Page 36 of The Tryout

Our first game of the season is at home against Racine. In spite of the fact that I’ve been a hockey fan since I was a kid, playing in the AHL has meant learning a whole new set of teams and players. Yeah, some I’m aware of because of seeing them called up or whatever, but for the most part I have no idea who’s good and who isn’t. And, even more than the NHL, it changes every year – every day, really – as people get traded, called up, and sent down.

For this game, Finn is on the second line playing wing and Novak and I are the second d-pair, after Briggs and Keller. I’m not sure the second place finish is justified by what’s been shown on the ice in practice, but I also recognize there’s more at play than just hockey here. Briggs was a draft pick, and even Keller was pretty solid in Germany. Meanwhile, we’re just an old guy and a college kid who got lucky.

But when we hit the ice for our first shift, it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like we’ve really got something. Novak has more of a stay-at-home style, but that lets me play up a bit more, where I prefer to be. It also gives me a view of Finn skating absolute circles around Racine’s defense, consistently getting himself near the net with essentially no protection.

Still, something seems to be off – he isn’t taking the shot, instead looking back to find Oskar Hedman, the uninspiring center of our second line. Porter notices it too, talking in Finn’s ear as he comes off the ice. I see him nodding, lips pressed into a tight, white line.

During the first intermission, I do all the usual stuff – chug a Gatorade, swap out my base layer, and listen to Banks’ summary of the other team’s perceived strengths and weaknesses. When I’m done, I notice Finn sitting in his stall, eyes focused on the ground between his feet. I walk over, sitting on the bench nearby.

“What was Coach saying to you?”

He looks up, eyes wide and wary.

“He…he said I have to pull the trigger. That I’m relying on other players too much.”

I nod. He looks at me, a question in his pale, gray eyes.

“Do you…do you think that’s true?”

“Yup. And I’ll tell you what he won’t – you’re relying on lesser players too much.”

Surprise shows on his face, then his eyes dart around the locker room.

Please. Like I’d shit-talk Hedman with him right there. I’d seen him head to the restroom two minutes ago.

“Sadowski isn’t the play maker you are, and Hedman’s too fucking slow. You’re always gonna be about three and a half steps ahead of them. That means you need to be the one taking the shot, not them.”

He bites his lip and nods.

“Besides, what’s the worst that happens? You’re not scoring anyway.”

This gets a laugh out of him, just in time for us to return to the ice.

As the second period starts, the same patterns start to emerge. Novak and I fine tune our positioning, finally allowing him to strip the puck in the corner and shoot it in my direction. I race to the center line, with Finn crossing just a moment later. He puts on a burst of speed and, looking behind me, I risk a pass to the spot where I think he’ll be. Sure enough, he accelerates to meet it. This time, though, he doesn’t just hold the puck, waiting for someone else to make the decision. Instead, he lifts it, launching the shot over the goalie’s shoulder.

The goal light spins, the buzzer sounding loud overhead. By the time the team’s goal song starts playing, I’ve squashed Finn against the boards in celebration. Hedman and Sadowski join us, though I’m not really sure why. Even Novak manages to get on the correct side of the ice, patting Finn’s shoulder.

As he drops the puck in my glove, I must give him a confused look.

“First professional assist. Don’t get those everyday.”

Oh.

If I’m being honest, I was so thrilled to see Finn’s confidence on the play, the way he absolutely sniped that shot; I’d forgotten this was kind of a big deal for me.

Smiling down at the puck, I’m glad I got to share it with him.

In the end, we win 2-1. Finn manages another sweet goal in the third, this time going five hole. I’m just sad we’re not on the ice at the same time to celebrate. Unfortunately, Racine is able to sneak one past Dolman – our goalie – on a play where a goalie interference call would not have been out of the question. With the ice in front of the goal crowded with players from both sides, he was unable to spot the puck as it nudged in past the right pole.

The locker room is jubilant, nonetheless, with Markie putting trap music on a bluetooth speaker he keeps in his stall. Some of the youngest guys are planning to hit the town; I give it serious consideration. However, due to the nature of AHL schedules, we’ve gotta do it all again tomorrow. Instead, I beg off, promising to buy the first round if we can do it again in 24 hours.

A lot of the older guys are doing the same, making calls to tell their wives what time they’ll be home. Some are already grabbing ice from the trainer for their shoulders, elbows, and knees – paying the toll for their years of hockey. As I pull on my sweats, I realize I should probably do the same.

“You want a ride?” I ask Finn, who hasn’t stopped smiling since his second goal. So far, we’ve settled into a pattern of walking to and from the arena, since the weather’s been so nice. But I knew we’d want to bring some gear home to wash between games and figured walking around Des Moines after dark with a bag of sweaty clothes did not rank high on my list of life goals. Besides, with the player parking that’s set aside, it’s pretty easy to find a spot.

Finn shrugs. Given that he’s managed a year of living without a car, I’m assuming he’s a little less persnickety about walking with a gear bag. Still, there’s no reason not to have him join.

“Actually…do you drive? Like, can you?”