“No! Scott Stevens was better,” JJ says to his teammate.

“Uh-uh. My dad says he couldn’t skate.”

“Our dad says he was the best,” Duke says. 

Duke and JJ had been doing this a lot lately. The, my dad says. Leads to a lot of arguments with teachers. Sometimes at recess it progresses to the, my dad could beat up your dad. Jed has to keep his head on a swivel in the school parking lot. 

The boys don’t have hearing problems, that’s for sure. Don’t miss a word said in the household and remember it perfectly well the next day at school. Jed isn’t the only culprit. Linda has to watch herself on the phone. More than once have the kids learned new terms from the back seat of the car while she complains about clients to friends. Linda got a call from the vice-principal to let her know the boys had been overheard calling some of the other kids cheap bastards. 

“My dad knows a lot about hockey,” the kid sitting between Duke and JJ in the arena locker room says. 

“Your dad probably takes bubble baths” JJ responds. 

“My dad doesn’t even like baths. My mom does.”

“I like baths,” another kid says as his dad ties his skates.

Most of the kids have a parent in the room with them. A lot of fathers on bended knee, fixing pads to bodies. Duke and JJ are left to get ready on their own. At first it was a bit of a struggle. Tape around the shins not done tightly enough, the pads shifted to the sides of their legs by the end of the first period, leaving shinbones exposed. Shoulder pads put on backwards. And skate guards left on untied skates. Eventually they figured it out, and now their tape jobs are better than most of the dads’. 

Jed walks the change room, JJ’s stick in his hands, trying to get the kids pumped up. Just before seven in the morning on a Sunday, most of them have sleep in their eyes and look ready to go back to bed. Jed uses the stick to fire balls of tape at the sleepiest kids and yells, “look alive”, as he whizzes one right by their heads. 

“Ya ready to go?” Jed says with a slap of the stick against the goalie’s right pad. 

“I think so,” the kid replies. 

“Ya think so? Thinkin’ will get you pulled in the second after ya let in your fifth.”

Jed isn’t in a position to make that kind of decision. Even if he was, they only have one goalie. So, unless the plan is to play with an empty net, it’s not likely the eight-year-old will get pulled. Although Jed pitched the idea. Doesn’t really care for the kid that plays goalie. Looks lost in all that equipment. Sometimes he doesn’t even know where he is on the ice. He’ll be off in the corner stacking the pads while the net sits empty. Doesn’t have the best save percentage, that’s for sure. Not that they keep track of those things at this age. But Jed’s got an idea of what it is. Brings it up when he’s making the case for six skaters on the ice. Luckily for the kid, Jed’s not the head coach. Politics, he told Linda. They gave the job to a younger guy. Played a couple seasons in the Ontario Hockey League. Jed remembers watching him play. Wasn’t much of a skater, but he had a booming slap shot. Reminded Jed of Happy Gilmore. Jed called him Happy a few times at the beginning of the season, but the guy thought Jed was referring to his good mood, so he cut that out. Started calling him by his actual name, Spencer. 

All the parents like coach Spencer. The moms especially so. He gives equal time to all the kids, and he still hasn’t cut the flowing blond hair from his playing days. Most of the moms had forgotten what hair looked like on a man. 

Jed doesn’t mind the guy. Thinks he’s a little soft on the kids, though. Thought about pulling the twins and getting them on a team where he was head coach, but the league wasn’t going to let Jed be in charge of a team full of kids. Not after his outburst last season, where he threw a tantrum during the playoffs. Jed still maintains the ref deserved it. What kind of ref misses a trip on a breakaway? The league maintains that you shouldn’t tell a fourteen-year-old to drop dead.

Jed and Spencer got to talking at the beginning of the season. Jed told him what he expected from the boys in terms of positions and ice time. Spencer told him he would do his best. Jed explained why he knew what he was talking about. Let him know he had spent some time in the OHL too. Yeah, it was only a tryout with the Wolves that didn’t go well, but Spencer didn’t need to know that. Spencer said he could use another coach on the bench that knew his hockey. Jed accepted the position and Spencer put him on the door. 

