Superfan (Brooklyn #3)
Sarina Bowen
June
Silas
What do a bunch of hockey players do during the weeks after they’ve been eliminated after Round 1 of the playoffs? Lay around my apartment to watch more hockey, apparently. Although I really don’t mind. These past two years have been crazy, and maybe we all need a breather.
Last season we made it all the way to the finals. It was the ride of a lifetime. And it didn’t come easily to me. I’m only twenty-five years old, but already my career has had more ups and downs and bumps than an aging roller coaster.
I’m not one of those guys who rocketed from obscurity to success. There have been moments when I was sure my hockey career was over before it started. There have been terrible disappointments. But now I’m coming off my best season ever.
Though it ended abruptly ten days ago when my defense broke down during overtime and allowed a play that I was helpless to stop. When the puck whistled past my ear and dropped into the corner of the net, nobody even blamed me.
Not much, anyway. But I’m a goalie. You get used to it.
Suddenly, our season was over. We were all on summer break, but you can bet that none of us had planned a vacation. Who would tempt fate like that—by trying to guess which date in May or June we’d suddenly have a lot of free time? Not this guy.
The first thing I did was fly home to Northern California to spend a few days with my mom. But now I’m back, a little uncertain of how to spend my precious summer weeks.
I’m not the only one, either.
I’m sitting on the center cushion of my sofa, wedged between my old roommate, Leo, and my current roommate, Jason. And Jason’s girlfriend, Heidi—who is my roommate now, too—is perched in his lap, so there’s four of us on one couch.
At least I have a seat. Our teammate Drake is sprawled out on the rug, and our team captain O’Doul has dragged a kitchen chair into the room for his own use.
We’re watching Game 6 of Round 3, between Dallas and Los Angeles. Nobody in this room is rooting for Dallas. Not after last year’s overtime loss of the championship. We hate that team. A lot.
I have a good feeling about tonight’s game, though. The series is three to two in L.A.’s favor. And L.A. has the momentum. Dallas is going to get a taste of humility tonight. I can’t wait to see it happen.
“Who wants to rent a house on the water in early August?” O’Doul asks, poking at his phone. He’s surfing AirBnB rentals.
“Sounds like fun,” Jason says. “You think you can find something even though it’s already June?”
“Dunno,” O’Doul grumbles. “Cape Cod and Fire Island are all booked up.”
“Of course they are,” I mutter. “Shh, you guys! Power play. Gaborova can make this happen.”
“L.A. can’t win it tonight,” Jason says. “They look tired.”
“Bullshit!” I argue. “Dallas is playing scared. They lost two in a row. Now they’re gonna choke.” Ask me how I know.
“You’re the only one who thinks L.A. can win tonight,” Leo says.
“Really? I think the L.A. fans beg to differ.”
“We’re just managing our expectations,” Heidi says from Jason’s lap. “This is so stressful. Maybe if someone brought me a drink I could relax.” She bats her eyelashes at her boyfriend.
“Great idea. What are we drinking?” Jason asks.
“Hard liquor,” his girlfriend says. They grin at each other like a Hallmark movie couple. It’s kind of disgusting. Then again, my roommate used to be a grumpy beast, and now he’s in a good mood all the time.
Also, Heidi is a really good person, as well as a great cook. Since she feels a little guilty for moving into what was once a bachelor pad, she always makes enough food for three. Tonight she fed me roast salmon over pureed potatoes with wilted garlic-spinach on the side.
So I muddle through somehow.
“What’s in your liquor cabinet?” Leo asks from my other side.
“You could go look,” I point out. “Don’t ask me to get you a drink during the power play.”
“L.A. can’t capitalize,” Leo argues. “Ever since they changed their third line they never score on a power play.”
Even as he’s saying this, L.A. makes a crummy pass. It lands neatly on a Dallas stick, and I groan.
“Name some towns in the Hamptons, Leo,” says O’Doul.
I’m glued to this game, but our captain is trying to find a beach house to rent?
“Southampton, East Hampton, Westhampton,” Leo drones.
“Well, duh!” comes the reply. “I tried those first.”
“Don’t forget Bridgehampton,” Heidi says. “Sagaponack. Montauk. And Quogue.”
“Quogue?” O’Doul grumbles. “I dunno if I could vacation somewhere with that name. It sounds like a plumbing product. Unplug your clog with a Quogue.”
“Isn’t anyone going to watch the—” I break off on a gasp as disaster strikes. A Dallas D-man makes a blind pass to his wing. It never should have worked. But as I stare at the screen in horror, the wing shoots, finding the L.A. goalie’s five hole.
Dallas scores in the seventh minute of the game.