I notice I do that a lot more now that the Stanley Cup series is over. I don’t lose well. Especially twice in a row, and to the same team. The fucking Nashville Assassins. I hate them. They may have some cool dudes on it, but together, they’re a mountain we couldn’t conquer. Even when we had a three-game advantage over them, they still came back and won. Four games straight. No one thought they could do it. Everyone had us, the IceCats, as the winners of the most coveted Cup, but the Assassins didn’t give up. It’s so fucking annoying, though you can’t help but be impressed with them.
Still, I’m beyond unsatisfied and extremely frustrated with myself, my team, and the hockey gods.
The IceCats have had two chances to win the Cup, and we couldn’t do it. We couldn’t close, no matter how much we fought, how many times we came from behind, and no matter that we have the best goalie in the league. I mean, Nico Merryweather won the best goalie trophy three years in a row, yet we can’t give him the Cup. I don’t get it. I don’t know why we haven’t won. We have one hell of a coach. A great team of strong players and, again, the best goalie in the league. Why? Why can’t we win the ultimate prize?
It’s so frustrating. I’ve spent my whole life wanting that Cup. I didn’t have the best home life. I got thrown back and forth between my parents, and the only reason I played hockey was because they guilted each other to make the other pay. When I was old enough to work, I started working at my home rink just so my fees were paid and the fighting could stop. I would get hand-me-down gear, and most of the time, I slept at the rink. That way, I didn’t have to hear my mom getting her ass beat by my stepdad, and on the weeks I was supposed to be with my dad, I didn’t have to watch him be a drunk.
It wasn’t easy, but I knew what I wanted. To be a Stanley Cup winner. To get there, though, I couldn’t worry about my dumpster fire of a family. My dad died in a drunk driving accident my freshmen year in college, and my mom divorced her abusive husband and married once more, starting a brand-new family. I was forgotten very quickly, and I soon realized, if they weren’t worried about me and my dreams, why should I worry about them?
Even with the emotional buttload of shit I was dealing with, I worked my ass off on the ice and, most of all, at school. Being a Michigan Wolverine, I had no choice but to grind. Not only did I have my pride, but I wanted to make my coach and my school proud. While I did have scholarships, I still had to work for food and anything I wanted to do for fun. Though, I didn’t have much time for anything else. It was hockey, school, work. Same thing, every day. Some would get burned out, but for me, my goal was my driving force. I never stopped grinding, even when my girlfriend—who is now my ex-girlfriend and the mother of my daughter—wanted me to quit, I didn’t. She wanted me to herself, but I had a goal that was bigger than her. I should have known back then it wouldn’t work out, but I ignored it.
Lilly Paige sat beside me when I was drafted. Not my mom or my dad. My college coach was there and even my coach from when I was growing up, but they weren’t beside me the way Lilly was. I’ll never forget when they called me—first round, ninth pick for the IceCats—how I felt. I was so proud. I was ready to kick some ass. Lilly was over-the-moon excited for me, and that night, I proposed. I was convinced she was it, but she wasn’t.
I just wanted the whole American dream.
Dream job.
Dream wife.
Dream family.
Which would mean my life would be ten times better than it was. It was nice to have someone to love me. I wanted it so desperately. Love. I craved it. My parents didn’t really step up to that blue line, and when I found it, I wouldn’t let go. Even when I knew I should have.