Chapter 15: Stand and Defend: Chapter 15

I shoot a puck into the sideboards as hard as I can. This is so fucked. We need to switch the lineup. Our next games are against teams who are dominating this season. As of today’s practice, there’s no way we’ll walk away without getting destroyed next week. The coaches are equally frustrated, but they won’t listen to me. Their pride is ridiculous. I’m annoyed and sick of their shit.

“Banksy, you coming?” Jonesy calls from the tunnel.

I shake my head. “No. I gotta skate.” Really, I’m trying to kill some time and gear up for my fight with the coaches after the guys have left the locker room. We can’t go into our next game like this.

The defense coordinator put our defensemen Dean Burmeister and Cory Dopson together in the lineup, and it’s been a nightmare since. Cory and Dean couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag if they relied on each other. We’ve tried teambuilding shit, but some guys don’t play well together, and you can’t force it.

I bag skate back and forth, angrily slapping more pucks into the boards. It’s been about a half hour since practice ended, and the longer I skate, the worse I feel. They don’t trust the captain to know his own guys, and it pisses me off.

When I stomp off the ice, I smash my stick into the wall, breaking it in half. There. That feels a little better.

I remove my pads and skates in the locker room. Under the shower spray, I play out my argument, anticipating what he will say. I enjoy my shower fights; they always go in my favor. After I towel off and throw my gear in my bag, I stalk down the admin hall to the head coach’s office.

I knock on the open door, and the defense coach is leaning against the wall, chatting with him. He pushes off it and stands when I walk in. Good, they’re both here.

“Look, I know you’re sick of seeing my face. I’m sick of seeing yours too. But we gotta talk about the defense line.”

Coach sighs. “Teller. Here to bust my balls again?”

“Hey, if you didn’t want me to care, you should’ve given me his job instead of captain.” I nod to the assistant coach.

“First off, you need to take it down a notch. You’re coming in real hot, and I’m not above swapping captains if you can’t keep this attitude in check⁠—”

“Do it. I dare you.”

He rolls his eyes. He’s used to my bullshit. If it were anyone else, he’d probably can their ass on the spot. “. . . Second, we have coaches who measure skill sets, they have it down to a science. What makes you think you’re smarter than them, Teller? Huh? I get you’re a fucking hotshot out there, but you still need to respect the role you’re in and respect the roles of the rest of the organization.”

The defense coach crosses his arm over his chest, getting comfy now that the head coach covered his ass.

“You can measure data all you want, but I’m the one on the ice with them. I’m the one at the bars after the game with them. I’m the one sitting on the plane next to them. I know them better than you or your fucking coaches.” I point to the secondary coach without looking at him. I want to punch him. He switched up the line so he could try to flaunt his bullshit numbers. Yes, on paper Burmeister and Dopson should work, but it doesn’t translate on the ice. “Burmeister needs to defend with Paek.”

“And what about Cory?” the other coach interrupts.

I throw my hands up in the air and look back and forth between them. Seriously? “Cory Dopson and Elsworth played in college together!” I bark out. “They can read each other like a book!”

Coach hangs his head between his shoulders before looking up at me and rubbing his brow. “Teller,” he says, exasperated.

“Hey, you want to prove me wrong so bad? Fucking do it! If I’m wrong, let me eat shit, I’ll take the blame. But it ain’t gonna happen.”

I march back into the locker room, throw my bag over my shoulder, and walk out.