When I was born in Pasadena, I was a boy.
When I was in Ann Arbor for the United States Development Program, I turned eighteen and became a man.
Since being traded to Toronto, I have become The Man.
My new teammate Johnathan's words, not mine.
But stillâand I never say things like thisâI can't say I disagree with him. It's not that I think I've gone under some incredible transformation since I've left Winnipeg and came to this world-class city, but I can see why my teammates and the fans would think I deserved the title.
I made my debut for the Toronto Saints on a Tuesday. If you thought Tuesday was just a regular ol' day, then you didn't know how this city and its fans felt about hockey.
Even a casual scroll through my Twitter feed made that clear as day. First, there was the fact that my follower count had gone up by about one hundred thousand, and I hadn't even put on a Saints jersey yet. I rarely posted on my account and preferred to retweet things that I found interesting; usually just Tweets by the PR accounts of sports teams I liked or by my favourite athletes that I dreamed of being as good as. But Tweets about my own life, and thoughts, and feeling? Not my thing.
That was why I found it odd that my agent, Darren, told me to write a little something about how excited I was to join the Saints. Maybe odd isn't the right word. I understood why he wanted me to do it. The Toronto fanbase was ginormous and I should want them to take me in as one of my own. Surreal is probably a better fit, because all those people now had their radars set to me; because I was already beginning to see why the sports world deemed hockey a religion for Toronto.
Second, was the media. Talking to reporters before and after games and to the television crews during the game's intermissions was just part of the game. Love it or hate it, you had to do at least a little bit of it. The captain of the team typically did the most and the stoic guy who had a bad habit of cursing at the reporter when he or she asked a stupid questionâwhich a lot of them wereâdid the least. I had done a bit back in Winnipeg, but not a crazy amount. Certainly not enough to make me hate it. When I scored my first goal, the woman from the Winnipeg Sun wanted to speak to me about how it felt and the junior analyst from SportsCast asked me to break down the play. Other than that, they never really asked to speak to me.
I am not exaggerating when I say this, but I have already spoken to the Toronto media in the few days I've been here more than I've spoken to the Winnipeg media. And that was another thing I had heard bits and pieces of, that the media in Toronto is intense.
Yeah, that was a good word for it.
So far, I had participated in one game, one morning skate, and three practices. Not only did I have to face the media after the morning skate, practice and gameâthe team's general manager put his foot down on before the gameâbut I had an absolute horde of reporters to entertain. I stood there, either in the locker room or in front of the media backdrop in the hall, and had pretty much every brand and make of microphone close to my face. Men and women from newspapers and blogs and radio stations and sports networks, all there to ask me questions.
How was I liking Toronto so far?
Have I had a chance to bond with some of my new teammates yet?
What are the expectations Dave Dale, my new head coach, outlined for me?
How does it feel to score three goals in your Saints debut?
Yeah, I did that.
Hence: The Man.
So, back to that not-so-typical Tuesday. I tried to lie to myself, and spew crap that it was just like any other game, but I couldn't convince myself for any longer than a few minutes. I was in a completely new environment, and the Canada Bank Arena was hands-down the classiest hockey facility I had ever been in. Combined with all the reporters and teammates telling me good luck, I got the distinct feeling that this game wasn't like any I had played before.
This one felt bigger.
That feeling only amplified when I was on the bench during the singing of the national anthems. Only one word could describe the electricity that was coming from the fifty thousands in the stands and the light and video shows played on the jumbotron: hype.
Would I falter under the pressure of the bigger stage? Or thrive on it?
How's this for an answer? I scored both of my team's goals in regulation time, was on for none of the two goals against and scored the Overtime winner.
Welcome to Toronto, baby.
The second I turned my phone on after I finished changing in the locker room, texts and direct messages and mentions flooded my notifications. Most were from people I never met but a decent chunk were also from old coaches and teammates. There was even a video, taken by my dad, of my mom losing her damn mind after I scored the goal forty-five seconds into overtime to win the game. My parents and uncle were in the stands for the game; they were already in Toronto to help me ease the transition, but even if they weren't, I would've sent a private jet to Pasadena to make sure they were there for my first game as a Toronto Saint. My mother is a very animated woman, among other things, and the in-arena cameras were there to capture every scream, every wild gesture, and every joyful tear and plaster them on the jumbotron. I saw them when I sat back down on the bench after my second goal and I might have been embarrassed if it didn't feel so damn good that sheâand my dad and uncleâwere so damn proud of me. So, the video was sorta useless, because I had already seen that footage of my mom, but it was still cool to see it from the angle of my dad's smartphone.