“Eh, coach. Ready to roll?” Jed says to Spencer as he walks in the change room with his extra-large Tim’s cup.

“Will be once I get this thing in me.”

Jed stands next to him, leaning on the stick that only goes to his waist. The boys are the only two on the team to use wooden sticks. Jed wouldn’t have it any other way. He hears a faint squeak from the stick as he leans, and he quickly pulls his weight off, standing up straight next to Spencer. 

“Been scoutin’ the other team a bit. Got one kid that can play. Number seven. He can move, but I think we can get JJ to rub him out in the boards.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s Taylor’s son. Good kid.”

“I’m not talkin’ anything serious. Just a little contact in the corner. Rough him up a bit. Knock him off his game.”

“I hear ya, Jed. Just need to remember that there’s no hitting in this league.” 

“They think this is ringette? Gotta learn how to throw the body at some point. I’m fine with JJ takin’ a two-minute minor.”

“Let’s just hold off on that for now. We’ll see how the game’s going. I think we’ll be fine.” 

“Your call, coach. Just give me the nod. I’ll get JJ to do his thing.”

“Ok. But…uh…let’s not do a nod. Unless you hear me say the words, don’t tell JJ to do anything.”

“Ten-four.”

When the kids are all suited up, they get their helmet buckles snapped. After coach Spencer does Duke’s and JJ’s, the two of them walk out on the rubber flooring. Duke grabs his stick from Jed and joins the rest of the team on the boards, facemasks pressed into the glass, watching the Zamboni turn the ice new again. When the ice is done, the entire surface looks like one big spill. The Zamboni driver shovels the last bit of snow off the ice and Spencer opens the door for the kids. In disorderly fashion they squeeze through the door, Duke and JJ at the front. They skate in big circles on their half of the ice, and their opponents do the same on their side. The kids that feel comfortable in skates glide around, completely under control, warming up their legs. The kids that aren’t as comfortable shuffle around the ice, ankles collapsing inwards, weight leaning on their stick. Each one of them fully aware that a fall right now means being wet and cold for the duration of the game. JJ knows this, and he picks his target at random. He skates by quickly and lifts the stick of his struggling teammate. Without his prop, the kid goes tumbling forward, jersey dripping when he eventually makes it to his feet. This puts a smile on most faces. From JJ to the kids happy it wasn’t them today. Even Jed gets a good chuckle. 

The moms walk together past Spencer and Jed. Linda always says good morning to Spencer. All the moms do. Some bring him coffee. Others bring homemade butter tarts. Jed’s lucky if he gets a smile.

The moms gather in their usual place. Top rows above the bench. Allows them to keep an eye on the ice and the bench. The dads stand together behind the net against the glass. They don’t have the best view, but they like being close to the action. They stand with their hands in their pockets, eyes on the ice the entire game, talking into the glass or out of the corners of their mouths. The moms vary in their attention. Some keep it on the ice, more into it than the dads. Others let their eyes wander, check out the dads—both on their team and the other. Several might as well be at a Country Style. Sitting in their seats, turned to the other moms, talking anything but hockey. They miss every goal. 

Not Linda. While she likes talking to the moms, enjoying the change of pace in conversation, the connection she struggles to get in the home. She simply loves watching her boys play. Even if she doesn’t care for the game.

The lone ref joins the kids on the ice. It’s Jed’s nemesis, another year older. The kids bring their chaotic warm-up to an end at the sound of the buzzer from the scoreboard, and coach Spencer gets all but the starting line on the bench. The starting five differs for each game, but it tends to feature Duke and JJ a little more regularly. Perhaps because coach Spencer wants to win. Or possibly because he doesn’t want an earful from Jed. 

“Have fun out there, boys!” Spencer yells before the puck drops.

“Number seven! Eyes on the kid!” Jed follows.

