The Tournament

by Angelo Kontos

  He was completely underestimated by everyone around him, who were either unaware or chose to ignore how much of a tyrant he was. He became known for running over anyone he didn’t like, and he did so with a full head of steam. It got to the point where most people stayed out of his way and were just waiting for him to die or retire.

  A private recluse with nothing else to occupy his time that anyone knew about, Macdonald held his job at the university until he was well into his seventies before his declining health finally forced him to stop.

  Nowadays, he spent a good chunk of his time barking at a nurse to wheel him closer to a television set in the convalescent home where he was going to spend the rest of his days. The oxygen tank that was connected to his wheelchair made a clanging sound along the floor whenever he was moved.

  Macdonald had been watching a lot of TV lately. He had been watching The Tournament, and he did not like what he saw.

  It took him all of five seconds to recognize Ken Hornsby when the cameras showed him behind the Toronto bench. He thought that he had put Ken out to pasture years ago, but apparently not. Incredibly, this tournament was gaining more attention, so more likely than not he would have to pull the pin on the grenade and roll it along the ground until it stopped at the feet of Ken Hornsby.

  After all, Macdonald reasoned to himself, everyone has skeletons in their closet.

  49.

  The team boarded their bus just after dinner the next evening as they prepared to depart for two road games in the US. After a brief morning skate, all the players had been sent home to have a quick rest and pack their things.

  Everyone was there on time, including Isaac, who decided to take up the entire two-seater behind Alex. As usual, he had his sunglasses on and was listening to the mp3 player. He also had his feet up and was singing loudly with his head bobbing from side to side.

  The only person missing was Ken. Alex yawned and leaned forward.

  “Anyone seen Coach?”

  Barry Davis was seated directly across the aisle from Alex.

  “What about you, big man?” Alex asked him. “You seen Coach?”

  Barry scowled back at Alex in response.

  “Mm-hmm,” Alex responded. “Didn’t think so.”

  “Ha, you were just trying to see if he’d talk,” Isaac laughed.

  Barry turned his menacing scowl toward Isaac.

  “Yo, who’s that?” Isaac asked and pointed to the front of the bus.

  Alex looked over and saw Ken board the bus followed by a tall, young man who looked familiar.

  “Gentlemen, let me have your attention,” Ken announced.

  All the players quieted down and looked at the man standing beside their coach. Isaac leaned forward to Alex and whispered.

  “Hey, isn’t that –”

  “Yup,” Alex replied before Isaac could finish. “It is.”

  “I’d like to introduce Freddy Rozelli,” Ken said.

  Freddy smiled politely at the team and waved.

  “Freddy has offered to help me behind the bench,” Ken continued. “He’s our new assistant coach.”

  That comment hung in the air for a minute before Freddy made his way to the back of the bus carrying a duffel bag. He stopped in front of Alex and looked at the empty seat beside him.

  “It’s okay if I sit here?” Freddy asked.

  Alex got up and brushed past Freddy to make his way toward the front. “Be my guest.”

  Freddy sat down in the seat closest to the window. Alex approached Ken in the front row.

  “This a joke, Coach?” Alex asked.

  “Alex, this is not the time or place,” Ken responded. “Let’s discuss it later.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that,” Alex replied bitterly before returning to his seat.

  Alex sat back down in his seat and looked straight ahead to avoid eye contact with Freddy. Isaac got up on his knees and peered over.

  “Hey,” Isaac said to Freddy. “You’re the guy they call The Flash, right?”

  “That’s me,” Freddy responded.

  Isaac stuck his hand out. “I’m Isaac. The boys call me Big Time.”

  “Why do they call you that?” Freddy asked.

  Isaac raised his sunglasses. “’Cause I’m Mr. Big Time, baby.”

  “Oh,” Freddy replied. “Sure. That makes sense.”

  50.

  “I’m off the pills.”

  “Really?” Dr. Williams asked.

  “Yes,” Diana replied.

  “Well, that’s wonderful,” her family doctor said. “For how long?”

  “A few weeks,” Diana replied. “I went somewhere and dried out.”

  “I am just so glad for you,” the doctor beamed. “And how are you doing?”

  “Okay, not always great. It’s hard.”

  Dr. Williams nodded sympathetically. “You’re going to find that it’s a process. You were on that medication for many, many years.”

  “I want to talk to someone,” Diana said.

  “Well, I can refer you to a very good colleague,” her doctor said confidently.

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “You,” Diana repeated.

  “Diana, I’m not a psychiatrist or a psychologist,” Dr. Williams objected.

  “I trust you,” Diana insisted. “It has to be you…please.”

  “Alright, fine,” Dr. Williams sighed. “Under one condition.”

  “What?”

  “If our discussions aren’t helping, then I refer you to my colleague and you go.”

  “Okay.”

  “When would you like to start?”

  “How about now?”

  51.

  Before their next game, Ken summoned his captain to meet with him in the small janitorial closet the opposing team had provided to be his office. The room smelled like old mops.

  Alex waddled in with ice packs strapped tightly to both knees.

