AGAINST THE ICE

Chapter8

I hit the ground running. I went through the morning checking on player contracts that were so gloomy they made my eyes glaze over. At that point, I observed a meeting between my father and an agent. The agent was attempting to negotiate on behalf of his player. My father bulldozed him, and the agent left with his tail between his legs.

My father’s admin, Julie, brought me a salad for lunch, which I ate at my desk while pursuing more contracts.

Mid-afternoon, my father appeared at the doorway.

“Come on, get your coat,” he instructed. “First practice for the preseason is starting.”

I got up from behind my desk and rushed after him. Julie dropped a stack of files in my arms as I walked by her desk.

“Today, we’ll talk about each player, their weaknesses and strengths. Your main goal for the first three months is to understand each player’s ability on the ice so we can further improve our recruiting and negotiating tactics.”

What the f**k.

“Dad, don’t we have scouts and a team of people hired to do this?”

“We do. We have 31 scouts, a dozen more than any other team, but I leave nothing to chance. You need to know who your team is and what it needs before you can recruit new players.”

“You want me to do this for you?”

He looked at me as we stepped into the elevator. “Don’t kid yourself. I know everything about these players, from the size of their skates to who their peewee coach was. This exercise is for your benefit. Until you understand the team we have, you’ll have no chance of being an effective part of my team.”

Roger that.

He gave me a big grin. “Come on, now. Don’t look like that. You used to love watching hockey.”

“Yes, I did.”

When I was ten years old.

He walked to our box. “What are your thoughts on traveling these days?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you still afraid to fly?”

I thought about getting on a plane. I had zero reaction in my body. No fear. No anxiety. Nothing. My lifelong fear seemed to have vanished. Go figure. “No, I don’t think so.”

He nodded. “Good. Tell Julie you’ll be traveling with the team for all away games. You’ll need ice-level seats, hotel arrangements, and clearance on all flights.”

I groaned. I had walked into that one.

From our family box, we spent two hours observing the team practice. I didn’t even crack the files. My father talked, and I listened and made notes. He discussed playing styles, past injuries, quoted contracts, and numbers. The man knew his team, I’ll give him that.

“Check out number 33,” Father instructed. We watched as 33 did a two-on-one breakaway. His teammates couldn’t keep up with his speed and agility, and he scored with ease. “He’s a sniper. He has a stellar track record on the ice. One of the fastest players in the NHL and feared by all during any fight.”

I could hear my dad’s tone. He was holding back. “What aren’t you saying?”

“He’s a wildcard. His off-ice antics have caused havoc for his last team, so we bought out his contract at a bargain price.”

“What antics?”

“Last year, they arrested him for joyriding a Porsche, but he got off with community service. He was caught by the media, locked out of his hotel room in the nude. Those sad photos made the front page. He’s more than a ladies’ man. Social media sites are filled with indecent photos of him in compromising situations.”

“Not great for a team’s image, but he’s hardly in a class of his own in this league.” Hockey players were notorious bad boys.

My father looked at me. “He was permanently benched during the last round of playoffs last season. By his own coach.”

“During playoffs? For what reason?”

“He was in a full-on brawl with one of his own teammates. The fight was not only brutal, it spilled out of the locker room after a game, and a syndicated TV station managed to record it.”

Oh. That was bad. I made a mental note to look up that fight online. “What was the fight about?”

“No one knows, and believe me, I tried finding out before we bought out his contract. They would have won the Cup if he had been playing. They lost because he sat on the bench.”

“That’s a coaching decision.”

“He hospitalized one of his own teammates.”

That stunned me. Even more so that my father had bought his contract. “Why did you take him on when he’s such a risk?”

“Because he’s one of the best players in the league, and if we can tame him, he’ll be a huge factor in getting us the Cup.”

Tame him. I realized that this year I would see the not-so-pretty inner workings of my dad’s mind. Everything for him was about power and control. He was never happy unless he was the puppet master, pulling the strings.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

He looked over at me. “I don’t. You’re going to.” My mouth dropped open. “What? How?”

“We’ll meet him after practice. You’ll start by reading him the riot act. Then you’ll monitor his behavior. You’ll be the monkey on his back.” Now that was a visual I could do without.

“Dad…”

“Rory,” he interrupted. “We have a lot to teach you this year. Your training starts now.”

“Now?”

He stood up. “Come on. Let’s go down to the ice. I want to introduce you. This introduction is about dominance. You let the team know you own them. You let them know you have all the power and hold all the cards.”

This was crazy. “How do I do that?”

He stopped and stared at me. “By understanding that you do own them and by realizing that you are their boss and you have all the power. Is that clear?”

Jesus. “Crystal.”

We walked down to ice level. One of the assistant coaches skated over to us.

“I want the team in front of me in the next minute,” my father said without lifting his eyes from his notes.

The whistle blew, and I watched as the players stopped whatever drills they were running.

“Team meeting, 30 seconds. Hustle!” the assistant coach yelled.

I could feel my heart pound as the players and coaches skated over to the door where we stood. My father didn’t even look up as 32 players and eight coaches skated up and formed a semicircle on the ice in front of us. I was so nervous I had to work to keep my legs from shaking. I glanced over the team and saw a sea of sweaty faces and damp hair beneath helmets.

I didn’t understand how to emanate power but decided that a good pissed-off vibe was better than a scared vibe. I tried to think about world starvation and how I didn’t want to be here.

Get angry. Find that inner b***h.

My father leaned down and spoke into my ear while everyone stood and watched. I knew this tactic. He was holding everyone captive. This was one of his classic moves. His message was that they could stand and wait until he was good and ready.

His instructions in my ear were clear. “I will introduce you. Then you call out #33 and tell him to come up for a meeting after practice.”

I nodded, dying inside. I didn’t want to speak in front of these men. I worked to wipe all expressions off my face. The less they could read of me, the less chance these men would realize I was a fraud.