Number seven is good. Best on the ice. He skates like a teenager and has the shot to match. Two quick goals have Jed throwing water bottles into the ground and slamming the door each time he lets a line in. He keeps shooting Spencer the eyes. Waiting for the sign. All he needs is a nod. One little nod. But Spencer doesn’t look his way. Anywhere but Jed’s way. He focuses on his players. Skating and passing tips. Plenty words of encouragement. 

JJ gets a goal back. The kids on the bench raise their hands and yell “goaaalll”. Linda screams JJ’s name and the other moms tell her how good he’s getting. She feels the type of pride Jed does when he talks about his own hockey career. She never thought she’d see the day when hockey put a smile on her face. Her dad never watched a single game. Even in the playoffs. Worked as a night janitor for the school board, so he never had to talk hockey at work. Never played the game either. One of the few French Canadians to not know the name Guy Lafleur. The only time Linda saw games on TV was when she started going to bars at sixteen. Watched grown men three times her age throw hissy fits when the wrong team scored. She didn’t even begin to understand the game. Had offside described to her so many times that she ran out of guys at the bar she could ask for another explanation. 

When Linda and Jed moved in together, and the TV had hockey on each night for eight months of the year, she made an effort to understand the game. Believed it was only right. She picked up most of the rules and was given no choice but to be a Leafs fan. She’d make popcorn and sit next to Jed on the couch. Kisses when the Leafs scored. Silence when they didn’t. As their relationship went on, and it was clear Jed had no interest in making the effort for the things she liked—could only get an episode of Grey’s on the TV when he was out of the house—Linda watched fewer and fewer games next to him. Eventually stopped altogether. Once again forgot what offside was. 

But here she was, a hockey mom, paying more attention to the game than most moms. It’s easier when your kid is good. You’re missing a lot if you don’t watch. And when your kids are good at something, whether it’s playing hockey or blowing bubbles, you can’t help but watch. At least that’s how Linda feels. Jed took the bubbles away the last time she gave them to the boys. 

Number seven scores again. Straight across the ice from Linda a mom receives high fives. Jed slams the door over and over. The sound carries through the arena like a sneeze in a church. After his fit last year put them on thin ice, Linda can’t help but be nervous in these moments. 

“Ya hear they’re getting rid of Giant Tiger,” one of the moms says. 

“Which one?”

“New Sudbury?”

“What are they going to put there instead?”

“Ouu, another Winners would be great.”

“I heard a trampoline park.”

“Heard that, too.”

“Kids would love that.”

“Not what I heard. Couple people saying it’ll be a Pottery Barn.”

“What on earth is Pottery Barn?”

“You’ve never heard of Pottery Barn? We go every time we’re in Toronto.”

“Half my bathroom is from there.”

“Linda, you ever been to Pottery Barn?”

“Sorry, what?” Linda says, distracted by Jed’s impending blow up. 

“Pottery Barn? Ya been?”

“Uhh, don’t think so.”

“See. I’m not the only one. What the hell do we need pottery for?”

“I hear it’s going to be another Canadian Tire.”

“Ouu, wouldn’t hate that.”

Linda doesn’t pay attention to the conversation. The twins are back on. Number seven on the other team has the puck. He moves at a different pace than nearly everyone else on the ice. The sound of his skates carving the ice can be heard in the top row of the arena. The only other kid that makes a similar sound is Duke. He’s probably the best in the league after number seven. He uses his speed to skate the length of the ice and poke the puck away right before the shot. Number seven follows through anyway and pulls a Charlie Brown, landing on his back. Duke picks the puck up and heads the other way. By the time he reaches centre ice he’s skated past all but one on the other team. Even with tired legs starting to slow him down, he still pushes forward on the two on one. The teammate joining him is the kid JJ sent to the ice before the game. His jersey is still darker than the others. He was at centre ice when Duke got the puck, so all he had to do was turn around and lean on his stick until Duke caught up. Now they close in on the net, a defender, just learning how to skate backwards, between them. Duke gets within shooting range. Jed can be heard screaming SHOOOT, but Duke decides to slide the puck across the ice to his teammate. The kid keeps his stick on the ice for the windup and follows through with a slow twist of his body. He misses the puck and once again finds himself face down on the ice. The goalie covers the puck for the whistle. 

