the Waves brought a tinge of resentment through Ted – even though Gordon was with the minors, at least he'd still be playing. Knowing the North Stars would be relocating and that he'd have to make a choice between his career and his family stung, especially when he watched Gordon score the first goal.
There was so much about professional hockey that Ted loved: the rush, the adrenaline, the elation at scoring, the satisfaction of body-slamming another player into the boards . . . all of it was so familiar to him. He wasn't sure he was ready to give it up yet. But he also knew that if he left Bella all alone in Minnesota with Lucy, she'd kill him over it. He'd never felt more torn over something in his entire life, especially as he watched Gordon pull an assist.
But then he thought about what Jan had to say, about how home was where the heart was. Those words couldn't ring truer. His true home was with Bella and Lucy – they could make a home just about anywhere. But Minnesota just felt right to him; it was where he'd grown up, where he'd met his wife, where his daughter was born, where his best friend lived, and there were so many other things he'd miss: the frosty winds biting his face, the variety of junior hockey teams in the area, the pizzeria Twin City Slice, the annual winter festival that took place every January; you couldn't get that in Texas.
Granted, Ted knew he could potentially return to playing pro if he wanted to. But he recalled what he said to the reporters: there was way more to life than hockey. He just hadn't expected the imbalance that would come along with needing to make such a choice. But he thought about what Hans and Jan would say: he couldn't be afraid of making decisions, that the most difficult decision could be the right one for him. And as tough as it was to swallow, he needed to face the thought that maybe it would be best if he quit playing, that he put his family first.
The thought of quitting put a sour taste in his mouth, and suddenly, his hot chocolate was hard to swallow. At least he'd have one more season to play with the North Stars before the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim and the Dallas Stars were formed. Would he regret quitting? Maybe. But he knew his little girl would be worth quitting for because his real job now was to be a dad.
More months went by. The North Stars weren't in the playoffs, considering their recent loss against Detroit. But Ted could hardly complain – after the playoffs were over, he spoke with his manager, the coaches, and Norman Green about retirement. They all understood why he made this decision, even though they hated the thought of the Dallas Stars losing one of their best players.
Ted decided that night, while at the hospital for Lucy's physical therapy, that retirement was well worth it as he positioned Lucy on the therapy ball, watching as she rolled across it to try and reach for her stuffed bunny rabbit. The hardest part of it was knowing he couldn't put his hands on her to assist her with it; he could only tempt her with the sight of the toy to encourage her to roll forward. The goal was to see if they could get some mobility into her legs.
He hated it, though, when he saw her cry and throw tantrums over it, signs of frustration. Like right now. She screamed loudly, trying to yank her stuffed bunny out of his hands.
"No, no, no, Lucy," Ted said, shaking his head. "Come on, come to me, sweetie."
"Bunny! Bun-Bun! I want Bun-Bun!" she sobbed.
"I'm sorry, I can't give you him right now," Ted said apologetically, hating himself for this. Thank God this was happening when she was two, and she wouldn't be able to remember any of this.
Lucy screamed loudly, smacking her hands against the ball.
"No, no, honey, nice hands," Ted whispered, setting the toy aside and placing his hands over hers. Still, he felt tears filling his eyes at the sight of her so frustrated. He thought it would be easier just to give in to her and let her have her stuffed bunny. Finally, unable to take the sight of her crying, he handed her the toy, watching her tears stop as she bit at the bunny's fluffy ear.
Sighing, he finally felt the tears fill his eyes as he buried his face into his hands just as Bella came in. "I tried," he said. "I tried doing what the doctor told me I should do. But I hate seeing her get frustrated."
"I know," Bella whispered. "But you can't give into her. She's got to work for it if we've got any hope of recovering her." She walked over and picked the baby up, bouncing Lucy up and down as Ted lifted his face from his hands. "Come on, baby, give Daddy kisses." She leaned Lucy forward, and the two-year-old wound her arms around Ted's neck, kissing him on the cheek.
"I love you," he said, rubbing his nose against hers.
"I love you, Dada," Lucy replied, but as she said that, a report came through on the television – Ted's eyes flashed toward the TV just as they showed replay footage of Gordon being decked into the boards, with an opposing player viscously hooking his stick around Gordon's knee. He watched as Gordon went down hard, and he felt some sympathetic pain shoot up in his own knee – if there was one downside to being an NHL player, it was the ankle bite and the strain on your knees that skating gave you, and when someone attacked you, and you tore your ACL, it was a pain that most wouldn't begin to understand – for people like Ted and Gordon, hockey was life. To have to take any kind of break from it would be equivalent to taking away their ability to walk.
Ted winced, biting his teeth down. "Damn! That's gotta hurt!"
"Tell me about it," Bella said, worried. "But hockey players with an injury like that can return after surgery and physical therapy."
"But Gordon could've gotten into the NHL after this; he's at that point where he'd be nearing retirement. An NHL team isn't going to want someone in his thirties with a bad knee – there's the possibility of chronic pain as he gets older," Ted pointed out as he set Lucy on the ground, standing her upright and holding her hands in his, trying to encourage her to move her legs forward; there was only a tiny bit of mobility, but not a lot – he knew that step by step, there was a slight possibility she could walk again, but it was very, very small. Until then, the wheelchair would have to suffice.
