Malcolm
“Mr. Peppernick, I asked you here today to offer you the position of our middle-school boys’ head soccer coach. As you may know, Mr. Ellis, the current head coach, is undergoing medical treatment that makes it difficult, if not impossible, for him to maintain the coaching schedule.”
I stare at the school district’s athletic director, Mr. Keys, as I consider his offer. “You know I played hockey, right?”
His stoic expression melts. “Yes, we’re all aware of that. And since I’ve been a Blackhawks fan for all of my life, I have more than a few memories of you ruining our hopes at the Stanley Cup.”
Scenes from my past flood my thoughts. Like an old play reel, I remember the long days, the hard work, and the longer nights. The hotels and travel. The season, the playoffs, and the adrenaline.
Twice during my career, it was the Lightning versus the Blackhawks in the playoffs. The year we won the Stanley Cup, the Hawks had the home-ice advantage. We stole that from them in the second game—I stole it—with a last-second shot that sent us into overtime. You’d think after the first overtime our players would have been tired or theirs would have been. No, overtime is like a drug to athletes, the intense unrelenting need to keep playing overrules all else. Our bodies may hurt like hell the next day, but while it’s happening, we’re on overdrive.
Our goalie was standing on his head, saving us many times. That year, the Blackhawks had some of the top scorers in the league. It was the final seconds of the second overtime when Brian managed to get the puck away from one of the Hawks. It happened so fast that I recall the scene more from the highlight reels than from real life. As the buzzer was about to sound, Brian sent a Hail Mary sailing down the ice. That series never made it to the seventh game. It was the Lightning’s only Stanley Cup win.
I smile. “So is coaching middle-school soccer my penance?”
The truth is I went into teaching because of the work I did with kids and hockey. The team’s public relations people wanted us to do volunteer work. I’ll admit it all began that way. But after I started, I couldn’t stop. I loved getting to know the kids at the camps, so much so that I volunteered with the U12 hockey league in Clearwater. It wouldn’t seem that in a hot state like Florida there would be that many kids who were interested in hockey, but there are. Maybe it was the ice. Maybe it was the hard work and camaraderie of being part of a team. Maybe it was that watching the Lightning inspired them. Whatever it was, I looked forward to my volunteer work as much as my real work.
I didn’t only volunteer my time, but also money. Equipment isn’t inexpensive. It didn’t seem right to me that some child should be deprived of the chance to play based solely on financial inability. I helped create scholarships that are still in place. I still contribute financially, and with the way the scholarship trust was set up, the money should be available for a long time.
The other players who volunteered with me and I saw lives change. Kids who were lost and aimless became focused. Parents told us stories and the kids even brought their report cards in to us to show us their progress. It was as rewarding as winning the cup to see a kid turn his life around because of skates, a stick, and a puck.
Mr. Keys laughs at my question. “I don’t think coaching will be that bad, and hockey and soccer have their similarities.”
“They do, but it might take more than shin guards to protect against the blades on the skates and the field may need repair.”
“Yeah, you’ll have to talk to Julia, the secretary in the athletic department, if you plan on a uniform change.”
“Got it. No skates, only cleats?”
“Right. The thing is that the tryouts for this season are done. The team is set. Paul thought he could do it, but with each day it’s gotten too difficult for him to keep going. His doctor wants him to concentrate on getting well and so do we. Practices are at the middle-school field every school day at 3:15 unless there’s a game. Those are either Tuesday or Thursday after school, or some games are on Saturday mornings. As you know, the middle school is only a five-minute drive from your school. The assistant coach works at the middle school and can get the students started with warm-ups if you have a conflict and know you’ll be late.”
“And you don’t want to offer this position to the assistant coach?” I ask, not wanting to step on toes.
“The assistant coach doesn’t have a Stanley Cup ring.”
“But I bet the assistant coach knows the students and the game of soccer better than I do.”
“The assistant coach is Rita Sanchez, a PE teacher at the middle school. She knows the students. She knows the game. She loves soccer, played all through college. She is also seven months pregnant.” His smile grows. “For obvious reasons, she would like to continue as assistant for the time being.”
Like many other times during my days, my mind goes to Mandy.
We’ve only been seeing each other for a little over a month—since fate put us together at the same restaurant bar—but, nevertheless, as I’m contemplating my decision, I think of her. I’ve been single for so long that it surprises me that I wonder what she’d think of this opportunity.
I realize that as I face different decisions, I’d like to share them with someone—no, not someone, with her. I know my decision won’t affect us. Rarely do we see one another before eight-thirty or nine at night and never on Saturday mornings, unless it’s very early and a continuation of Friday night. I understand her desire to protect her son, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish for more.
However, apparently by the expression of anticipation on Mr. Keys’s face, I don’t have time to consult with anyone. He wants an answer, and if I want to do this, I need to move.
“I’ll be honest,” Mr. Keys says, “the additional money isn’t that much. It’s hardly an NHL position.”
“If I say yes, it won’t be for the money.” And I never wanted a coaching position with the NHL. If I had, I’d have gone a different route with my future. I’m grateful for my years as a hockey player. I wouldn’t trade them for anything, but when I left the sport, I did that because I was done with it professionally. Of course, I’m still a fan. I even have season tickets though I’m now five states away.
If I’m willing to give up my afternoons and some Saturday mornings, it’s because of the memories I have of kids’ hockey camps and teams. Yes, now I see similar excited expressions on the students in my classroom, but to have that same enthusiasm I see there for a sport, that is the reason I’ll say yes. I want to help the boys on this team learn to love the hard work as much as the fun and excitement of a game.
I nod my head. “In that case, it seems like time is of the essence in making this decision.”
“I’m sorry that I can’t give you more time to think about it, but we’re between a rock and a hard place. The games begin soon and we need an official coach.”
“I’d be honored to be the coach.”
Mr. Keys’s smile blooms, filling his face as he extends his hand and we shake. “I couldn’t be happier, Malcolm, and for the record, I really did hate you when you played.” He shakes his head. “Not so much you, because if you’d played for the Blackhawks, I would have been your biggest fan. We’re honored to have you here teaching in our district.”
“The honor is mine.”
“Someday, I’d love to hear the story of your turn with the cup.”
I just laugh as I answer, “Another day. When do I start coaching?”
“Rita would like to introduce you to the kids now, this afternoon, if you can stop by the field. Then talk to her and she’ll fill you in on the rest of the schedule.”
As I drive toward the middle school, I can’t help but think that I wish I could tell Mandy about this tonight during our call. Despite the comment about penance, I am excited, and I want to share that with her. I know she doesn’t want to get too personal, but whether she admits it or not, from the first night we met it’s been personal.