Duke’s head is tipped backwards as he returns to the bench. He’s pulling in air as best he can. When he gets a single skate off the ice Jed confronts him. Fat fingers placed through the openings of his cage. He grips and pulls. Duke’s face inches from his own.

“God damnit, Duke! Shoot the fuckin’ puck!”

Jed’s words reach every inch of the arena. The moms behind Linda abruptly end their conversation, and the dads behind the glass crane their neck to see exactly where the words came from. Coach Spencer is ready to intervene. So is Linda. All eyes are on Jed. He has no idea. He’s still furious. Jed lets go of Duke’s cage but before the kid can sit down, he smacks him on the back of his helmet with a heavy hand. The unexpecting kid goes toppling over the bench and hits the ground. Everyone in the arena sees it. 

A collective woah comes from moms on both sides. The dads don’t seem too concerned. The cool of the arena is no match for the hot of Linda’s face. A mixture of embarrassment and anger, her face wears the appropriate red. She’s not sure what to do next. Neither are the women beside her. It’s coach Spencer that acts first, helping Duke up and whispering something in Jed’s ear. Jed follows by leaving the bench, heading to the locker room in a huff. Linda gets up and follows him. The game resumes. 

When Linda steps foot in the room Jed is planting his steel toe in the side of an industrial-sized plastic garbage can. The trash goes flying across the room. Empty Gatorade bottles and Tim Hortons cups cover the floor. 

“What the hell is the matter with you?

Jed turns to find his wife wearing a face he’s been seeing a little more of recently. 

“God damn kid doesn’t shoot the puck.”

“So you hit him?”

“Ahh, give me a break. It was a tap.”

“A tap, Jed? A tap doesn’t send a child to the ground.”

“I got worse, I tell ya that. And I promise ya he’ll shoot the puck next time.”

“You think I give a shit about a child shooting a puck or not?” Linda says, shaking slightly, but standing sturdy. Using a pointed finger, she moves in closer, “you ever hit one of my boys again and you’ll be sorry.”

Jed’s tone shifts and so does his stance. He puts his hands out at his sides like a harmless kid. 

“Didn’t mean to hurt the kid, hun. Just worried about his future.”

“I don’t even want to hear it. You are…just…just remember what I said.”

“I’m sorry, hun.”

Linda turns to leave.

“Oh, and I don’t want you on the bench anymore,” she says as she exits.

Jed gives the garbage can another big kick. Something pulls in his hamstring. More garbage covers the floor.

Linda watches the rest of the game against the glass by herself. Number seven scores twice more. Duke gets on another two on one, this time with his brother. He shoots and scores. Linda doesn’t smile or put her hands together. She so badly wanted Duke to pass the puck.

When the kids get back in the locker room Jed is picking up garbage. None of the kids say anything to him. Duke and JJ go about taking their equipment off. Linda comes in to help. 

“I’ll be taking them home,” Linda says to Jed over her shoulder as he passes with the garbage can in hand. 

Jed doesn’t say anything. He puts the garbage back in its place and approaches Spencer. 

“Coach. Wife thinks it’s a good idea I take a little break from coachin’.”

“I think that’s for the best, Jed. For the best.”

Jed shakes Spencer’s hand and continues on his way. He limps out of the arena. Nodding to dads and taking dirty looks from moms. He makes his way past the canteen and out into the cold. Despite the sun it’s a good thirty below without the wind chill. Cold enough to make Jed put his hands in his jean pockets. Cold enough to turn his ears the colour of Linda’s face. 

Only feet away from his truck he catches an unsalted patch of ice and puts all of his weight on his bad leg to steady himself. A shooting pain runs up his leg. He grips it and swears. He shakes his head as he opens the truck door.

“That fuckin’ number seven.”