The Road to Victory

"Alright." I said, glancing over at Daniel. "Let's get this started."

Dan was my buddy on the plane. When we went on road trips, we would watch movies, or TV shows together. We were on the Boston Bruins private jet, taxiing down the runway in Boston. It was a bright Thursday morning, and we were headed to Toronto, to play games three and four in our first round playoff series. We had won both of the first two games at home, and we hoped to put the series away on Saturday.

"Who else is playing?" Dan asked me.

"Umm, it's us and Toronto, Detroit is at Montreal, Washington's at Tampa, and Carolina is in Pittasburgh in this conference. Then, in the west, it's Vancouver at Anaheim, Colorado at St Louis, San Jose at LA, and Minnesota at Chicago." I replied.

I had spent the past few days memorizing the matchups, to try and predict who we would play next if we won.

"Alright." Dan said. "Big Bang Theory?"

"Sure, man. Let's do it." I said groggily.

The seatbelt sign flashed on, and the plane began to taxi down the runway, building up speed. Near the end, the front end lifted off of the ground. I glanced out my window at the wing, adjusting itself for takeoff. I turned back to the computer, and hit play.

**********

An hour and forty minutes later, the plane touched down in Toronto. The boys were restless, and wanted to get down to the Air Canada Center.

"Just wait." Claude Julien told us. "You'll get down there with plenty of time to get ready for the games, but we need to get settled in the hotel first. The equipment staff will set everything up at the arena."

I knew he was right, so I followed Loui Eriksson off of the plane, and headed for the bus that was parked at the doors, ready to take us to the Trump International Hotel and Tower. It was the closest fancy hotel to the ACC, so we had jumped at the chance to book it.

"Everyone on board?" The driver asked a few minutes later, as he shut the doors.

"Yep." Claude leaned back and closed his eyes.

"Alright. Let's get going." The driver said, pulling the massive bus out into traffic.

About half an hour later, the bus arrived, and we all piled out and into the luxury hotel.

"Man, this place is pretty awesome." Loui said in amazement.

"The stars don't stay here when they come to Toronto?" I asked.

"We've never had to stay over night in Toronto." He replied.

I thought about that for a minute. It made sense. Dallas wouldn't play Toronto in the playoffs, unless it was the finals.

"I never thought about that." I told him.

"It's nice to be a part of this team now, and get to see the other half of the league closely. Let me tell you, the western conference can get pretty damn stressing." He said, pressing the elevator button as Claude came over with our room keys.

"Patrice, you're in room two sixty on floor nineteen." He said, handing me a room key.

I thanked him, and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button labeled "19".

**********

"Hello?" I answered my vibrating phone.

"Hey Patrice. Wanna go for a hot tub?" Asked Brad Marchand.

"Sure. I'll meet you down there in five minutes." I said, glancing at the clock on my wall.

It was nine PM, and I I had already been thinking about going down to the pool. We had walked past it on our way into the hotel, and it looked amazing.

I quickly pulled on a pair of swimming shorts, put a towel over my shoulder, and took the elevator down to the lobby.

"Hey, buddy!" Brad was waiting for me with his towel.

"Hey. You excited for the game tomorrow?" I asked him.

"You bet I am!" He grinned at me, showing his missing tooth.

He had lost a tooth in game one, and he was damn proud of it, too.

"Let's go." I said, stepping toward the pool door.

He followed me into the pool, and set his towel down next to mine.

"We need to play them physical." I said, climbing into the hot tub.

"I know." He replied, glancing at me nervously.

"You're gonna be our lead physical player. That's for sure." I informed him.

He gulped. I felt bad. I was making the poor kid nervous. But, I thought, he had a right to know what was coming.

"You'll do fine." I said, smiling at him. "Just play your game, and the rest of us will worry about ourselves."

He grinned back, and sank deeper into the water, letting it release the tension from his shoulders.

"That Van Riemsdyk has to fuckin go." I grinned at him.

He laughed, and nodded.

"I'll take care of him."

"Good." I smiled. "Now, let's relax. We've got a tough day tomorrow."

He laughed. Claude had canceled almost our entire schedule tomorrow, so that the players could all rest up for the big game.

"When's curfew?" He asked me.

"I don't think we can leave our rooms after eleven." I told him. "And he wants us to be asleep by midnight."

"Yeah, that's gonna fuckin happen." He grinned.

I shook my head and tried to hide my smile.

"We can't have you tired for tomorrow." I warned him.

"Hey, bud! Five hour energy!" He smirked.

"You're not taking me seriously." I muttered.

I glanced at the clock.

"What the hell are you gonna do for another hour and a half?" He asked me.

"I have no idea." I replied. "I'll probably just go to bed."

He laughed.

"Bergy's in bed at ten!" He exclaimed, miming typing on his phone. "Facebook! Twitter!"

"Shut up." I grinned at him. "I am actually tired, though. Phaneuf wore me down."

"I hear ya." He nodded. "He's tough. I couldn't get past him at all in game two."

I glanced at my shoulder.

"I have to tape this shit up tomorrow." I said. "It's been bugging me since the game against Phoenix."

I thought back to the game that Martin Hanzal had pounded me into the boards. I had gone off with an injury, and I hadn't returned that game. Since then, my shoulder had been hurting on and off.

"Well, you'd better get to bed!" Marchy joked, climbing out of the hot tub, and diving into the pool.

"Truth." I replied, smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow, Marchy."