The Tournament

by Angelo Kontos

  Alex slammed his pen down again. “Will you shut up? I’ve got to get this done.”

  “And bring the cash… Yeah, for the last time, I’m being serious,” Isaac said. “What? Hello?”

  Isaac hung up the phone. He picked up his guitar and sat on one of the two beds in the room.

  “You almost done?” Isaac asked.

  Alex nodded. “It’s got to be just right.”

  “I’d believe anything you’d say.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “What if it doesn’t go the way you think?” Isaac asked. “What then?”

  “It will.”

  “Man, this is heavy,” Isaac said as he played a few strings.

  “Hey, pal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That phone call…you’re not into anything, are you?” Alex asked.

  “Nope.”

  67.

  While Ken was being blindsided by Brooks prior to Game 3, Eddie had been undergoing a rhinoplasty to fix his nose. The procedure went well, and he went home that night, though he was unable to breathe properly because his nose was packed with cotton and a tampon. He was in and out of consciousness from the drugs he was taking to manage the pain.

  The only way Eddie could sleep was in a sitting position, and he caught just enough of the third period in Game 3 to know, despite his foggy state, that his team was losing and there was something wrong because Ken was not behind the bench. He turned the volume up, even though he had a splitting headache, and heard Cole Foster say “serious allegations.” Before he could find out what was going on, Eddie fell asleep in that sitting position.

  After waking up the next morning, he immediately went to the kitchen to get some water. His tongue felt stiff, and his throat was dry after breathing through his mouth all night. He drank a tall glass of water before sitting in front of his computer.

  Eddie read that Toronto lost the game 4–2 before taking in the sordid details of the press conference. There was a dark circle around the team now, and Eddie was home with a menstrual product shoved up his nose.

  He grabbed his jacket and decided that he did not want to be alone.

  68.

  Following his first unsuccessful attempt at being a head coach with Toronto’s Game 3 loss in New York, Freddy went back to his hotel room and sat on the bed, staring at the walls.

  Unfortunately, Freddy recalled his counsellor telling him before he left Tranquility that the isolation and insecurity of addiction could really sink in at the most inopportune times.

  Everything had been going so well since he made the leap to join the team. It may have seemed cliché to some, and he would always have his detractors, but Freddy had really been starting to feel like a new person.

  Then that press conference happened. Why did it seem like his life was spinning around in the same circles? Another blasted press conference. Another big crash, like an eighteen-wheeler driving off a cliff. Just like that, everything was in disarray again.

  Freddy got up and went to the bathroom. He had a toiletry bag that he used when he travelled; his parents got it for him as a gift after making the pros. The bag was made of high-quality leather, of course. Only the best for their boy. Freddy pulled the zipper open and paused.

  The silence in the room was deafening.

  He was stupid to think he could really change. Stupid to think putting himself out there with a brave face could make a difference. What difference did it make tonight? The team was in crisis, and he failed to inspire his players. And why should they look up to him? What kind of example did he set? Just ask that boy and his father that Freddy wrestled to the ground.

  Freddy dug through the toiletry bag, which was crammed with numerous little shower gels. He smiled after finding what he wanted, and he wondered if Matt had even noticed. Freddy figured he probably did, but he didn’t say anything. After all, Freddy knew who Matt was and vice versa.

  They were addicts.

  Freddy looked at the contents of the vial for a second. Then he opened it.

  69.

  Brooks was practically floating on air since grabbing his fifteen minutes of fame during the last press conference. After finally playing his hand, he’d been interviewed six or seven times on the radio along with three television appearances and a couple of podcasts.

  In each interview, Brooks sounded outraged at discussing the allegations against Ken Hornsby that he alone was responsible for bringing forward. It was not a pleasant task, he explained to various audiences, but someone had to do it. He was just a good reporter following his leads. Of course, surely everyone understood that Brooks could not reveal his sources. Such an act would compromise his integrity as a journalist.

  Now, as he entered a small room crammed with reporters in the New York arena, Brooks felt like a celebrity. This press conference had been requested by Toronto, no doubt a knee-jerk reaction to all the controversy. The team had to say something. More importantly, Brooks knew they had to do something. His money was on Ken quitting again, or being fired, as the first step toward reining the whole thing in and trying to make it go away.

  However, Brooks was confident it would not go away, and he was the courageous journalist who’d brought the issue to everyone’s attention. He walked through the room with his chest puffed out and was ready to ask a flurry of new questions that would elevate his profile even more.

  A few minutes later, Toronto captain Alex Bucco came in through a side door, and on his heels was every player on the team minus the injured Eddie Mark. Assistant coach and exiled pro hockey player Freddy Rozelli brought up the rear, looking tired and preoccupied. Brooks smiled. He remembered a time not so long ago when Freddy used to be his biggest scandal.

  The team filled in around Alex as he stood behind a microphone. Ken was nowhere to be seen.

  Alex held a hotel stationery pad. After quickly surveying the room, he glanced over at Isaac, who was standing closest to him wearing his sunglasses.

