The Playmaker Project

by Daniel Peterson

  Taking his same seat next to the giant screen, Eddie noticed a slight change to the pre-game routine of Dr. Anna Lehtinen, who he had learned more about from a web search the night before. Besides her impressive academic credentials, she took her neurosurgery residency at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, a mere two and a half-hour drive from St. Cloud. Perhaps it was a sign from the universe he needed to pursue this twist of fate. Or maybe he was getting way ahead of himself.

  Instead of heading up to the box suite with the Kotka owner, she emerged from the tunnel five minutes before kickoff carrying her oversized tablet computer. Dressed more casually, as if just another day in her lab back in Helsinki, she wore straight-legged, slightly torn jeans with an official, white Kotka t-shirt and a blue visor with her brown hair tucked behind in a ponytail. Eddie caught himself staring but figured he was too far away for her to notice. Walking on the track, she glanced up at the scoreboard, her eyes shifting to a man in his late twenties wearing sunglasses and an old ball cap with brown dreadlocks hanging down to his shoulders. Eddie purposely held her gaze for a few seconds before looking away. Facing back to the field, he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see her turn and head back towards the locker room. Somehow, he needed to at least meet her in person. When the universe speaks, it's best to listen, he convinced himself. It would make for a great story they could tell their grandchildren.

  "Eddie!"

  A slap on the back brought Eddie back to Earth.

  "Mr. Borg!" said Eddie, looking up at the man sitting down next to him. "I didn't expect to see you here."

  "Well, I can say the same to you," said Sam with an accusatory tone.

  "Yeah, well…"

  "Karen sent you here, didn't she?"

  Eddie knew when it was time to come clean.

  "Yes, sir, she asked me to come, and I agreed."

  "I saw the charges on her credit card. She's not very sneaky," said Sam with a half-smile.

  A silence hung between them until the teams emerged from the locker rooms.

  "Well, you made it just in time, here they come," said Eddie.

  "Think they have a chance?" asked Sam.

  "If they play anything like they did against United, then yes," said Eddie. "And I've heard one of their young Russian players is back. Bruised but ready to go."

  "I heard about that. From my perspective, Peter was just sticking up for his best friend. I don't know why Karen was so frazzled," said Sam. "But I'm glad the young man is back in the lineup."

  The game opened with an invigorated Kotka side attacking Real Madrid's backline. They replaced the hesitancy and nerves that ruled their first half against United with crisp movement, and smart runs deep into Madrid territory. Benny made an immediate impact with a darting dash off the right side where Aleks sent a well-timed through ball behind the Madrid left-back that Benny tried to sneak into the near corner. At full stretch, the goalkeeper got a finger on it to push it wide, but it was an encouraging start.

  The crowd in the stands, considerably larger than Kotka's first game, murmured with interest. The local fans, always favoring the underdog, had come out to watch this upstart squad from their neighbors to the east. Now, the Kotka boys were aiming their sling against the Goliath of Spain, looking for the knockout goal that would place them on the center stage of world soccer. Eddie noticed the swell of new scout faces to his right and the additional photographers down on the pitch.

  "I have to say, I’m impressed to see Pete playing against a Real Madrid team," said Sam. "And he's doing well!"

  "Definitely," said Eddie. "He's come a long way in a short time. Credit to Coach Pennington."

  "Hey, don't be so modest. It all started with you," said Sam nudging Eddie's elbow.

  Eddie appreciated the compliment, but Peter's progress confused him. Perhaps, he thought, it was being surrounded by better players in a high-performance environment. Maybe it was Stuart. Either way, Eddie saw a chance to watch and learn to improve his own coaching. So far, it was an impressive display against world-class competition. Several Kotka players still had plenty of room for improvement. But the two in the middle, Peter and Aleks, had jelled into a tight partnership, at least on the field.

  The halftime whistle blew with a scoreless tie. Sam stood up, hoping Peter would see him. The players hurried off the field, and the chance vanished. Anna was right behind them, having emerged from her crow's nest above.

