Intern

“Wham, bam - here comes Cam!”

Sam Kasan was the first to greet me as I stepped into the conference room. The rest were there, too - Michelle, Jennifer, Jason. As well as a few recognizable faces that I couldn’t quite stick a name to.

“How’d it go?” Jennifer asked comfortingly, leaning forward on the table as I took the seat across from her.

“I’m not dead.’ Yet. “And I emailed my faux coverage to Sam.” I paused and bit my lip. “Please tell me you guys didn’t go over it before I got here?”

Jennifer laughed; Sam shook his head no. “We’re not that mean,” Jennifer chuckled, sliding a folded sheet of paper across the table for me. A schedule for the night. Circled at the top in red pen was my arrival time. 5 p.m. I check my watch - 4:24. No bother heading home before the game.

“How were the boys?” Sam asked. I could hear the genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Fine,” I replied cautiously.

The group exchanged glances. “No one gave you hell?” Sam asked with raised brows.

“Oh, that.” I grimaced down at the paper in my hands. “Jordan Staal shot a puck at me. Marc-Andre Fleury kept pretending to moon me.” I mentally tapped off fingers as I listed them. “Oh,” I remembered, blushing slightly at the last and worst haze. “Kris Letang blew a kiss at me.”

Sam snorted at that. “Remember when you first came on, Michelle?” he asked, addressing the blonde with the sympathetic look on her face.

She frowned at me. “A few of the guys planted an old, stinky jock strap under the seat in my car,” she told me earnestly, “If it ever gets that bad, let me know - I have a few tricks up my sleeve that I’ve been waiting to use.”

“Hopefully it won’t,” Jennifer mentioned, shooting me a reassuring smile. “It’s not bothering you, is it?” she asked, her voice serious, “because if it is-”

“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I worked with the U’s hockey team for three years - I’m totally used to it.”

Jennifer smiled. “That’s our girl.”

“But Cam,” Sam added seriously, “just make sure whoever fucks with you gets a good solid boning in return.” The table went silent, but not from shock. No one reacted to the obscene comment except for me. That’s when I realized the kind of people I’d be working with for the next six months.

I couldn’t wait.

Sam cleared his throat. “Back to business,” he declared straightening out a slightly crumpled sheet of paper in front of him. “Michelle - you’re covering Saturday’s ‘Free game for kids?’” She nodded. “Whitney’s got roster cuts?” A willowy blonde nodded. “Isaac - you’re covering game specials, yeah?” A thin guy with gelled hair and fashionable glasses bowed his head in agreement.

I braced myself, ready for my first real assignment.

“Cameron,” he addressed, his eyes leaving the paper to lock with mine, “Me and Jen have been talking - we’re putting you on special treatment.”

My stomach did a somersault - what was that supposed to mean? Was it a type of probation? Did I do something wrong and they were punishing me? Just as I felt my heart rate begin to spike, Jennifer held up her tanned hand.

“You’re not in trouble,” she assured me with a warm smile, “it’s an acquaintance assignment of a sort.” She handed me another sheet of paper - an extensive list of every player, as well a few from tthe coaching and media staff.

“What’s this?” I asked, still running through the names. Chris Stewart - Head Athletic Trainer, Danny Kroll, Asst. Equipment Manager, Jim Britt - Video Coordinator, Brent Johnson - Goalie. It even listed Mario Lemiuex, for Christ’s sake - I didn’t even know what I was doing and I was already fretting about it.

“I made a quick list of key staff here at CONSOL,” she explained with a somewhat ecstatic smile, “and I want you to spend the week getting to know at least two-thirds of that list. I’m aware a few of the names may be a little out of reach. But since you’ll hopefully be spending the next six months with us, I just want you to be comfortable around the staff and players so interviews and covering different events won’t be a big deal.”

I understood her reasoning behind the assignment, but I was still uncomfortable. Writing, reporting - that’s what I did, and I was more than comfortable doing that here as well as anywhere. But, deep down, I knew it wasn’t about my experience - I needed to get past the stardom involved with the job in order to do it right. And Lord knew I was a little more than star stuck around such a team.

“Sam will be giving you smaller assignments on the side,” Jennifer went on, “but by this time next week, I want at least one personal experience recorded for at least two-thirds, like I said.”

I gulped. Teatime with Mario Lemiuex. Monopoly with Marc-Andre Fleury. Late-night KFC run with Dan Bylsma. It became more and more apparent that this wasn’t anything like working for the The Pitt News. I always remembered hearing what a tight-knit group the Penguins organization was, but I guess I didn’t even have a clue just how close crew this really was.

