Page 36 of Edging Coach
Practice went well enough. The team was gelling better than before, and they were adapting to the systems I was steadily implementing. That last part wasn’t super difficult—their previous coach’s system had basically been “just go get pucks in the net or whatever.” Mine weren’t complicated but had more direction and structure than that. These guys were hardly new to hockey, and they’d all played under numerous coaches, so they knew how to adapt to how we each ran our teams.
I’d worried on the way to the ice that Devon’s concentration would be off thanks to our conversation. I should’ve waited until after practice. Or after tonight’s game.
Way to go, Jack—fuck up your best defenseman’s head right before he has to play. Coach of the Year, right here.
But Devon was dialed in. All through the board battles, special teams, and shootout, he was laser-focused. He even got the puck past Saffron during the shootout; I made a note to put him on the list of shooters if a game came down to that.
Practice ended, and we returned to the hotel. In a conference room, the team reviewed film. I was impressed with our video coach; Tori was thorough as hell, compiling detailed analyses of our opponent’s strategies and our own areas that needed improvement.
“Blue liners, I cannot stress enough…” She looked pointedly at some of the guys. “Donotpinch against this team. Theywillget an odd-man rush. Guaranteed.”
On the screen, she showed a montage of Laval against various opponents. In each, an opposing defenseman left the blue line to make an offensive push, and in each, Laval immediately took advantage and broke out. Most of them resulted in scoring chances. Three resulted in goals.
“I don’t care how many opportunities you see,” she said. “Let your forwards do their job, and stay back in case there’s a turnover. Don’t hand them a chance to get behind you.”
Vadim, the goalie coach, chuckled from where he stood beside me along the wall. “Any goals against after one of you idiots pinches?” He pointed at Saffron and Lens. “You’re buying them dinner.Bothof them.”
“What?” Leaps—Markuss Liepa, one of the bottom two defensemen—scoffed. “Shouldn’t they buy us dinner for letting the goal in?”
“Not if the scoring chance was your fault,” Vadim said flatly.
Leaps huffed. His D partner, Jan Adamcik, laughed and elbowed him. They exchanged something snarky that I didn’t catch.
“So are we clear?” Tori asked the blue liners. “We’re not going to pinch tonight?”
There were nods and murmurs of agreement. Chances were, theywouldpinch, though; especially the offensive defensemen like Devon and Leaps weren’t going to be able to resist the chance to add offensive pressure.
Leaps would probably be buying dinner for the goalies. Devon—well, he might actually make the risk of pinching pay off.
We’d find out tonight.
Tori wrapped up her session, and everyone was dismissed.
“Buses leave at four,” Amy called after them as they filed out of the room. “If you’re not on it, it’s a long walk!” She said it playfully, but there was an edge of seriousness too.
I turned to her. “Is missing the bus an issue?”
Groaning, she rolled her eyes. “Three times this season, we’ve had guys oversleep their pregame naps.” She shook her head as we followed the players out of the conference room. “Luckily they were able to Uber, and they can in this town too.But like, this is the minors—some of the towns we play in don’t exactly have robust rideshare systems.”
Tori fell into step beside us and took her wife’s hand. “It’s like none of them have alarm clocks in their pockets 24/7.”
“I know, right?” Amy tsked. “I’m going to start asking hotels to do wake-up calls, I swear.”
I chuckled. “They’re just getting their beauty sleep!”
She grumbled and rolled her eyes again. Tori patted her arm, and they headed for the hotel’s coffee shop while I continued toward the elevator.
I liked both of them. I remembered when they’d been hired because there’d been the usual screeching about DEI and whatnot. When the Grizzlies had fallen apart last season and into this season, people had insisted Tori and Amy needed to be fired. Instead, the pair had survived the firings, and despite all the continued screaming and misogyny online, I’d understood immediately why Emil had kept them. They both had off-the-chart hockey IQs. They were solid leaders who communicated well and didn’t take shit from players. Every man in a Grizzlies sweater respected the shit out of both of them.
And like, DEI? Really? They each had two Olympic golds playing with Team Canada, and Amy had a silver for coaching the same team. Tori had two MVP trophies from her university team, and she’d set a scoring record for that division that still hadn’t been broken.
Meanwhile my predecessor, Coach Brown, had two Cups and three conference championships from his career playing in the League. That sounded impressive right up until someone mentioned he was healthy-scratched for the majority of those games, suspended for two of them, stupidly took a reckless penalty that led to a series-winning goal against, and he only scored two points between all of those playoff games. Yet he’d been named head coach when Amy was right there?
DEI, my ass.
I shook my head as I waited for the elevator. I had no doubt there were articles and rumors about how I was also a DEI hire. Clearly I’d only gotten this job because I’d been the first openly gay player in the League. Clearly that was why I gotanyjob or accolade in this sport.
Though the naysayers had at least stopped saying I’d be a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame because of my sexuality. In the seven years since I’d retired, three players with far lower stats than mine had been inducted, but I’d been left off the ballot both years I’d been eligible. So much for blowing my way into the Hall of Fame.
