in the crease, and it was my job to defend our goal.
My job as a defensemen was to stop an incoming play at the blue line. I broke the plays up, blocked shots, covered forwards, and cleared the puck in front of the goal. If someone was roughing up our forwards, I was also in their face answering the bell.
Offensively speaking, I got the puck to the forwards and followed play into the attacking zone, staying around the blue line at the points.
I wasn't a high scorer since it wasn't my job. My job was to defend and protect with my own style. And I had my own style. Starting out as a forward in junior hockey, I learned speed and accuracy. Then they moved me to a defender position when they saw how forceful I was with the puck.
Turns out it was a good fit for me.
I tended to play with speed and force where guys like Leo would control the puck and slow the plays down, but he had crazy stick skills. It was what we needed and exactly why he was our captain.
I got Leo the puck, and he got the goal. I scored, too, just not as often as the forwards did.
My first NHL goal actually came in game two this year from an assist off Leo.
Play was in the Predators zone at the blue line, quickly moving forward. The puck rolled to Harding, the Predators' goalie, who covered it with his catching glove. Everyone stopped, except for me. I raced for Harding, stopping inches from him, throwing a spray of snow in his face, hacking at his glove again and again. Getty, their left wing, shoved me back, and Harding rolled the puck to another defenseman to my right, and play started back the other way.
This happened every possession change.
A quick pass to Noel, then Foster with the Predators, and it was two-on-one at our blue line with only Travis hanging back. Leo, with his speed, shot up ice and hooked the puck away and followed through onto bare ice.
A shoving match broke out at the crease again. This time it was Remy and Hunt.
For someone with his obvious talent, Remy seemed remarkable. He believed what he said and fuck if he didn't practice it. He was tough, too. That motherfucker would knock your teeth out as soon as you turned your back.
"Oh, I'll catch ya with your head down, all right!" Remy shouted back, commotion all around him and Nashville's rookie center.
Nashville called a timeout after that. We stood huddled around the bench, Leo humping his stick and poking it into Ryan's ear. Ryan Shaw, another rookie on our team, sat on the bench with a still fuming Remy.
When play resumed, action moved quickly end to end. No scoring, just fast aggressive play.
Shift changes with the four lines moved freely, everyone taking their turn to spin the game our direction or gain the jump on Nashville.
When you were on the bench you saw the game differently. You saw it for what it was: adrenaline, desire, commitment, heart, sweat, and even ruthlessness at times. You could see the plays, the shit your team was fucking up, and you could see the skill in players you never noticed before.
Like Travis Sono, a right wingman for us. He had hands that were quick and skilled to perfection. On the ice, I never saw that because my focus was on the game.
Since late October, Leo, Remy, Travis, Dave, and I formed a line with Cage defending the pipes. We usually started games and ended them. It was just the way it was. Four lines were actively played each night, rotating every thirty seconds to a minute; the time varied. Your first and second lines were the scorers, the guys that made the plays. The third and fourth lines were the penalty killers and the checkers.
Play stopped at Nashville's blue line. Dave and a defender with Nashville were chirping at each other. Dave got called on roughing and then was slapped with a major when he took a swing after the whistle. He seemed intense tonight, off maybe. We all had nights like that. Hell, I was having one.
Dave, though quiet and unassuming at times, had a mean streak on the ice. I'd seen it before, and I
My job as a defensemen was to stop an incoming play at the blue line. I broke the plays up, blocked shots, covered forwards, and cleared the puck in front of the goal. If someone was roughing up our forwards, I was also in their face answering the bell.
Offensively speaking, I got the puck to the forwards and followed play into the attacking zone, staying around the blue line at the points.
I wasn't a high scorer since it wasn't my job. My job was to defend and protect with my own style. And I had my own style. Starting out as a forward in junior hockey, I learned speed and accuracy. Then they moved me to a defender position when they saw how forceful I was with the puck.
Turns out it was a good fit for me.
I tended to play with speed and force where guys like Leo would control the puck and slow the plays down, but he had crazy stick skills. It was what we needed and exactly why he was our captain.
I got Leo the puck, and he got the goal. I scored, too, just not as often as the forwards did.
My first NHL goal actually came in game two this year from an assist off Leo.
Play was in the Predators zone at the blue line, quickly moving forward. The puck rolled to Harding, the Predators' goalie, who covered it with his catching glove. Everyone stopped, except for me. I raced for Harding, stopping inches from him, throwing a spray of snow in his face, hacking at his glove again and again. Getty, their left wing, shoved me back, and Harding rolled the puck to another defenseman to my right, and play started back the other way.
This happened every possession change.
A quick pass to Noel, then Foster with the Predators, and it was two-on-one at our blue line with only Travis hanging back. Leo, with his speed, shot up ice and hooked the puck away and followed through onto bare ice.
A shoving match broke out at the crease again. This time it was Remy and Hunt.
For someone with his obvious talent, Remy seemed remarkable. He believed what he said and fuck if he didn't practice it. He was tough, too. That motherfucker would knock your teeth out as soon as you turned your back.
"Oh, I'll catch ya with your head down, all right!" Remy shouted back, commotion all around him and Nashville's rookie center.
Nashville called a timeout after that. We stood huddled around the bench, Leo humping his stick and poking it into Ryan's ear. Ryan Shaw, another rookie on our team, sat on the bench with a still fuming Remy.
When play resumed, action moved quickly end to end. No scoring, just fast aggressive play.
Shift changes with the four lines moved freely, everyone taking their turn to spin the game our direction or gain the jump on Nashville.
When you were on the bench you saw the game differently. You saw it for what it was: adrenaline, desire, commitment, heart, sweat, and even ruthlessness at times. You could see the plays, the shit your team was fucking up, and you could see the skill in players you never noticed before.
Like Travis Sono, a right wingman for us. He had hands that were quick and skilled to perfection. On the ice, I never saw that because my focus was on the game.
Since late October, Leo, Remy, Travis, Dave, and I formed a line with Cage defending the pipes. We usually started games and ended them. It was just the way it was. Four lines were actively played each night, rotating every thirty seconds to a minute; the time varied. Your first and second lines were the scorers, the guys that made the plays. The third and fourth lines were the penalty killers and the checkers.
Play stopped at Nashville's blue line. Dave and a defender with Nashville were chirping at each other. Dave got called on roughing and then was slapped with a major when he took a swing after the whistle. He seemed intense tonight, off maybe. We all had nights like that. Hell, I was having one.
Dave, though quiet and unassuming at times, had a mean streak on the ice. I'd seen it before, and I
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