the team needed to be aware of what was going on. If nothing else, maybe Jim would have a solution for what Nicky could do with the kids. He couldn’t be the only single guy in the league with kids to look after, the only one who didn’t have any help at home.
That meeting was supposed to have happened today after the team’s morning skate. It had taken a supreme amount of willpower on my part not to call Nicky to find out how things had gone, but I hadn’t. If he wanted me to know, he would tell me. This was his life. His gig. Not mine. It had nothing to do with me, even if he’d dragged me into it by showing up at my office and spilling his guts to me, making me care a hell of a lot more than I wanted to in the process.
By the time the puck dropped at the start of the third period, I’d finished the entire tub of ice cream. I’d only intended to eat half of it but things got a little out of control with all my thinking about Nicky.
Right out of the gate, there was a more intense feel to the action in the final frame. Coyotes defenseman Keith Yandle laid a big hit on Riley Jezek along the boards less than a minute in, and Jamie Babcock retaliated by slamming into two different guys before stealing the puck and sending it up the ice to a streaking Aaron Ludwiczak. Luddy kept the play onside and got off a good shot, but the goalie caught it with his glove hand and stopped play.
The next several shifts were just as intense as that first one had been, with big hits and fast end-to-end action. I had no doubt that while Bergy would be thrilled with the physicality his team was displaying, he would much prefer that the game didn’t turn into a track meet the way it seemed to be doing—back and forth, turnover after turnover accompanying the increased hitting.
Only a few minutes had ticked off the clock before the very man who’d been consuming my thoughts was filling up the screen, his smile bright enough to warm me even through the television. Nicky had a headset on over his cap, and Darryl Carlson was welcoming him to the show and getting ready to interview him. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself because it was so unexpected. This wasn’t something that they had ever done before on the Storm broadcast. But then again, Anne Dennison had been new, too. Maybe they were making a bunch of changes in their on-air presentation for the new season. It wasn’t unheard of.
I sat up and leaned forward, turning up the volume with the remote control.
“First of all, welcome back to Portland, Nicky,” Darryl said. “I know a lot of people are glad to see you here instead of in the minors in Seattle.”
The camera was still showing the on-ice action on one half of the screen as the game continued, but Nicky was filling the other half. He still had that clipboard in his hands and his eyes were following what was happening in front of him instead of focusing on the camera. I wasn’t even sure he knew where the camera was.
“Thanks. I hope you’re right, although I think Bobby would have preferred to be here instead of me.” Nicky laughed as he said it, his self-deprecating humor shining through. Bobby was what the guys all called Sean Roberts, who’d been the backup goalie last season.
Darryl laughed, as well, but his laugh was high and nasally, giving the sense that he wasn’t truly amused. “Fair enough, fair enough. From up here in the booth, it looks like the intensity has really ramped up here at the start of the third. What’s your sense of it from ice level?”
Nicky didn’t have time to answer before a bone-crushing hit took place in front of him along the boards. Vladimir Berezin, a young Russian forward for the Storm, popped up off the ice following the hit and climbed over the boards on a line change, sitting down on the bench directly in front of Nicky with a huge glower on his face.
“I think Vladdie would say it’s a little more intense, yeah,” Nicky said wryly, quirking a grin at the back
That meeting was supposed to have happened today after the team’s morning skate. It had taken a supreme amount of willpower on my part not to call Nicky to find out how things had gone, but I hadn’t. If he wanted me to know, he would tell me. This was his life. His gig. Not mine. It had nothing to do with me, even if he’d dragged me into it by showing up at my office and spilling his guts to me, making me care a hell of a lot more than I wanted to in the process.
By the time the puck dropped at the start of the third period, I’d finished the entire tub of ice cream. I’d only intended to eat half of it but things got a little out of control with all my thinking about Nicky.
Right out of the gate, there was a more intense feel to the action in the final frame. Coyotes defenseman Keith Yandle laid a big hit on Riley Jezek along the boards less than a minute in, and Jamie Babcock retaliated by slamming into two different guys before stealing the puck and sending it up the ice to a streaking Aaron Ludwiczak. Luddy kept the play onside and got off a good shot, but the goalie caught it with his glove hand and stopped play.
The next several shifts were just as intense as that first one had been, with big hits and fast end-to-end action. I had no doubt that while Bergy would be thrilled with the physicality his team was displaying, he would much prefer that the game didn’t turn into a track meet the way it seemed to be doing—back and forth, turnover after turnover accompanying the increased hitting.
Only a few minutes had ticked off the clock before the very man who’d been consuming my thoughts was filling up the screen, his smile bright enough to warm me even through the television. Nicky had a headset on over his cap, and Darryl Carlson was welcoming him to the show and getting ready to interview him. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself because it was so unexpected. This wasn’t something that they had ever done before on the Storm broadcast. But then again, Anne Dennison had been new, too. Maybe they were making a bunch of changes in their on-air presentation for the new season. It wasn’t unheard of.
I sat up and leaned forward, turning up the volume with the remote control.
“First of all, welcome back to Portland, Nicky,” Darryl said. “I know a lot of people are glad to see you here instead of in the minors in Seattle.”
The camera was still showing the on-ice action on one half of the screen as the game continued, but Nicky was filling the other half. He still had that clipboard in his hands and his eyes were following what was happening in front of him instead of focusing on the camera. I wasn’t even sure he knew where the camera was.
“Thanks. I hope you’re right, although I think Bobby would have preferred to be here instead of me.” Nicky laughed as he said it, his self-deprecating humor shining through. Bobby was what the guys all called Sean Roberts, who’d been the backup goalie last season.
Darryl laughed, as well, but his laugh was high and nasally, giving the sense that he wasn’t truly amused. “Fair enough, fair enough. From up here in the booth, it looks like the intensity has really ramped up here at the start of the third. What’s your sense of it from ice level?”
Nicky didn’t have time to answer before a bone-crushing hit took place in front of him along the boards. Vladimir Berezin, a young Russian forward for the Storm, popped up off the ice following the hit and climbed over the boards on a line change, sitting down on the bench directly in front of Nicky with a huge glower on his face.
“I think Vladdie would say it’s a little more intense, yeah,” Nicky said wryly, quirking a grin at the back
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