  "Now that was incredible!" said an enthusiastic voice from behind Eddie and Sam.

  "Jack, you son of a gun, when did you get here?" said Sam, turning around to see the effervescent director of player personnel. He shook hands with Sam and slapped Eddie on the back.

  "Flew in this morning. Wouldn't miss this for the world. Coach Alonso, how are you, sir?"

  "I'm doing well, Jack. And, please, call me Eddie," he said.

  "I don't like to say I told you so, but hey, can I spot talent or what?" said Jack with an obnoxious grin.

  "Yep, you were right, they're doing great over here," said Sam.

  Eddie smiled but said nothing.

  "I saw you guys over here and had to say hello. And FYI, after we win this trophy today, we're celebrating. Mr. Niemi's buying dinner and drinks," said Jack looking at Sam.

  "Sounds great, Jack, and I assume that includes Eddie," said Sam.

  "Sure, we can always squeeze one more in," said Jack, glancing at Eddie.

  Eddie felt the intentional slight and politely made an excuse that he couldn't make it.

  "OK, I've got to run. I promised Mr. Niemi that I'd bring back some food. Apparently, there's no service up in these so-called luxury suites."

  Jack headed down the steps to the track, overdressed in his blue blazer and tan chino jogger pants with Italian sunglasses perched on his greased-back hair.

  "He's a character," said Sam.

  "Yeah, he's something for sure," said Eddie watching Anna return to her suite for the second half.

  As if their first-half performance wasn't enough, Kotka ignited a fireworks display of energetic attack to open the second forty-five minutes. They created five shots in the first five minutes, scoring in the sixth. Like a conductor standing at his podium, Peter orchestrated a string of passes that crescendoed into successive touches between his midfield mates. Aleks struck the final note with a quick shot to the keeper's left. A rare smile broke out on his healing face as he ran over to the corner flag to join a dance party led by Benny. Eddie and Sam stood applauding among what had become a home crowd for Kotka.

  "Wow, that was beautiful to watch," said an exuberant Sam.

  Eddie nodded in agreement and admiration.

  "That was one of best combination plays I've seen at any level," said Eddie, glancing back at the screen to watch the replay.

  "Hey, what's up with Pete?" said Sam, nudging Eddie.

  Peter had stayed near the goal, down on one knee holding his forehead in the palm of his hand. After a few seconds, he slumped over on his back, writhing from side to side with both hands covering his ears. Stuart alerted the referee, who motioned for the trainer. Several Madrid players surrounded Peter, not knowing how to react. The back linesman ran out to the referee to say something with his hand over his mouth.

  Eddie watched the trainer and Stuart kneel by Peter, who was still rolling on his back, holding his head in obvious pain. Immediately, Eddie flashed back to Chicago, a knot forming in his stomach. He turned to the screen to watch the replay again, this time from a wide camera angle. After letting his final pass go, Peter twisted away from the action, stumbling a few steps towards the Kotka bench before falling to one knee. There was no contact, which relieved Eddie but added to the confusion.

  "No one touched him," said Eddie. "He just went down."

  By then, a hush had fallen over the stadium as the Kotka players ran to where their captain moaned in misery. The trainer looked at Stuart with a confused, helpless look. The referee motioned to the sidelines for a stretcher but then waved that off and spo
ke into his headset microphone. Seconds later, the ambulance parked just outside the stadium drove through the main gate and onto the field. Peter's agony continued as they tried to immobilize his head and neck while lifting him on a backboard. The EMTs slid him into the back of the ambulance with the trainer next to him. Sam made his way to the field, insisting on joining his son. Stuart cleared it with the EMTs. Benny glanced up at Eddie, with palms up and slowly shaking his head.

  20

  As the ambulance crept off the field, Eddie saw Anna and Victor hurrying down the steps. As soon as it passed under the bleachers out of view of the cameras, Eddie saw its brake lights illuminate. Victor stood in front of the vehicle with his hand up to the driver. Talking on her phone, Anna hurried around to the back where the doors opened. She and Sam leaned in to speak with the head trainer and the EMT. From his vantage point, Eddie couldn't see any further into the ambulance to check on Peter. After a word with the driver, Victor called back to Anna and pointed towards the Kotka dressing room.