  “Before you even say anything, Coach, I want to apologize for being rude to you on the bus,” Alex said.

  Ken pointed to the ice packs. “Did I miss something? You hurt?”

  “My knees are just sore,” Alex replied. “I’m getting old.”

  “You and me both,” Ken said. “Listen, Alex, knowing you the way I do, I know you can’t be thrilled about Freddy Rozelli.”

  “It’s not my call. You’re running the team and I’m good with whatever you want to do.”

  “Always the loyal soldier.”

  “It’s not my call,” Alex said again.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Alex. Just say what you want to say.”

  Alex pondered this before answering.

  “Okay, fine. You’re the coach and you’re a helluva coach. The team is playing well now. I don’t see why we need him.”

  Ken sat down in a plastic chair beside a little fold-up table the other team had put out for him.

  “Look, Alex,” Ken began. “If we are really going to have a shot at not just making the playoff rounds, but doing well in them, then we have to figure out our scoring. It’s just not good enough.”

  “And you think Freddy ‘The Flash’ can help us score goals?” Alex asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Ken replied.

  “He’s a spoiled degenerate millionaire who gets drunk in public and throws money at people so he can enjoy watching them crawl around for it.”

  “I know.”

  “He turned his back on a little kid and then tried to punch out his dad.”

  “I know.”

  “Well then?” Alex asked incredulously.

  “Alex?”

  “Yes, Coach?”

  “Everyone deserves a second chance,” Ken said. “Don’t you think?”

  52.

  Havock was annoyed that his phone rang while he was watching Toronto grind out another victory on the road. He found himself increasingly addicted to watching The Tournament on the local cable channel.

  As usual, Havock had taken a sleeping pill half an hour be
fore the time he wanted to turn in. With eight minutes left in the third period, it seemed like a safe bet to do it then. After taking the pill, he would chase it with some homemade moonshine and then lights out.

  “What is it?” Havock snarled at whoever was on the other end of the line, while he turned down the volume on his television.

  “He’s been warned enough,” Havock said into the phone. “Just take care of it.”

  The television showed Alex and Mike tapping each other’s helmets to celebrate Mike’s second goal of the game as they returned to the bench together.

  “What about the other thing I asked you to look into?” Havock said. “The hockey player?”

  He listened and his eyes widened.

  “You sure? It’s him?” he asked.

  Havock hung up the phone and stared intently at his television as the camera focused on Alex.

  That little son of a bitch.

  53.

  Greg Sloane was preparing for another press conference, but unlike last time he was looking forward to this one.

  Despite the fact Toronto decided to have Freddy Rozelli travel with the team on their recent mini–road trip, they kept him under wraps and away from media types like Brooks Edwards. Freddy had not yet joined Ken behind the bench as Toronto kept rolling and improved their record to 5–3–2.

  Corey and Helen had met with Ken at the Arena Gardens before leaving for the trip, and it was decided the news of Rozelli joining as assistant coach would wait until Toronto returned home. Sloane (at Freddy’s request) would plan the press conference.

  Helen called it “The Big Reveal.”

  When Freddy called Sloane and told him that he was joining Toronto as a coach, Sloane was genuinely surprised and didn’t know what to make of it. A big part of his job was figuring out how to spin things, but he wasn’t sure about this one.

  On one hand, it was Freddy showing that he wasn’t an elitist, overpaid athlete who had forgotten his roots – instead, he was willing to share his expertise. From that perspective, it resembled charity work.

  On the other hand, it could all be a cynical ploy, staged to portray the arrogant jerk who threw money around and brushed past a little boy looking for an autograph in a more positive light. From that perspective, it was nothing more than phony rehabilitation.

  Sloane met with Freddy before the press conference and tried to show him the talking points he prepared.

  “I don’t need that,” Freddy said.

  “Freddy, come on, don’t start,” Sloane objected.

  “Trust me.”

  The press conference took place in the exact same location as the previous one.

  There were at least as many reporters as there had been on that fateful day, and Brooks Edwards was seated in the front row. Everything about this made Sloane nervous, but he noticed how cool, calm and collected Freddy appeared to be.

  Freddy sat in between Ken and Corey behind a row of microphones. Alex was also there. He was wearing a baseball cap that read Just Toronto, new team swag that Helen ordered. Reporters were buzzing at the sight of Freddy.

  Sloane began by thanking everyone for coming. He would get right to the point: Freddy “The Flash” Rozelli was joining Toronto’s bench as an assistant to the head coach, Ken Hornsby.

  Questions?

  The reporters and photographers all exchanged looks. Where to start?

  Brooks Edwards’ hand shot up.

  “Freddy, why are you doing this?”

  Sloane held his breath.

  “Well, I’ve been home watching these guys and I think I can offer something,” Freddy replied comfortably. “I like their approach. They work hard. They’re coming together and the hockey’s better than I expected.”

  Another reporter started to ask something, but Brooks cut him off.

  “Couldn’t this be seen as a media stunt to improve your image?” Brooks asked.

  “I guess so,” Freddy answered. “I can’t really control what people think and I’m not going to worry about it, to be honest. I get why people would question it, but I know why I’m doing this and for me that’s the most important thing.”