Bella sighed. "I guess you're right."
Looking at his daughter and then looking at the playback footage of Gordon laying there on the ice, curled over in agony, Ted felt a surge of empathy go through him – there was no way Gordon would be able to walk with that knee; he'd no doubt have to be in physical therapy and be off the ice, and even so, he'd most likely be walking with a cane by the time he officially came home. To top it all off, Ted knew he was right that Gordon probably wouldn't be able to return to playing in either the minors or the NHL – teams were going to want someone young, probably fresh out of college.
So, not only was Gordon Bombay no longer a lawyer, but his chances of playing pro were also diminished by this knee injury. What would he do for work now that he had no chance of going to the NHL? Ted tried to think of other avenues; the man could potentially coach college puck or teach legal ethics classes at the University of Minnesota. And there was always the Ducks, who needed a coach for their current season, as they couldn't rely on just Phillip Banks, Jan, and Gerry Hall to coach a group of kids. But Gordon wouldn't be able to make a living coaching Peewee hockey – you got paid in peanuts coaching community hockey.
Ted wouldn't lie if he said that while he felt terrible that Gordon couldn't play anymore, part of him felt that his slight envy of his old friend could now fade away because, truthfully, he'd been jealous of the fact that Gordon made it into the minors while he'd had to choose between a career and his family. He felt now, in some twisted way, that they were even, but he knew better than to say that aloud, knowing that Gordon had wanted this forever, especially after he gained a revitalized outlook on hockey.
But he also knew that Gordon would need a friend once he returned home. He would be traveling with the team throughout the rest of their season and would spend some time in physical therapy, but once he was home for good, Ted promised himself he'd help with Gordon's recovery in any way that he could.
"We'll help him," Bella said, as though she read his mind.
"We will," Ted promised her.
Ted quickly got the word that Gordon was back home shortly after the season ended. Jan had come to pick him up from the bus stop, and Gordon had spent the night at the shop. Ted and Bella wasted no time heading down there after Bella finished work for the night; they picked Lucy up from daycare and headed to the skate shop, where they found Gordon back in the living room area with Jan; empty pizza boxes were sitting on the coffee table, and the two were stretched out along the couches as Ted and Bella walked in through the back entryway.
"We've got company," Gordon announced, grinning in their direction as he got up with the support of his cane, hobbling over.
"Hey, how're you doing?" Bella hugged him tightly as he dropped a kiss to the top of Lucy's head. "Someone's missed you," she added as Lucy moved forward to hug Gordon around the neck; Gordon didn't hesitate to pull Lucy into his arms and give her a couple more kisses before handing her back over to Bella.
"I'm all right. But I can't return to the minors," Gordon said, and he didn't try to hide the sadness in his tone as he hugged Ted.
"You could if you want to," Ted said, pulling away.
"Like they'd accept someone in their thirties with a bad knee." Gordon rolled his eyes. He gestured to his bum leg to make a point.
"Well, what about returning to Ducksworth's?" Ted asked.
"No way he'd take me back. Not after I quacked at him," Gordon sighed. "Sure, he and I are all right. But would he re-hire me? I don't know."
"Well, I told him earlier that Team USA is still looking for a coach for the Junior Goodwill Games," Jan said, taking the empty pizza boxes into the kitchen.
Ted and Bella glanced at one another before looking over at Gordon. "That's a potential," Bella said optimistically. "If you were to coach for Team USA hockey, it could open up more opportunities in the future. And the work you did with the District Five team made that group of kids into state champions for the first time ever since they were founded. Imagine what you could do for the junior hockey team selected to represent the United States."
"I don't know about it, Bella," Gordon said. "Sure, I want something bigger, something better, but I don't know if I'm cut to coach Team USA."
"You don't give yourself enough credit," Ted said. "What you did with the Ducks is nothing short of incredible. And the reason why the North Stars moved to Dallas was because the Walt Disney Company wanted to work with the NHL to make a team called the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim, named after your kids."
At this, Gordon looked shocked, his blue eyes widening considerably. "Wait . . . they're naming an NHL team after my kids?"
Ted nodded seriously. "Yeah. They're going to be in the Honda Civic Center, where the finals for the Junior Goodwill Games will be held. Word has it the arena's name will be called the Anaheim Pond."
"Wow," was the only thing Gordon could say; he sat down, his already sore knee seeming to grow weaker from the surprise of knowing there would be a team honoring his Ducks in the NHL. "Gosh . . . wait until I tell them. They're gonna freak out."
"You guys are world-famous now," Bella said, grinning. "Imagine if one of your kids gets selected to represent Team USA. You'd have to sign on as a coach then."
Gordon seemed to ponder this before saying, "I guess if one of them is chosen. My money would be on Adam Banks."
"I think all of them have a chance," Ted argued. "They need a roster slot of thirteen kids to compete. Last I checked, you've got more than enough. Just you wait and see. You'll have the board members from the Junior Goodwill Games knocking on your door soon enough."