  “You seriously going to wear those right now?” Alex asked out of the corner of his mouth.

  “This is me, baby,” Isaac responded.

  Alex shook his head, but he was more amused than angry. He took a deep breath before speaking into the microphone.

  “Thank you to everyone for coming on short notice.”

  Alex paused for a moment as Sloane and Helen entered through a door at the back, and at the same time Corey came in from another side door.

  “During a press conference the other day,” Alex said, “a reporter named Brooks Edwards made disturbing allegations through his questions of our head coach, Ken Hornsby.”

  Brooks smiled and stood up on his toes for a second, as though so proud of himself he was trying to be taller.

  “Obviously, those allegations were unexpected and have put our team in crisis,” Alex went on.

  Here it comes, thought Brooks. The hammer. Alex was about to say, “We’ve come together as a team and decided we have no choice but to relieve Coach Hornsby of his duties. We appreciate his contributions, blah blah blah…”

  “We are here today to say…that we stand behind our coach one hundred percent,” Alex stated. “The accusations are unfounded and baseless. We believe our coach when he says that he is innocent. This is nothing more than a smear job launched by a pathetic excuse for a journalist, Brooks Edwards.”

  Some of the reporters looked over at Brooks, who maintained a smug smile, although it began to look forced.

  “I’m not sure what it feels like to come out in a forum like this and falsely attack the character of a good man like Ken Hornsby in a desperate and sad attempt to get attention, but then again, on our worst day none of us up here could ever be an unconscionable loser like Brooks Edwards.”

  Alex said Brooks’ name with such contempt it sounded like he was announcing the name of a new disease. Isaac grinned and nodded his approval.

  “Now here’s the truth,” Alex continued. “Many years ago, Coach Hornsby was similarly accused and co
rnered into resigning from a job he loved, a job he was born to do, based on unproven allegations. He quit because he did not want to tarnish the legacy that he helped create at the university, and he did so to protect his players, including some of us up here. That’s the kind of man he is.”

  Alex looked at Brooks and pointed at him as he spoke.

  “As much as we live in a world where everyone loves to run their mouth, surely we must still be able to push back on false accusations, on lies, from opportunists like this man. Surely it’s not okay to ruin a person’s life without offering a shred of proof that he did anything wrong.”

  Alex was getting angrier as he spoke.

  “So, here’s what’s going to happen,” he went on. “After this press conference, Brooks Edwards is banned from any future meetings between anyone on our team and the media. We are not interested in answering his questions or looking at his lying, miserable face. Furthermore –”

  “You can’t just –” Brooks interrupted, but Alex cut him off.

  “Shut your mouth, you lying weasel.”

  Brooks’ grin disappeared and he felt himself turning red. Isaac took off his sunglasses and glared at Brooks. The rest of the reporters mumbled excitedly. At least a few of them seemed to love this, as did most of Alex’s teammates.

  “Furthermore, we’re giving Brooks Edwards twenty-four hours to present any type of evidence to support his inflammatory line of questioning. If he does not bring anything forward, we are going to support our coach in suing him for defamation of character. I’ll file the court papers myself if I have to. We have also invited the police to investigate, as Mr. Hornsby has nothing to hide. If I thought for a second that he may be guilty of such indiscretions, then I would not be out here defending him. None of us would.”

  Alex stopped and took a few steps toward Brooks, knowing that it would elicit photographs.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Alex said, with his finger pointed inches away from Brooks’ face.

  Freddy Rozelli led the team out of the room. Alex brought up the rear this time, and Isaac leaned back and whispered to him:

  “My man!”

  70.

  When Alex crashed the late-night meeting between Sloane, Freddy, Helen and Corey, the five of them had spent the next few hours discussing strategy. Everyone grew to like Alex’s idea of pushing back on the accusations and pushing back hard.

  They picked Corey’s legal mind. Alex asked about defamation of character, and Corey replied that although that area of law was not his specialty, he could see a case if Ken was really innocent.

  For a defamation case to have a chance, Corey explained to the group, Ken would have to:

  a) Be innocent of the allegations.

  Check, Alex responded.

  b) Demonstrate the allegations hurt his reputation.

  Check.

  c) Show he’d suffered financial hardship, such as losing his job and damaging his reputation.

  Check and check.

  “You sure he’s innocent?” Corey asked Alex.

  “I wouldn’t defend him if I thought anything different,” Alex responded.

  Sloane suggested they give Brooks Edwards a chance to retract his comments before proceeding with a lawsuit.

  “Why?” Helen asked.

  “I just think if the issue really is the accusation,” Sloane answered, “then we focus on that and not going right after money, which is what you’re doing when you sue someone.”

  “And if he doesn’t take it back, how much can Coach ask for?” Alex asked.

  “Depends. A lot, potentially,” Corey answered. “There’re different kinds of damages. And that’s assuming the reporter won’t provide some proof. ‘Truth’ is a defence to defamation.”

  “He won’t provide any proof,” Alex replied confidently. “There isn’t any.”

  Sloane signaled for their waiter to come over. He couldn’t take it anymore and ordered a steak.