  While trying to process the situation, Eddie heard the referee's whistle, restarting the game. He knew it wasn't his place to get involved but instinctively moved closer to the exit for a better view. As he crossed the track, he caught Stuart's eye and gave him a confident wave.

  In the tunnel, Eddie saw the EMTs rolling the stretcher out of the ambulance lowering the legs of the cart, and wheeling Peter down the corridor. Victor had a hand on Sam's shoulder in an animated discussion. Anna, still on her phone, followed behind. Eddie took a few more steps into the tunnel to keep eye contact on the group. They wheeled Peter into the Kotka dressing room. Eddie put his hand up against the cold, stone wall, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed. Peter had played brilliantly, made the key passes that led to the goal with no sign of distress. Then he collapsed. Eddie knew from his own experience that a headache, even a migraine, wouldn't incapacitate someone that quickly and violently. The two EMTs emerged from the locker room with an empty gurney.

  "Is he going to be OK?" asked Eddie.

  "Who are you?" asked the smaller of the two.

  "I'm his uncle," said Eddie with a false confidence that surprised him.

  "Yes, he seems OK, he's sitting up and talking now."

  Eddie turned his head to be sure he heard right.

  "But, he was in terrible pain just a few minutes ago," asked Eddie.

  "It's like nothing ever happened," said the driver in a melodic Swedish accent, shrugging his shoulders.

  They loaded their equipment into the ambulance while Eddie kept his eyes towards the dressing room.

  "Sorry, one more question," said Eddie turning back. "Why did the owner, Mr. Niemi, stop you from going to the hospital?"

  "He said the woman was a doctor and could take care of the player in their medical room. The boy's father agreed. So, we can't transport him if they refuse treatment."

  "OK, thanks," said Eddie with a distant, perplexed look.

  As the ambulance pulled away, he started back towards the field. Just before he stepped into the sunshine, he heard the clatter of soccer cleats approaching from behind.

  "Hey, Coach!" said Peter.

  Eddie spun around to confirm the familiar voice.

  "Pete! You're OK!" said Eddie giving him a hug. "You had me worried. You had us all worried."

  "Yeah, me too. I just got this awful headache, but then it just like went away once I got down here," said Peter.

  "Are you going back in?"

  "Yep, Doc Anna cleared me to play," said Peter with a thumb pointed over his shoulder.

  "OK, well, good luck," said Eddie with a bewildered look. "Keep doing what you're doing out there."

  Peter jogged back into the daylight. Eddie heard the murmur of the crowd, followed by applause and cheering. The stunned look on Stuart's face looked genuine to Eddie. Anna passed by Eddie, then gave an approving nod to Stuart, signaling Peter's medical clearance. She returned up the steps to the suite, this time without Victor. Sam joined Eddie on the edge of the field.

  "Well, that was interesting," said Sam with half a glance at Eddie.

  "What just happened, Sam?" said Eddie, still trying to process the last fifteen minutes.

  "I don't really know. When I first got to Pete, he couldn't even talk to me, he was in so much pain. Then, on the way down the tunnel, it started to improve, and by the time we reached the dressing room, it had stopped altogether," said Sam looking out at the field.

  "What did Dr. Lehtinen say?" asked Eddie.

  "She was cool about it. Called it a 'stress headache' and was glad that it passed," said Sam shrugging.

  "So, no follow-up, just send him back out there?"

  "I guess. Pete said he felt fine. They did a quick concussion test, which he passed. But then he never got hit in the head, anyway."

  Eddie looked towards the field where Peter had re-entered the game. He moved smoothly, shouting out directions to his teammates and playing like nothing had happened. Kotka clung to their one-goal lead with suffocating possession of the ball. A smile returned to Sam's face as pride overwhelmed once again. Eddie remained perplexed.

  "Something's not right, Sam," said Eddie.

