Who Wouldn't Want To Be Me

“GO BATES GO!” Jordan hollered, and if it was possible I dug in even harder, willing myself to go even just a little bit faster as I shot down the length of the ice. I knew Ovechkin was right behind me, and I knew if I got across their blue-line I could score the empty-net goal to win the game. I took an extra second to aim, and fired the puck off, seeing immediately that I was going to be a little wide. I kept after it, and managed to push my rebound past the line as I felt myself tripping forward… and the next thing I knew I had a killer headache and my nose was bleeding.
“Bates! Bates are you okay?” I heard, and then realized I was laying facedown on the ice, and looking up slightly realized I must have collided head-first into the boards; my visor breaking and my face hitting square with the wood.
“Yeah, yeah I’m good,” I said, slowly moving my feet and then pushing myself up onto my elbows, taking a moment as everything stopped spinning before realizing that blood was pouring out both barrels of my nose.
“Fuck… did I trip?” I asked, and Jordan was soon kneeling beside me, Kuni on my other side, gently helping me to sit up although I kept slightly bent so as not to bleed all over myself.
“Ovi tripped you, the bastard. You scored though, there’s no way in hell they can win now,” Jordan informed me, and I nodded. I looked up, and saw all of the fans close to the glass in front of me standing watching and talking animatedly to each other; some of them shaking their fists and yelling at someone behind me, which I guessed had to be either the ref or Ovechkin.
“Can you get up? Do you want help?” Jordan asked, but I shook off his offer, standing up on my own. People started to cheer, and I skated over to the bench bent over, and was helped back into the locker room.
“Is it broken?” I asked, watching Doctor Burke inspect my nose; it was packed now to stop the bleeding.
“No, you’ll be just fine; a little bit of a cut, some scraping and bruising, but other than that you’re good to go. You passed all the baseline tests for concussion, and nothing’s bothering you, right?” he asked, shining the pen light in my eyes again.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore than it normally does,” I sincerely told him, and he nodded, clicking it off and smiling.
“Then you’re good to go; have at ‘er,” he grinned, and I hopped off the examination table, putting my helmet on and doing it up as I walked back toward the bench. The game was essentially done, but I wanted to see who had won the three stars of the game tonight, and let the guys know I was all right. I met up with them in the tunnel, and Jordan heaved a sigh of relief when he saw me.
“You’re all right? No concussion, no broken nose, nothing?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Yup; good to go,” I grinned, and he patted me on the back.
“Atta boy; you had me worried for a minute there,” he admitted. I just shrugged, knowing that everybody was worried whenever anybody on the team got injured. We stood there quietly as the crowd cheered for Sid, Vokoun and Geno, giving them each a pat on the back and some encouragement as they came back into the tunnel afterward. After we were all in the room Dan walked in, and as I’d been afraid of the first words out of his mouth were directed at me.
“Bates? Are you all right? What did Doc tell you?” he asked.
“He said I’m good to go; no concussion, I passed all baseline tests and aside from the soreness that would be normal for smashing my face into a chunk of wood there’s no headache or anything,” I told him, and he nodded, looking a little more relaxed.
“Good, good. Had us all worried there for a while,” he said, before going into his pep talk for us, telling us what had gone well and what we would work on tomorrow in practice. Then after that the media personnel swarmed, and just like the last game I had a bunch of microphones shoved into my face, almost making me panic. Jordan noticed, and came to sit beside me, and without saying a word the reporters calmed down and began asking questions just one at a time and much more relaxed.
Most of the questions revolved around the empty net goal where I’d been tripped, and while I tried to explain as best I could I didn’t really know what had happened or how I’d been tripped; it’s not like I could see it or anything and I didn’t even remember the impact with the boards, just opening my eyes afterward. Once the reporters and cameras began filing out of the locker room I realized I’d done all of those interviews with both nostrils packed to keep from bleeding. Wouldn’t that be great; I’d look like a total idiot on camera in front of everybody who would watch the interviews.
“You’re getting the hang of the whole media thing,” Pascal grinned at me as he walked by.
“Thanks Dupes; it’s still weird though… and I just realized I did all that with my nose packed,” I chuckled, and he took a second look at me before bursting out into laughter.
“Good move Bates, haha!” he laughed, patting my shoulder once and then leaving the locker room to go and see his family. It was something to beat Washington, and the guys told me that there would be fans outside until they knew every single one of us had left the rink, all ready to celebrate beating Ovechkin and crew.
As she had last time Becka came down, this time with Amy in tow instead of Torrie, and pulled me away to talk as all the guys made their way to go and shower.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Jesus you look rough,” she fussed, but I shrugged it off.
“I’m fine; the doctor checked out my head and everything. My nose didn’t even break,” I informed her, and she shook her head once more before giving me a hug. I knew that was the one thing she hated about ever going to hockey games; was seeing people get hurt not fighting.
“All right, if you’re sure,” she said, and I nodded.
“Yup, I’m sure,” I insisted, and Amy made her way back over to us moments later.
“Good to see you’re okay Cam; we were really worried there when you just laid there,” she said, giving me a hug as well.
“Just laid there?” I asked, and she nodded.
“You laid there for like ten seconds without moving or anything,… don’t you remember?” she asked, and I shook my head.
“No, I just remember pushing the puck in, and then realizing I was laying face-down on the ice and looking up to see that I must’ve smashed my face into the boards,” I said, even though I knew that she wouldn’t want to hear that.
“Jesus, and you’re absolutely sure that you don’t have a concussion or anything?” she asked, and I nodded.
“Yes, I’m absolutely sure; I promise,”