The Tournament

by Angelo Kontos

  After his mother blew up at him about taking a leave from the restaurant, Curtis went there and asked Earl if something could be worked out for a few months until The Tournament was over. To his surprise, Earl cheerfully offered him breakfast shifts since the restaurant was open all day long. Curtis could work every day and only skip when the team was on the road.

  “You owe me,” Earl said.

  This new arrangement meant that Curtis would work at the restaurant from early morning until noon each day. Then he would dry out for a few hours before showing up at the rink for daily practices, which started at 2:00. Following hockey, he had another two or three hours before reporting to the warehouse for his overnight shift, and then he would have to go straight back to the restaurant for 7:00 a.m. to do it all over again. Even by his standards, this plan was insane. Curtis was salivating at the idea of being able to sleep in a hotel room when the team was away.

  Of course, now that he was moments away from being fired, that was all going to change anyway.

  His warehouse supervisor finally came in. Curtis felt compelled to at least offer an apology.

  “Listen, boss, I’m sor –”

  “Save it, Curtis,” his supervisor interrupted. “I know what kind of person you are, and I know you’re sorry.”

  “Okay. I’m still sorry though.”

  “You’re lucky I like you, Curtis. But that kind of thing can’t happen.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re on that team, aren’t you?” the supervisor asked. “This tournament that starts tomorrow? Some guy in the newspaper printed the roster and made jokes about all the players. I saw your name. That’s why you’re dead on your feet, right? Too many balls in the air?”

  “I’m not going to make excuses. If you have to fire me, just –”

  “When you get here for your shifts,” the supervisor interrupted again, “come in my office and crash on the couch for two hours. Then you wake up and work the rest of the night.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Maybe I know what it’s like to need money,” the supervisor replied. “But there’s only so far I can stick my neck out.”

  Curtis stood up and offered his hand. His supervisor shook it.

  “Now why don’t you go home and grab a few hours of sleep?”

  “I can’t go home,” Curtis answered sheepishly. “My mother’s expecting that I’ll be gone all night working.”

  “Your mother?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  On the night before the start of The Tournament, Diana Cross walked into the staff lounge at the hospital. She had just finished working with a team of nurses to successfully resuscitate the young woman who looked like her sister, and who nearly died the same way.

  Diana went into the bathroom and locked the door. She promptly vomited in the sink and after a few minutes of composing herself she took another pill. Diana took a deep breath and opened the door to come back out.

  “Are you okay, Dr. Cross?” a nurse sitting nearby asked.

  “Yes,” Diana forced a smile. “Maybe something I ate. I’m going to go home and rest.”

  As Diana turned to leave, she saw newspapers scattered on a table and a photo of Alex in a hockey uniform taking a drink from a sports water bottle during a practice. Above his picture, a large caption read “Captain Nobody.” Diana picked up the paper and read it.

  The sports columnist had written a cynical article ridiculing The Tournament. This writer, Brooks Edwards, referred to Alex as “Captain Nobody” three separate times in the article.

  Diana looked closely at the photo. She hadn’t seen Alex’s face since they broke up. During his mother’s funeral, she sat far away from him in the church and stared at the back of his head. He never even knew she was there.

  On the night before the start of The Tournament, Ken Hornsby sat with his neighbour Pertia in her kitchen. He had prepared a tasty seafood dish at his place and then brought it over.

  “Why didn’t you just use my stove, Kenny?” Pertia asked.

  “I only understand my stove,” Ken replied. “We’ve talked about this.”

  “Are you excited about The Tournament?”

  “I’m still not sure what to expect,” Ken shrugged. “And it would be nice to have another coach.”

  The telephone rang. Pertia was still nursing her leg injury and moving slowly, so Ken got up from his chair to answer it.

  “Let it go to voicemail,” Pertia suggested.

  “Your kids have called me,” Ken said. “They asked why you’re not returning their messages.”

  “Is that right?” Pertia took a sip of water. “I’m a little tired, Kenny. Can you please help me get upstairs to my bed?”

  “Of course.”

  On the night before the start of The Tournament, a man known to his associates as Havock was looking at the photo of Alex Bucco in the newspaper. Havock had just turned seventy, but he was still very much in charge of a small, ruthless criminal syndicate that eliminated a degenerate loser named Bucco many years ago.

  He had led his men into the Bucco home that night and executed the guy right in front of his wife. He could have sworn that a teenage boy jumped out of a bedroom window and ran away. He vaguely remembered hearing Bucco’s wife call out the name “Alex,” or at least he thought that was what he heard.

  Havock recalled that old man Bucco was a nice enough guy who wanted to provide for his family, but business was business. He overextended himself too quickly, made too many mistakes and ignored warnings. Havock had made sure he spared the woman only because he did not want the kid to grow up an orphan. That was the only soft bone Havock had in his entire body for reasons he never shared with anyone.

  Now he was curious if this Alex Bucco, Captain Nobody as the newspaper called him, was in fact that kid who jumped out of the window so many years ago. After all, old man Bucco never did repay his debts. Havock would keep an eye on The Tournament.

  He liked hockey.

  PART TWO

  The Round Robin

  1.

