Cam asked me as I rerigged my rod.
âTightened the drag too much,â I said.
About a minute went by before Cam said: âYeah, itâs like that with kids and players; Set the drag too loose and you canât control âem; set it too tight and you lose âem. Got to set it just right.â
Hang around with Cam long enough and youâre going to hear a few things worth writing down.
As usual, we were on the porch shortly after sundown, andâalso as usualâCam had something to say.
âI think weâre down to our last shot, JP,â he said, pouring a couple of ounces of Cognac into two of his parentsâ Austrian-made crystal snifters.
âYour dad has a lot more Cognac where this came from,â I said.
âI donât mean the Cognac. I mean weâre getting old. Our teamâs getting old. If we donât win a Cup this year I donât think weâre going to win one. Getting close to last call, mon ami, â he said.
âCam, weâre thirty-one. Youâve got what? Two years left on your contract? Iâll probably get one more five-year deal. Weâre still making it into the All-Star Game. Weâve got a few more kicks at the can.â
âI know, but Iâm getting tired, JP. Tired of coaches telling me I have to be in my hotel room by midnight, of fighting guys I donât dislikeâand donât think Lindsey isnât starting to notice thatâand having no-talent guys like the Mad Hatter telling me what to do all the time. Where to be and what time to be there.â
âAt least you have a soft spot to land,â I said, sounding a little jealous, which I was. Trying to soften that, I told him that no matter what happened heâd had a hell of a run.
âThe runâs not over, Jean Pierre,â he said. I didnât say anything, because when Cam uses my full name instead of calling me JP it means thereâs more coming. Sort of like when your parents called you by your first, middle, and last name. Nothing good ever happened after my mother or grandmother started a sentence with âJean Pierre Lucien Savardâ¦â
âThe only thing left that I really want to do,â he said, âis get my name on the Stanley Cup.â
âYou and six hundred and fifty other guys on thirty teams,â I said.
âYeah, every team wants the Cup, but there are only five or six teams that are legitimate contenders.â
âCup or no Cup, weâve had great careers.â
âBut winning a Cup defines a career. Not winning one also defines a career. The best thing about winning the Cup is that they engrave your name on it. Itâs forever, JP. Winning the Cup is immortality.â
âAt least thatâs an immortality I can believe in,â I said. We raised our glasses and moved to clink them together. But I misjudged the distance. I hit Camâs glass too hard, shattering my snifter and sending shards of glass and a dribble of Cognac onto the floor.
Two
It was raining as I drove to Camâs house on Beacon Hill to pick him up for our preseason game against the New York Islanders at Boston Garden. The arena is the second Boston Garden. The original building closed in 1995 but everyone calls the new place the Garden, which in Boston they pronounce âGAH-den.â I live less than a mile from Cam in a condo on Marlborough Street, a place I bought after I sold the house Lisa and I owned.
In nice weather Cam and I walk to the rink. We go up the west side of Beacon Hill, then down the north side to the Garden. The north slope was Bostonâs red-light district in Colonial days. Now when we walk past the statehouse on top of the hill Cam says, âThe whores moved uptown.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
LindseyâCam and Tamaraâs eight-year-oldâanswered the door. âHi, Mr. Savard,â she said. âDaddy said heâd be down in a minute. I like your