Swallowing back any nervous bile that may have been on its way up and out, I nodded.

“Where do I start?”

Penguins Report: (Preseason) Game Day vs. Detoit
Wednesday, 9.21.2011 / 5:22 PM / Penguins Report
By Michelle Crechiolo

The Red Wings have just arrived at CONSOL. We’re less than two hours until the game. The rink smells of popcorn and the game-day hustle and bustle is taking place everywhere. I. Can’t. Wait.

Jennifer had started me where the team’s game-day ritual ends - the final hours leading up to the game. Which meant I’d cornered myself into the wide hallway by the locker room, watching wide-eyed as the players, coaches and trainers nervously preformed superstitions and traditions. I tugged at the loose ends of my hair. First game jitters - yeah, I felt them, too.

Clipboard in hand, I began writing down the crazy little rituals some of the boys preformed. Not because I had to; I wanted to. Tyler Kennedy licked his stick. Kris Letang did stretches in the hall across from me, and I was pretty sure Captain Crosby had been wandering around the arena long before the others had even made it here.

“Is this your first game?”

I looked up to meet the kind smile of James Neal, even taller than the norm with his skates on. The arena was still in that grey area between players arriving and the pre-game coach speech, so it wasn’t unusual for some of the guys to ease their nerves by mingling with a few of the media bystanders. At least that’s what Michelle had told me.

“First time reporting,” I explained, tapping my paper with the eraser of my number two pencil.

He nodded. “First preseason here,” he said back. I vaguely recalled the late February trade earlier that year - a controversial two-for-one deal. So we were both virgins.

In a sense.

On a whimsical act to make conversation, I asked, “Nervous?” Like I was in the position to be asking.

“Fuck yes.” Short, sweet, and to the point.

I nodded. “Me, too.”

1. James Neal - We share mutual anxiety levels.

The thumping heavy metal from the locker room escaladed as one of the doors pushed open and out walked a couple players. Jordan Staal was one of them.

Not that I was looking or anything.

I averted my gaze downward as the small group approached, maybe shrinking a few inches in the process as the guys towered over me. Or maybe just imagining it.

“Picking on the rookie?” Marc-Andre Fleury joked in his accented English. He shot me a smile and a wink.

Neal’s ears went pink at the tips, making it obvious he was the more bashful of the bunch. Fleury clapped him heavily on the back.

“He’s gotta compensate for those tying the knot,” Jordan said from my left, eyeing Marc with bright eyes. The goalie punched him with his free hand.

“Don’t be jealous, bitches,” Fleury retorted with a brilliant grin.

“You won’t have to worry about that,” Jordan mentioned, sending a wink my way. I felt my own ears go hot - thank goodness I’d worn my hair down.

“Did you get her number yet?” Fleury asked James in a hushed tone that was meant to be overheard. He smiled at me again. James just blushed deeper.

“No, I wasn't-”

“I think the better question is whether or not she’d let him have it,” Jordan teased. By this time, I’d forgotten about my assignment and really just wanted to melt into the wall.

“Throw the boy a bone?” Marc-Andre Fleury tried me, tugging his blushing friend closer.

I bit my lip.

“First three digits?” he tried again. His smile was devastating.

2. Marc-Andre Fleury - Voted most persuasive.

“Six-oh-eight,” I gave in, sensing little harm in saying it. This or further torment, I decided.

Fleury flashed another smile - his trademark. “Way to be a team player,” he grinned, heading back to the locker room with James dragging close behind. Jordan stayed.

“Any luck in getting the next three?” he asked cockily, trying a smile like Fleury’s. He leaned against the wall with one hand, the other on his hip. Yes, I was aware of the lacking distance between us. Was I about to let that affect me?

Probably not.

3. Jordan Staal - Less persuasive than Marc-Andre Fleury.

I watched as more players shuffled into the locker room after the goalie. It was about time for me to get going, too. In an attempt to hurry, I found my voice, as well as my snarkier side. “Tell you what,” I challenged, pulling the clipboard against my chest and tilting my chin upward toward him. Sam's advice echoed teasingly in my head. “If you guess them, I’ll give you the next four.” Boned.

The grin fell from his face like a dropped weight; his blue eyes momentarily darkened.

3 ½. Jordan Staal - Also not used to rejection.

“I’ve got to go,” I said, slipping beneath his thick arm and hurrying down the hall without a backward glance. The image of him standing alone - rejected - in the hall was amusement enough. But even as I weaved my way through the maze of hallways and to the media box, I couldn’t help the coy smile tugging at my lips.

3 ¾. Jordan Staal - Also very cute. Very.

Not like I was about to write that.