  Toronto’s first game of the round robin was against Minnesota, an American state with a long and proud tradition in hockey. Their team for The Tournament was based in Minneapolis.

  It would be the first game for both teams as well as the home opener for Toronto at the Old Arena Gardens.

  There had been limited media coverage of The Tournament so far, and it was mostly dismissive or negative. Helen tried to combat that with an upbeat press release, in which she pointed out there were over three thousand tickets sold for the home opener. That was more than many junior or even minor hockey games.

  A local cable television station had agreed to broadcast the games live and one of the first people to walk into the rink on game day was legendary hockey broadcaster Cole Foster.

  Considering he was eighty years old, Cole was sharp as a tack. He called hockey games on the radio for more than forty years before being put out to pasture by a young producer who felt Cole represented an older generation that did not connect with the 18–45 male demographic they were aiming for.

  A thoroughly humble and generous man, Cole didn’t fight it and stopped calling games when he was 75. He’d enjoyed an incredible career, and perhaps it was time to pass the torch and spend more time with his children and grandchildren while he was still able to do so. Since his retirement, his wife’s health had also begun to steadily decline.

  When he heard about The Tournament and found out that local TV was going to show the games live, he thought of volunteering his services. The worst thing that could happen would be hearing them say no, but they did not. In fact, the local cable station went into quite a tizzy when Cole Foster, a future inductee into the Hockey Hall of Fame, essentially approached them offering to call the games – and for free! He simply missed being around the game and wanted to do it.

  Local cable television meant doing things on a budget. He would be a one-man show and that was fine with him.
At least he could do what he loved again.

  He was ready to be The Voice of The Tournament.

  2.

  Every city participating did their best to attract local interest. Toronto and New York sold the most seats and were almost on par with each other. Every city seemed to be collectively holding its breath hoping the quality of hockey would be appealing once the games were underway.

  The mood was upbeat inside the Toronto dressing room. A few players were quiet and kept to themselves, but everyone looked relaxed, and the energy was positive.

  Alex was engaged in a pre-game ritual of taping and retaping his sticks.

  Isaac sat at his stall with half his equipment on messing around on his guitar.

  Eddie stood fully dressed with his helmet on and was ready to play long before they had to skate out.

  Dressed in boxers and a dry-fit undershirt with his head leaning back against the wall, Curtis had nodded off in a sitting position. It was not immediately obvious if he was meditating or sleeping. Or perhaps he might be dead.

  Matt put on his goalie pads and stretched his groin out slowly. If he was nervous, it was not obvious to anyone.

  Mike chewed gum and prepared himself at a moderate pace.

  Then there was Barry Davis, the new badass defenceman. Out of all the players, he seemed the least interested in speaking to anyone else; no one had heard him say a word. Alex was gaining a grudging respect for Barry’s work ethic and intensity, but that would not stop him from clocking Barry if he did something stupid in practice again.

  Just before they hit the ice for the pre-game warm-up, Corey came in to give a self-important and useless pep talk.

  “This is about more than just hockey,” Corey declared. “This is about giving hockey fans a chance to dream again.”

  Alex muffled his own laugh after he heard Isaac laugh out loud. What an idiot.

  Mike ignored Corey and blew a loud bubble. Corey then went around and awkwardly shook every player’s hand. Barry Davis just stared at Corey and did not offer his hand. Alex liked Barry more after that.

  Finally, Corey left the room, and it was game time.

  In his role as team captain, Alex never liked to stand in the middle of the dressing room to deliver big, flowery speeches.

  When it was time to line up at the door, he went to stand second in line behind Matt “The Cat,” who would lead the team out of the dressing room and onto the ice. Alex turned and looked at his teammates.

  “Let’s get it,” he said.

  The door opened and Matt led the team out.

  Rock music blared and there might have been close to two thousand people in the stands. Many of them had openly curious expressions on their face, as if to say, “Who are these guys?”

  The Toronto players completed their warm-up, and soon it was time for pre-recorded instrumental versions of the US and Canadian national anthems that were full of static as they blared through cheap speakers.

  Angus Miller sat on the Zamboni at one end of the rink and watched the flow of people coming in. He couldn’t believe his eyes, as he thought perhaps only twenty or thirty might show up.

  Moments later, the referee blew his whistle,cand the game was about to start. Near the glass by centre ice, Cole Foster sat at a small, elevated table that served as a makeshift broadcast station. A camera operator gave him the thumbs up, and they were live on the air.

  COLE

  Good evening hockey fans from coast to coast and to our neighbours south of the border in the United States. I’m Cole Foster, and we’re ready to kick off The Tournament with Toronto facing Minnesota!

  Fans are filing into the old Arena Gardens in Toronto to see what this tournament is all about.

  The referee skates toward centre ice to drop the puck for the opening faceoff. The centres lean in, Bellows for Minnesota, Mark for Toronto…the puck drops, Minnesota wins it, and here we go!

  And away they went. Within the first six minutes of the opening period Toronto was outshooting Minnesota 8–1, and in that sixth minute Mike skated across the middle of Minnesota’s blue line and took a wrist shot. The shot beat Minnesota’s goaltender, and just like that it was 1–0 Toronto.