  In the dressing room, right after Alex’s “pushback” press conference, Ken finally showed his face and addressed the players as they prepared for Game 4.

  Ken apologized for all the trouble, but he maintained his innocence. He also acknowledged how difficult it was for anyone to believe those kinds of accusations could actually be false.

  He went on to explain how this issue had haunted him for many years and how, as much as it hurt personally, he never wanted his players to be subjected to any of the controversy that would inevitably come with fighting back against such allegations.

  His inclination was to quit again, he told them, much the same way he did all those years ago. He didn’t want to become a distraction, and he wanted the team to win The Tournament. They were so close.

  The room was silent for a few moments before Mike got up. He grabbed the coach’s clipboard and held it out to Ken.

  Ken took the bench for Game 4 and the New York crowd booed him loudly, but the entire Toronto team looked determined. New York were on their heels immediately, and Toronto pumped in two quick goals a few minutes apart by Mike and Isaac to lead 2– 0 by the end of the first period.

  New York recovered a bit and came out stronger in the second, as Wayne Vanstone worked his magic and set up a goal on another beautiful pass to cut Toronto’s lead to 2–1. However, this just seemed to anger Toronto more, and they continued to dominate and wear out the New York players. Mike tipped in a low shot from Barry Davis on the point to give his team a two-goal lead again. Early in the third, Alex was playing up on the wing and knocked in a rebound to give them a commanding 4–1 lead. With five minutes left and the usually feisty crowd out of the game, Vanstone managed to get another goal on a wicked wrist shot, but Toronto won the game handily, 4–2.

  The series was now tied at two heading back to Toronto for Game 5.

  After the game, reporters were granted access to the dressing room, but when Brooks tried to walk through the door, a security guard pulled him aside.

  “Unfortunately, the team has asked us to keep you out, Mr. Edwards,” the security guard said.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Brooks said as he held up a lanyard with press credentials. “I’m a reporter and I have my pass.”

  “Yes, sir, but the dressing room is off limits. I was also asked to give you this.”

  The guard pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Brooks.

  The note was from Alex.

  Take your press credentials and shove them up your ass.

  xoxo - Alex Bucco

  Back in Tommy’s room at the hospital, Eddie managed to forget his misery, albeit temporarily, and celebrate watching his teammates defend their coach before defeating New York to tie the series. It ached Eddie to think of how much he wanted to play.

  While sitting in Tommy’s hospital room and watching Game 4 on a little portable television, he felt agitated by the life-support machines that were keeping Tommy alive. It was not so much the appearance of the machines, but the sounds they were making. The suction noises made Eddie feel like he was short of breath himself, which was not hard considering he couldn’t inhale or exhale properly due to the rhinoplasty.

  After their triumphant comeback, the team hit the road back to Toronto as soon as possible. They arrived early in the morning following the ten-hour drive, and Ken was happy to see Pertia standing by her door. She had waited all night for him to return.

  Pertia stepped onto the porch with the aid of her cane and went down the steps to meet Ken. She gave him a big hug.

  “They rallied around me,” Ken said during their embrace. “Alex made them.”

  “Come inside,” Pertia replied. “Let’s have our coffee and tea.”

  “That sounds better than you know.”

  71.

  Curtis felt like he was dragging his feet all the way up to the geriatric psychiatry unit. The three-day escape to New York City for Games 3 and 4 gave him an excuse to temporarily forget about everything, but he had a hard time focusing. Curtis had
not scored or played very well in the Big Apple.

  When he checked into the nurses’ station, he was politely directed to a meeting room where a doctor wanted to speak with him. Curtis took a seat at one end of an oval table and waited. The doctor came in and sat down.

  “Mr. Lewis, thank you for coming,” the doctor said.

  “Call me Curtis.”

  “Okay, Curtis. Your mother has been with us for nearly a week, and I’d like to discuss where we go from here.”

  “Sure.”

  “We believe she is in the early stages of dementia,” the doctor said. “Have you noticed any changes in her behaviour recently?”

  Curtis thought about it. Where to start?

  “I don’t know. Like what?” he asked the doctor.

  “Like, has her mood been different? Has she been more forgetful or confused? Maybe repeating herself?”

  “I haven’t been around that much lately,” Curtis answered. “But you know, she’s always been…difficult.”

  Curtis recalled the last time he was at the house, when his mother asked if he was hungry at least three times. At the time he just thought she had just been nervous.

  “She’s showing signs of Parkinson’s as well,” the doctor added.

  “Parkinson’s?”

  “Slower movement, balance issues, rigid muscles. There can be a variety of symptoms.”

  Curtis thought about how his mother often complained her muscles hurt and how she didn’t want to walk around. He always believed she was being overly dramatic and even worse, faking.

  “So now what?” Curtis asked.

  “We’d like to keep her here longer, start her on some medications, run more tests,” the doctor replied. “But there is one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She really wants to go home, but she needs someone around.”

  “Story of my life.”

  “Is there anyone else who can help?” the doctor asked.

  “No, just me,” Curtis answered. “Can I see her now?”