“That’s the truth,” Pavel calls out in his thick Russian accent.
Most of the guys are now nodding enthusiastically with renewed hope. I turn to Alex and mutter. “It’s your show now.”
“All right,” Alex says. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to take Ryker here and walk across the street to Houlihan’s and buy him a fucking beer because that makes a lot of sense to me. If any of you want to join us, come on over. I’ll buy everyone a beer, and let’s start getting back our mojo together…as a team.”
“Fuck yeah,” Zack says, and starts for the door. Most everyone stands from their chairs and starts heading out. Of course, I have no clue if they’ll come to Houlihan’s, but it will be interesting to see what they do.
Some teammates walk by me as I stand at the front of the room with Alex and Garrett. Several guys fist bump me, punch me on the shoulder, or give me a supportive nod. Max Fournier comes up to me and we clasp hands, pull each other in for a chest bump, and clap each other on the back. “Dude…you know that fucker doesn’t speak my sentiments about the goalie slot, right?”
“Yeah, I got that. I want what’s best for this team, that’s all.”
“As do I, brother,” he says with a grin. “Meet you over there for that beer, and are we doing yoga on Wednesday?”
Garrett coughs and Alex snorts. “Yoga?”
“Yeah,” Max says with a nod of his head. “Ryker got me into it. He’s been taking a class from Gray and it’s really great for our flexibility.”
“Oh, really,” Garrett asks with a sly laugh. “Yoga, huh? That’s, um…very manly.”
“Fuck off,” I growl at him. “I’d like to see you try a class. You’ll be crying like a baby when you’re done.”
“Oh, it’s fucking on,” Garrett says as he puffs his chest out. The proverbial gloves just got thrown down.
“Wednesday at ten o’clock, bitch,” Max says with a playful punch to Garrett’s shoulder, and we all laugh.
When we get to Houlihan’s, it’s packed. I look around and as best I can tell, every single member of the team is there.
Every single member except Claude and Sam.I’m pleased to see Mikkel seems to have come to his senses, and he raises his beer up to me when we make eye contact. A silent apology, which I accept.
Not bad when it comes to unification. It’s actually better than I expected. It’s my hope, at least for now, that this team will quit focusing on things they can’t control and put their efforts into that which they can.
If we can do that, we’ve got this fucking Cup in hand.
Chapter 20
Gray
This is it.
Right here.
The epitome of what it means to be a general manager of a professional sporting team. It’s also going to be the first major decision I’ll help put into effect when it’s all said and done.
It’s February fourteenth, and while most are thinking of Valentine’s Day, I’m thinking about the trade deadline that is approaching in less than three weeks. My scouts have been busy checking out the minors, Frank’s been talking to other team managers, and I’ve been analyzing the players’ stats. We have until March fifth to make our trades, or otherwise anyone we pick up after that will be ineligible to play in the playoffs. Usually there’s a mad scramble at the deadline to do some final wheeling and dealing, but I want to get this out of the way. I want to get our last trades done so they can gel with the team. I think that’s crucial so we are solidified going into the playoffs.
The executive conference room is huge and can hold twenty people easily around the oblong table. Right now, there’s just four of us. Me at the head of the table and my father to my left. He took that seat on purpose, putting me in the kingpin’s chair so it was clear who was running this meeting. Frank is to my right, and on the other side of him sits Coach Pretore. The rest of the seats are empty because I just sent the scouts out of here after they delivered their reports to us.
There’s one more person we need to talk to and he should be here soon, but before I invite the team captain in, I want to talk about options.
“As of now, I think we’ve identified three players that we may want to either release or trade,” I say as I look down at my notes. These players were chosen after much talk and debate. I relied on my statistical model. Coach Pretore relied on his observation skills. Frank went old school and relied on his hunch, and my father had no opinion. Well, I know he has an opinion, because he always does, but he’s withholding. He’s making it clear that in his role as the CEO, he’s not getting involved in decisions at this level. He’s trusting his management team to do so.
“Are you sure Halik is done?” Frank asks Pretore. “Maybe another round of therapy?”
Jani Halik is a promising center we picked up two years ago, one of my finds actually, but he has not been able to bounce completely back from a groin pull from more than a year ago. He gets healthy, then he gets hurt again. Healthy, hurt, healthy, hurt. He’s become unreliable, but this was one that Pretore voiced concern about.
“I don’t think it will make a difference,” Pretore says. “He’s only good enough for the third line if he’s healthy, and we don’t know when that could be.”
“We won’t get much in trade for him,” Frank says.