  "C'mon Eddie, relax," said Sam. "You sound like my wife. It scared me too for a few minutes, but whatever it was went away."

  Eddie knew from Sam's tone that his line of questioning was over. He turned around to look up at the darkened windows of the suite where Anna now sat alone. Eddie's initial attraction to her changed to intrigue as he wondered what medical magic wand she had waved to cure Peter. There was a new hint of mystery to her, even a bit of secrecy. His intuition was sending him warning signals about the graceful neurosurgeon responsible for these young brains. His itinerary had him going home tomorrow, but he knew now that he had to stay. With Sam flying back that afternoon, someone had to keep an eye on the boys, thought Eddie.

  "You're right, Sam. I'm just a little protective of our guys," said Eddie with a dismissive smile.

  Sam made no reply, continuing to watch the game.

  As Kotka scored their second goal through a pinball sequence of passing, started by Aleks then Peter, Eddie applauded the boys politely as they mobbed each other twenty feet away.

  The referee's final whistle ended the game, continuing the celebration.

  "Well, the charter jet is double-parked at the airport, so I've got to get back to London," said Sam.

  It disappointed Eddie that, even after witnessing his son in agony, albeit short-lived, Sam could prioritize work over family so effortlessly.

  "I hope my trip here wasn't out of line," said Eddie.

  "No worries, that's between Karen and me. I half expected her to be here," said Sam. "You're a big boy, you can do what you want."

  "Thanks, Sam. Safe travels."

  Sam turned away without a handshake, taking one last look at Peter celebrating with his team. Like his own father, Eddie could see that Sam was independent, hard-working, and ambitious. But Jorge Alonso would never leave without a hug from his son. And his fatherly ambition would never overshadow his son's well-being.

  Eddie and Stuart exchanged a brief glance as the coach walked off the field. The Englishman gave the Minnesotan a cautious but cordial head nod. They shared suspicion of each other, of a wonder boy, who can bounce back from writhing on the ground to lead his team to victory, and of a team owner and doctor who made the entire situation disappear. Eddie wasn't sure who he could trust, but Stuart gave the impression that he was equally suspicious.

  On his way out of the stadium, Eddie thumbed a text, "The boys won the tournament. Sam was here and found me. He already knew I'd be here, but now he's gone. Something's not right. I'd like to stay a few more days and follow the team back to Finland."

  He pressed send and set off down a side street in search of coffee. A moment later, his phone vibrated with a reply, "Thank you, Eddie. I'm sorry that I put you in the middle of this. Please stay as long as you need to. I'll pay for everything. A
nd give Peter a hug from me."

  21

  Eddie parted the red velvet drapes of his Grand Hotel suite to the morning sunshine reflecting off of the Värtan strait with the brightly colored buildings of Stockholm's Gamla Stan beyond. Indeed, Karen had spared no expense to make Eddie comfortable. He could only imagine what this trip was costing her.

  For his last morning in Stockholm, he pulled on a pair of soccer shorts, a plain blue t-shirt, running shoes, and his ballcap. He hurried down the stairs and through the stately lobby of marble and 19th-century furnishings to stretch his legs and clear his morning headache.

  It was prime tourist season in Stockholm with a mix of gray-haired Scandinavian descendants carrying guidebooks and freshly scrubbed young families strolling the Strömgatan past ferries and luxury cruisers parked at the dock. Yet, there was a diverse demographic among the passersby, more so than in Minneapolis and certainly more than back home in St. Cloud. His short, brown dreadlocks and Latino eyes did not seem to faze anyone he passed. In fact, his athletic appearance blended well with the fitness-minded Stockholm natives.

  Dozens of red bicycles stood ready to transport the more adventurous sightseers. Still, most seemed content sauntering down the wide sidewalks into the "old town." The sunshine and cool breeze cleared Eddie's head of the stale, recirculated air from his travel day. Running had always been his refuge from the headaches. Matching the pace of his footsteps with the drumbeat in his brain would often cancel each other out, leaving only the increased oxygen intake to clear the fog.