We All Need Somebody To Lean On

one

Sidney rubbed his face as he was bombarded with question after question from the media. Unlike the rest of the Penguins, he wasn’t given a chance to change out of his hockey equipment, and barely had long enough to take off his helmet and slap his hat on his wet hair.

The game had been a huge success, Sidney ending with two goals and one assist, the Penguins winning the game. Each period the team had pushed themselves as hard possible, gaining a 2-0 lead in the first against the Toronto Maple Leafs.

He answered the questions asked by the reporters as best as he could, staying patient and grateful that the media was even this interested in him. The same questions were always asked, just worded differently, and he tried to answer them again without all of the detail from the first time; and without getting upset.

After fifteen minutes of interviews he sighed a breath of relief as he was finally left alone to change.

“Mr. Crosby?” A quiet female voice asked from behind him.

Sidney hung up his jersey and turned around to see a small black haired and blue eyed girl wearing a media pass with a recorder in her hand.

“Yeah?” He asked, slightly put off by the ‘Mr. Crosby’. That was his dad.

She smiled, “When you’re finished getting dressed, can I do a small interview with you?”

Sidney cut himself off as he automatically started to say no. She was a cute girl, couldn’t be passed 20, and had just been the most polite reporter in the world.

“Sure, give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you out front of the media door and bring you back,” He said, looking at her, running his fingers through his hair.

“Promise,” he said smiling as he saw the unsure look on her face.

The girl nodded and turned back to walk out through the media door. Sidney finished taking off all of his hockey gear and walking quickly to the showers in his spandex pants. He hopped under a shower head and quickly rinsed the sweat off of his body and running a few fingers through his hair to let the water rinse it all.

He quickly stepped out, wrapping his towel around his waist and picking up his spandex pants and boxer-briefs and walking out. Everyone else was already putting their ties around their necks and laughing and joking. Sidney walked over to his stall and quickly pulled his boxer briefs on underneath his towel. He finished getting dressed and ran a comb quickly through his hair so it wouldn’t stick everywhere when it dried.

“Sid, you coming out with us tonight?” Max asked, coming over to slap a hand on his shoulder.

Sidney shook his head, “No, I have some stuff to do.”

“Well, alright. We’re going down to Buddy’s if you want to meet up with us later,” Max replied, rubbing the younger man’s shoulder before turning on his feet and walking out the player door with a few other players.

In the next two minutes the locker room emptied fast and Sidney had his bag all packed up and ready to go. He picked it up and brought it over his shoulder, walking towards the door.

Wait. The reporter.

Sidney walked back over to his stall and put his bag down, realizing it had actually taken him fifteen minutes to get ready. Would she still be standing there?

He opened the media door to see the same girl standing in front of the door chewing on one of her finger nails. She was dressed in a pair of simply black jeans with brown Uggs and a Pittsburgh Penguins t-shirt that was a slight v-neck and tight against the bust. She was short, but extremely cute.

“Sorry it took me so long. I wanted to shower quickly so you wouldn’t have to smell me the whole time,” Sidney laughed, ushering her into the now empty locker room.

“It’s okay. I’m surprised you actually came out to get me; I was going to leave in a few minutes,” she said back, her small recorder in her hands and a sheepish look on her face.

They sat down at Sidney’s stall, facing each other as the girl fidgeted. Her nails were long, he couldn’t tell if they were manicured or fake, but they made him remember back to his last ‘conquest’ and how she’d raked her long, manicured, French tip nails along his chest and back.

The thought made him shiver.

“I was wondering if we could do the interview in French? I write for my school newspaper and we have a lot of French studies; they’d love to read the great Sidney Crosby speaking French,” she said, looking up at him with her big blue eyes.

Sidney was taken aback, “Um, sure I guess. I’m not that great with French, but I’ll try. I have one question though.”

The girl nodded; anything to get him to do this interview, “Shoot.”

“Comment t’appelle tu?”