  The small crowd was loud and boisterous. By the ten-minute mark they were into the flow of the game as Alex and Barry Davis hammered Minnesota’s forwards whenever they tried to get close to Toronto’s net.

  The 1–0 lead held as the pace became progressively slower. Toronto got into its first bit of trouble when one of their nondescript new players took a thoughtless hooking penalty for hauling down one of Minnesota’s forwards who was not even near the play.

  On the ensuing power play, Eddie was sent out to play centre and lost two draws in the defensive zone. As Minnesota controlled the play, a shot from the point was tipped and the game was tied 1–1. Back on the bench, Eddie slammed his stick in frustration.

  “Don’t worry,” Alex said as he grabbed some water. “It’ll come.”

  Near the end of the period, Toronto got a break as a Minnesota defenceman fanned on a clearing attempt and the puck drifted near the middle of the ice. Making no mistake, Mike scrambled after it and picked the opposite corner this time with a wrist shot over the goalie’s glove to make it 2–1.

  However, after that goal Toronto seemed to be playing on their heels a bit. The result was a scoreless second period. It was still 2–1 after two periods, but the small crowd was restless.

  The third period was livelier. Toronto had spurts, but they couldn’t beat Minnesota’s goalie for a third time. The biggest scoring chances came from Mike, who hit a post while looking for a hat trick, and from Alex, who took two powerful slapshots from the point that both missed, one by a little and the other by quite a lot.

  With less than three minutes left, Minnesota players looked more determined than ever to press for the tying goal.

  Then Ken saw what he least wanted to see in his players’ eyes – fear.

  With less than two minutes remaining, the puck was in Toronto’s zone and Minnesota’s goalie raced to the bench for an extra attacker. In the ensuing chaos, their centre Bellows took a cross-ice pass and let go a one-timer. Matt made a nice save, but he allowed a huge rebound on the shot. Bellows had been coming to the net looking for a loose puck, and with about a minute and a half left he buried it and Minnesota tied the game.

  That was how regulation time ended. Overtime did not decide anything either. Toronto’s first game ended in a 2–2 tie.

  3.

  Diana came home in a frisky mood. She and Alex both had a hectic week, and it was time to relax. Alex was under a lot of strain because of his mother’s illness. Lately, when they cuddled on the couch to watch television, Diana could tell his mind was racing. His eyes kept darting around like he was in a perpetual state of high alert.

  She’d stopped at a lingerie store after work and picked up a silky see-through nightie, which she put on as soon as she got home. Diana took a bottle of red wine and two glasses into the bedroom. She was convinced that as soon as Alex walked in and saw her in this sexy number it would be game on. They both needed that.

  Diana poured wine into each glass. The bedroom door opened, and Alex came in.

  “Hey…” she said seductively.

  “Hey,” he answered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, nothing, really. It’s just…you left the balcony door open again.”

  Diana sighed and sipped her wine.

  “There’s a nice breeze outside. It’s just to let in some fresh air,” she replied.

  Alex looked at her in disbelief. “Seriously?”

  “Babe, no one’s coming in through our balcony. We’re on the ninth floor,” she pointed out.

  “Oh, this again?” Alex asked incredulously. “You really think nothing could happen just because we’re on the ninth floor?”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what again?”

  “You’re being dramatic.”


  “Oh, really? I’m being dramatic?”

  “No one said not to lock our front door, but who exactly is going to come in through our ninth-floor detached balcony?”

  Alex did not respond, but he continued to look at Diana angrily.

  “I don’t th…” Diana caught herself and started over. “I know why you’re like this, but you need to calm down.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex asked. “Everyone locks their homes, alright?”

  Diana put her glass down on a dresser and approached Alex. She put her arms around him and rested her head on his chest.

  “I don’t want to fight.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

  “Then close the goddamn balcony door!”

  Alex pulled away and stormed out of the bedroom. Diana wanted to say something, but she reconsidered and let him go.

  4.

  Freddy Rozelli returned to his luxury waterfront condominium and was preparing to spend his first night at home since being discharged from rehab. He hadn’t been alone since Greg Sloane dragged his body from a toilet and delivered him to Tranquility in a semi-conscious heap.

  One of Freddy’s counsellors at the addiction centre suggested that it was the second and third nights that were usually the hardest after returning home. At first, patients were usually full of adrenaline and optimism. Unfortunately, the counsellor told Freddy, those positive feelings often faded, and the isolation and insecurity of addiction could really sink in.

  During his many hours of inevitable reflection, Freddy felt thoroughly scummy and wanted to start making amends. He took a small step by putting a call through to his massage therapist and apologized to her for “being a total dick.”

  He still felt tired and shaky, which the staff at Tranquility told him would take some time to get over. After all, despite the fact he was an elite-level hockey player, he had been treating his body like a garbage disposal for years.

  Freddy was content to lie there and fall asleep with the TV on when he noticed a news update on the hockey lockout. The owners said they valued the players, but their demands were unreasonable; the players said the owners were becoming rich off their talent and they deserved their fair share. Both sides took turns accusing each other of all sorts of despicable things.