  Other reporters took turns asking Ken questions.

  What did he expect Freddy to bring to the team? Was he worried about Freddy’s “baggage”?

  Ken’s answers were succinct and supportive.

  Freddy Rozelli was a prolific goal scorer, and he would help the team’s offensive game, Ken explained to the throng of journalists.

  “Everyone has baggage,” Ken reminded the reporter who asked that question. “Everyone deserves another chance.”

  Freddy smiled at Ken appreciatively.

  “What about you, Alex?” a reporter asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex responded. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “What do you think about Freddy joining the team?” the reporter clarified.

  “I think he’s going to help us.”

  “Are you worried about the controversies?”

  “No, I’m not,” Alex responded. “Like Coach said, everyone deserves another chance.”

  A few more questions were asked of Freddy and Ken before a relieved Sloane thanked everyone for coming. As they prepared to leave, Brooks Edwards called out:

  “You still doing drugs, Freddy?”

  That froze the room and Sloane panicked. Did Brooks find about what happened at the Great Lodge? Or was his question based on the general knowledge that Freddy had been into drugs?

  “Freddy, don’t answer that,” Sloane instructed quietly.

  “No,” Freddy answered loudly. “I’m clean.”

  “But you didn’t used to be?” Brooks pressed on with a big smirk on his face.

  “But I didn’t used to be,” Freddy confirmed.

  Sloane covered his mike and leaned over to Freddy.

  “Jesus, Freddy. You’re going to screw up your appeal.”

  “I don’t care,” Freddy replied.

  Freddy turned back to Brooks and the rest of the reporters.

  “Truth is, I was pretty strung out and I took some time to clean up,” Freddy said.

  Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and by the looks of it neither could Corey, Ken or Sloane. Freddy “The Flash” Rozelli, who disgraced himself to the point of jeopardizing his career as a professional hockey player, was now publicly admitting to substance abuse.

  “Okay, thank you,” Sloane said to the reporters before motioning for Freddy and the others to get up and leave.

  As they walked off the platform, Alex tapped Freddy on the shoulder. He wanted to tell him how much he respected what he just did, but instead he went with this:

  “You been watching the games?”

  “Yup,” Freddy answered.

  “So what do you think I should be doing?” Alex inquired.

  “We’ll talk about it in practice, but one thing for sure is you need to join the rush more when you’re back on D,” Freddy said. “I’ll show you how to pick your spots better.”

  After everyone left and Sloane loosened his tie and wondered how this would play out, Brooks Edwards sat in the front row hammering away at his laptop. This tournament was starting to be a lot of fun.

  54.

  Mike Hill decided to make the most of his day off by going home. Although he appreciated Helen’s generous offer to have his wife and kids come over and spend the night at her house, he was still not ready to impose.

  In the last four games, Mike was putting up points and flashing a kind of hockey brilliance that was even surprising to those who knew him. As more and more media dialed into The Tournament, New York’s Wayne Vanstone was widely regarded as the best player on any team. However, in their recent 2–2 tie, Mike quietly but steadily went toe to toe with Vanstone in every aspect of the game. Mike and the team were hitting their stride, and he was almost ashamed of how much he loved it.

  Anyone witnessing his arrival home at Curve Lake may have thought he had been away for years ba
sed on the greeting his wife gave him, throwing him into the bedroom and shutting the door. Their kids were in school. It was the best, most relaxing afternoon ever.

  After dinner, Mike’s sons begged him to play road hockey with them on their long driveway. They were enthused at how great their father was playing in The Tournament. Even though Mike was always close to his children, he couldn’t recall them ever gushing over him the way they were now.

  Becky sat on the porch with a glass of wine. Mike made eye contact with her and they exchanged loving smiles.

  The mood changed, however, later that night after the kids were in bed and Mike announced that he wanted to take their small kayak out for a bit. It didn’t matter that Mike was an expert kayaker. Everyone heard stories of people disappearing off kayaks and washing up days later. Mike always took precautions, but Becky imagined the dark of night could be disorienting and this worried her to no end. Mike reassured her that he would be back within an hour and would not go out too far.

  After all that worrying, Becky probably would have been amused at how short a distance from their house Mike travelled before stopping and putting his paddle down. Tiny waves rocked the kayak ever so slightly.

  He told Becky that he needed to clear his head, but what he really wanted to do was avoid her detecting the slow burn he was feeling. Mike picked up one of the paddles, and after a few seconds he slammed it back down in the kayak angrily.

  For the first time that he could remember, Mike wanted to hurt someone.

  55.

  Diana’s father wiped sweat from his brow and cursed himself for not paying the extra seventy-five dollars to have this new television set delivered and installed in his living room. It was loaded in the back of the Crosses’ mid-size SUV and he had to get it out by himself. When he purchased it, he had balked at his wife’s suggestion that he should just pay the additional fee and avoid breaking his back.

  Mr. Cross tried to get the TV out of the car by pulling on a sheet of cardboard that he had placed underneath it. The set was heavy, and he was not in the greatest physical condition.