Still, that wasn't my favourite text message. The one that stood out the mostâand meant the mostâcame a few minutes ago; I felt the phone vibrate in my pocket as I tossed my keys onto the small table in the foyer of my apartment. Just knowing it was from her was enough to excite me, but when I saw what she sent, I was almost giddy. If, you know, I wasn't a professional hockey player and was actually capable of feeling that emotion.
It was a black-and-white GIF of a man wearing a top hat taking off the garment and tossing it to the side.
Of course, she would know that scoring three goals in one game is considered a hat trick and that it's customary for fans to toss their hats onto the ice.
Even though the image made me laugh, it wasn't nearly as amusing as how she captioned it.
Camille: I can't believe you did that.
With my eyes still on the moving image as I walked to the couch in my massive living room, two more notifications came through, only a few minutes apart. The goofiest grin filled my face.
Camille: I mean I can, because you're a really good hockey player.
Camille: Did I offend you? You haven't answered me yet. Never mind me. I'm just so excited for you! Eep!
Chuckling at the way this girl thought, I sank down on the couch and my body let out a sigh as the plush goodness hugged my body. The game the night before took enough out of me, but combined with the nine am practice we also had this morning, my body was really feeling it. Even though I had done this routine thousands of times before, this was different. It was more emotional. So emotional.
The crowd seemed louder.
The red light that signalled the puck crossed the goal line seemed brighter.
The cheers of my teammates when they rushed to me after the overtime goal and the pat on the back from my coach seemed more enthusiastic.
That's what Toronto was to me. More.
The buzz from my phone against my leg brought my attention away from my reminiscing and back to the device.
Camille: Okay, let's start over. You scored a hat trickâholy toledo!
Figuring I better save my girl from a heart attack, I quickly typed back.
Taylor: You were totally cool with the first thing you sent. I loved it.
Taylor: How mad at me would you be if I told you I was purposely waiting to respond to make you sweat a little bit?
Her reply came almost instantly.
Camille: A ton. It'd be a good thing you're halfway across the country from me.
Taylor: I'm quaking. I'm joking, though, I just got back from practice
Camille: Look at you, and your hockey player life! Seriously, Taylor, congratulations. That was one of the best games I have ever seen
After she sent that message, the reply bubbles were on the screen for a few seconds and I waited, intrigued.
Camille: I couldn't take my eyes off you
A warm feeling flooded my chest and I was glad my parents and uncle were still out exploring the city so no one would see me stare at my phone with a stupid grin on my face.
Taylor: You watched it?
Camille: I did, the entire thing. I stayed up until 11:30 for you when I had a nine am class the next morning
Seriously? I want to repeat her own words back to her, that I can't believe she did that, but I can.
Taylor: I want to say something snarky but I'm actually so touched you did that. It means a lot to me
Camille: Of course :)
Taylor: What are you doing right now?
Camille: I'm in class, but we're on a break
Taylor: When do you have to get back?
Camille: Now, I'm so sorry! Can we talk later?
Taylor: Yeah, anytime! Enjoy your class
After a few seconds without a reply, I tossed my phone onto the couch and watched it land on to the suede cushion with a soft thud. There was too much adrenaline flowing through my body to sit still and I definitely wasn't about to turn the TV on. I didn't have to do that to know what all the main sports networks were talking about. Me. A few teammates had shown me some links on Twitter after practice this morning and although the response about my first game seemed positiveâand why wouldn't it be?âI still wanted to keep to my rule of only letting certain people in; both in my life and in my head.
I pushed my body up off the couch and walked through my apartment to the kitchen for a glass of water. I still couldn't believe I was living in this place. It was one hell of an apartment complex. Huge. Granite countertops. Subway tile backsplashes. Guest washroom and master ensuite. View of the Toronto skyline, with the CN Tower seeming so close I could touch it.
All of the above. Mine.
Not technically, actually. The building was owned by the team and some of the players, particularly young guys and new additions to the teamâones who wouldn't have a chance to get their own place, like myselfâstayed in them, free of charge. Based on what my agent, Darren, told me, the rooms were also available for the players to purchase. Considering the number of players who lived here, I'd say it was a pretty popular choice.
The glass I was holding under the chrome faucet had just finished filling when I heard the front door open and three distinct, familiar voices fill the space. I had left the door unlocked for my parents and uncle.
With the glass of cool water pressed to my lips, I walked back to the main living area.
"Hey explorers, how was the trip?" I joked, sitting my glass down on what was probably the most expensive coffee table I had ever seen and plopping back down on the couch.
My father, who was pulling off his coat, answered me first. "Magnificent. This city is magnificent. Just magnificent, I tell you. Taylor, have you seen the CN Tower? The architecture on that is a thing of beauty..."
