Sammy Boy

Sidney Crosby had spent most of his summer in doctors’ offices trying to find a cure for the concussion he had suffered in the Winter Classic versus Washington.

Preseason was now upon them and he sat in the owners’ box during a game against Anaheim. He hated watching his team play while he couldn’t; he felt restless and more importantly useless. He wanted nothing more than to get back on the ice and help his team, but until the headaches and nausea went away, he wouldn’t get much further than the plush seats of the box.

Normally outgoing and upbeat, Sid didn’t talk much these days – the result of frustration and pain. He went to physical therapy and tried every remedy available, but nothing seemed to be helping. He spent the summer in Nova Scotia but even Canadian air and family did little to help the hockey superstar.

He huffed out a breath and brought his attention back to the action on the ice. The Pens were up by two and the third period was winding down. The preseason had been pretty successful for the Penguins – winning three of the four that they’d played so far. They had two more games before opening night.

Sidney hoped he would be cleared to play by the early weeks of October, but at this rate, I might as well retire my jersey, he thought.

For a man whose life revolved around a game and pushing a rubber puck around a sheet of ice, the concussion had brought his spirits down significantly. He was almost unrecognizable in comparison to the captain who hoisted the Stanley Cup three seasons ago. Chicago and Boston had won since then, and Sidney wanted nothing more than to reclaim the title – but in order to do that he had to get back on the ice.

The final buzzer sounded and Sid made his way down to the locker room to congratulate his teammates.

After making the rounds and saying goodnight to the players and their families, Sidney headed for his car. He was going to spend the night in his downtown apartment.

He wanted to get home quickly and go to sleep. It had been a long day, starting with a press conference which consisted of Sidney repeatedly saying: “There are no new developments with the concussion.” He was sick of sounding like a broken record. There seemed to be an endless line of questions that couldn’t be answered, not by coaches, doctors or Sidney himself. He didn’t know how to fix it or what was wrong; he simply knew something was wrong. While his symptoms had improved since the initial diagnosis in January, he still suffered from dizzy spells and headaches nine months later.

He pulled into the garage of the apartment building, parked in his reserved spot, got out of the car and walked into the lobby.

“Evening, Mr. Crosby,” the doorman said with a tip of hat. Sidney simply pursed his lips and nodded his head.

What is his name? Sidney thought as he pushed the button for the elevator. He got in and punched for the eleventh floor of the building.

Once inside the apartment, Sid took off his shoes and plopped down on the couch. He cracked his neck in an attempt to relieve some tension and took out his phone.

Two text messages. One missed call. One voicemail.

One text was from his mom saying to call when he got the chance. She was always worried about her son, especially in the beginning of the season. Trina Crosby assumed that her son had trouble readjusting after being in Canada with his family for two months…which he did. But he always told her he was fine. Sid sent her a message saying he would call in the morning.

The second text was from Mario Lemieux, Sid’s mentor and owner of the Pittsburgh Penguins. Mario informed him that the team meeting started at nine the next morning and that he was not required to be there. But I will be there anyway, he thought. He was the captain, and therefore, regardless of whether or not he was playing, he would be at the meeting.

The missed call was from a number he did not have saved in his phone, nor did he recognize it. He hit the voicemail button and put the phone to his ear:

“Hello Sidney, um, my name is Mackenzie North and I’m currently with your dog, ha. Um, anyway, yeah, I found Sam in Riverview Park uptown Pittsburgh. So, yeah, call me back and we can arrange a time for you to get him. Okay, bye.”

He looked around the apartment. Shit. Sam. How could he not have realized as soon as he got in the door that his trusty retriever was not there to greet him? Sid had a tendency to get caught up in his own routine and thoughts and didn’t even notice. He also didn’t know the doorman’s name. Irrelevant, he thought.

“Saaaaaam,” he groaned.

He didn’t normally have Sam with him during the season. They hung out during the summer but for the most part, the dog stayed in Nova Scotia with his parents. He had brought him to Pittsburgh for company. Sid wasn’t cleared to travel with the team and thought having Sam would boost his spirits. Well, now it was just one more thing Sid had to deal with.

He fell back into the couch and pulled his socks off. The girl in the voicemail sounded capable of taking care of a dog for one night.

I’ll call in the morning, Sidney thought. He promptly fell asleep in his suit with the lights still on.