“Did you know Tabasco can hump on command?” Bucky says, sounding impressed.
“Big fucking deal,” Conor drawls. “I can do that too.”
Loud laughter rings out.
Coach holds up his hand to silence everybody. “Are you idiots asking me if you can have a pet?”
“Pretty much.” I give him a pleading look. “As the new captain, I’ve been asked to formally put forth the request.”
“A room full of grown men are requesting a pet.”
I nod.
“It’ll be great for morale,” Bucky insists. “Think about it, Coach. We could bring the pig out before games and he’ll get the crowd all hyped up. Dude, it’ll build so much excitement.”
“How does a pig hype up a crowd? Is he going to sing the national anthem?” Coach asks politely.
“Come on, Coach, don’t be silly,” Con mocks. “Everyone knows pigs can’t sing.”
“You on board with this, Edwards?” Coach is skeptical. “You’re Team Pig?”
Conor flashes a cheerful smile. “I literally could not care less.”
“We’re all on board,” Bucky argues.
Coach’s sharp gaze conducts a sweep of the room. “Jesus Christ. You dumbasses are serious? You honestly think that between the thirty of you, you can actually keep an animal alive?”
“Hey,” Matt protests. “I’ve got two dogs at home.”
“And where is your home?”
“Minneapolis.”
“And where are you right now?”
Matt shuts up.
“You’re all full-time college students with intensive athletic schedules—and don’t even get me started on your social lives—and you think you can take care of a living creature? I call bullshit.”
He’s done the exact wrong thing. A bunch of competitive hockey players being told they can’t do something? Suddenly even the guys that were indifferent to the pig are coming to their own defense.
“I could take care of a pet,” objects Joe Foster, a new addition to the forward roster.
“Me too.”
“Ditto.”
“Yeah, come on, bro, give us a shot.”
Coach’s jaw tightens and twitches as if he’s holding back a sea of expletives. “I’ll be right back,” he finally says, before stalking out of the room without explanation.
“Holy shit, you think he’s going to get a pig?”
I turn toward the moron who asked the question. “Of course not,” I sputter at Bucky. “Where the fuck would he find one? Hiding in the equipment closet?” I shake my head mutinously. “You just had to make me ask him, eh? Now he thinks we’re insane.”
“There’s nothing insane about wanting the love of a pig.”
Jesse hoots. “Guys, I know what to write on Bucky’s tombstone.”
“Fuck off, Wilkes.”
My teammates are still bickering amongst themselves when Coach returns. With purposeful strides, he goes to the center of the media room and holds up an egg, which I assume he grabbed from the team kitchen.
“What’s that?” Bucky asks in bewilderment.
Our fearless leader smirks. “This is your pig.”
“Coach, I think it’s an egg,” one of the freshmen says hesitantly
That earns him a look of disdain. “I know it’s an egg, Peters. I’m not a moron. However, until the end of the regular season, this egg is your pig. You want me to sign off on a team pet, which, by the way, involves a shit ton of red tape with the university? Then prove to me that you can keep something alive.” He waves the egg in the air. “It’s hard-boiled. If it cracks, you killed your precious porker. Bring it back to me in one piece and then we’ll talk pigs.”
Coach grabs a Sharpie from the desk and scribbles something on the egg.
“What are you doing?” Bucky asks curiously.
“Signing it. And trust me, I know when my signature has been forged. So if this breaks, don’t even think about trying to swap it out with another one. If this isn’t the egg that comes back to me, then no pig.” Coach plants the egg in Bucky’s hand. “Congratulations, you have a team mascot.”
Bucky catches my eye and gives me a triumphant thumbs-up.
If this is what being team captain is all about, I don’t know if I really want the job.
6
Hunter
We’re absolutely wiping the ice with Eastwood College on Friday night, and it has nothing to do with Kriska’s weak glove. We’re simply on fire and they are not. Kriska stops shot after shot, but five—count ’em, five—light up the lamp. I’d like to say I contributed more than one, but the hockey gods decided to spread the wealth. The first goal was mine, but the next four went to various teammates.
I don’t know what happened to Eastwood’s defense, but the D-men didn’t show up to play tonight. Kriska is all alone in the net batting off pucks like Neo