I stared at him with an open mouth as he rambled about how glorious Toronto is. I swear, I hadn't seen my father this excited about something in a long time.
My mom, however, seemed a little bored.
"Yes, yes. We know. Just magnificent," she said, throwing her hands in the air and rolling her eyes. Then, she turned to me. "Taylor, we heard this the entire morning. Queen's Park this, aquarium that."
"Honey," my dad said, offense heavy in his tone. "I thought you enjoyed the bits of history I shared."
My mom gave him her look, the one where she pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and put her hands on his hips. After two seconds of it, she softened.
"I do, I really do. I love seeing you so happy," she smiled, putting her arm on his shoulder.
I watched them walk into the kitchen, smiling at each other the entire way.
The couch dipped beside me and I turned to face Uncle Mark, who had been quietly taking off his outer wear while my parents were having their moment.
"Between you and me, kid," he began, voice low. "I think your parents are nuts."
I took him in, the thick, brown hair, fair skin and thin lips and sighed.
"Yeah, but not nearly as crazy as you," I teased.
"True," he smiled. His eyes roamed around the place and then landed on my phone on the coffee table. He nodded towards it. "So, be honest, how much has this thing been lighting up?"
I nodded, inhaling deeply. "A lot, not going to lie." Memories of my conversation with Camille flooded my mind and I smiled, just a tiny one.
Only it didn't turn out to be so tiny because Uncle Mark picked up on it.
"Are you thinking about Camille right now?" Sherlock asked.
I glanced at him, hoping my face didn't give too much away. "Yeah, she texted me something funny earlier."
Uncle Mark nodded, looked over his shoulder, as if checking to see where my parents were, and got comfy on the couch. So, he wanted to talk.
He looked me square in the eye as he said, "What's going on with the two of you?"
I shrugged. "We're friends."
Do I play dumb and admit that I'm also attracted to her?
Uncle Mark threw his head back. "Oh, come on, we're not stupid! We knew what you guys were doing down there when she came to visit."
My eyes narrowed. What...
"I'm not sure what you're suggesting," I began, then shook my head. "Actually, scratch that, I do, but I can assure you that we weren't doing anything like...that."
Even if I had wanted to.
"Besides, you were on the same floor as us."
Uncle Mark's brown eyes studied me. After a few moments he made a sound like, "huh," and looked down at the floor, then back at my face. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Yeah, friends, nothing more," I insisted.
He continued to stare at me, a pensive expression taking over.
"Why are you giving me that look?" I asked.
"Because, kid, your mom and I have been talking non-stop since the trip about how into each other you and Camille seemed, but your dad said he didn't think you felt that way. And it turns out he was right."
Nodding, I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. Hearing that my dad thought that way was validating. It meant he knew me, really understood me, and knew how to read my body language-slash-vibe. My uncle had always been the one who was more invested in hockey and there were a lot of times in my life when I felt that I chose a passion that alienated me from my father. Maybe because he seemed more excited about Toronto's architecture than the performance his son just gave.
"Hey," Uncle Mark said softly. "Your dad loves you, you know that? And he's extremely proud of you."
I nodded and gave a weak smile as I thought of the man who was probably making a sandwich and drinking a Diet Coke as we spoke.
"Yeah, I know. So..." I said, raising my eyebrow. "Want to tell me more about why you moved into my parents' place?"
For probably the third time in my life, an uncomfortable look crossed my uncle's face. I shifted my body so that I was facing more of him.
"It's really not a big deal, but I've been working less. The store doesn't need as many employees full-time, so I've been cut to part-time. I don't have many expenses, but still, it would've cut it close to keep renting my place with the lower income," he explained.
I stared at him, trying to find a fault in the story, but it did seem kosher. He worked at a sporting goods store that specialized in golf attire and equipment, and I knew it didn't pay that much.
"That's all?" I asked, just in case.
"That's all," he confirmed. He nudged me with his knee. "Now back to Camille, if you say you're only friends, I believe you, and I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but I liked her. I think it's smart to keep her in your life, Taylor."
"I know," I said quickly.
Uncle Mark raised up a hand. "I wasn't finished. There may come a time when you don't want to be just friends..."
I gulped. Did he sense that I was beginning to have dirty thoughts about her?
"...that maybe you're in love with her..."
Whoa. Love? That wasn't what was going on here. Hell, I knew I didn't know what love was, but what I felt for Camille didn't seem to be it.
Sensing my feelings, my uncle said, "I'm just saying, you never know. Just know that if you do feel it, go for it. Because not getting a chance to love someone who means the world to you is one hell of a regret. Trust me."