Superman This Time
Sidney Crosby - Superman This Time
"Jeez," I muttered as I threw the house phone back into its base.
I knew something was wrong the second I woke up.
The phone was ringing loudly, cutting into my dreams and when I peeked at Sid’s bed across the room, it was empty, the sheets unruffled.
I had 3 options in my mind at that point:
1) The dude had stayed over at Kris’, Marc’s or Mario’s (he usually called, and this time he hadn’t);
2) Sidney had hooked up with someone and gone back to their place (yeah, right);
3) Sid had gotten into trouble last night.
You could imagine my shock when the cop on the other side of the phone told me Ol’ Sid needed to be bailed out or he’d miss today’s afternoon practice.
Sidney? In jail? This was probably a dream.
I pinched myself a couple of times and was disappointed to find that everything was palpable. This wasn’t a dream, after all. A nightmare, maybe, but not the kind you have when you’re asleep.
I was seeing red. This was so unlike the Pittsburgh Penguins’ captain. How could he end up in jail? I knew he’d gone out for a celebratory dinner with the boys last night (obviously, their 5-3 win was something to celebrate), but what the hell had happened that Sidney had spent a couple of hours behind bars? I’d expect this from Maxie, not Sid. He must have seriously screwed up last night. Or he might have finally let the guys drench his insides with alcohol, which he always politely declined or refused.
I guess we were about to find out, huh? After ransacking the house for the 1500$ I needed to bail out my best friend (you’d think Sid would leave a couple of bucks layin’ around, but no), I ran to the car and jumped inside. Nervously, my hands jammed the key repeatedly around, under and on the sides of the ignition keyhole. Basically, everywhere else, except where I needed it to be.
“Really?” I yelled to no one but myself, “I gotta get Sidney!”
I took a deep breath, knowing that if the captain had been here with me, he’d be frowning. He hated when I got mad or angry and started raising
my voice. “Going to get Sidney.” I said to myself in a civil and calm manner. There, I thought, Sidney would like that better. This time, the key slid perfectly into the ignition.
Since it was just before 6 a.m. in Pittsburgh, there was little to no traffic on the highway.
I pictured Sidney on the floor of a cold, musty, humid and somber cell, surrounded by three walls and poles separated by a couple of inches of nothing. Sidney, the warmest person with the biggest heart on Earth.
It was all I could do not to cry on the steering wheel. Even if I didn’t know the story at all, I was sad for Sidney. His reputation would never be the same. It would never again be clean and blank. Would they go so far as to null his captaincy? There has to be some explanation, I kept telling myself. This wasn’t Sidney’s doing, I was sure of it. I was so confused.
The outside of the prison was unwelcoming and über creepy. It would be the perfect lieu for a community haunted house. I stalked into the building and raced through the corridor. You know how in books, the corridor seems to stretch out? The faster you run the further away you get to reaching the end? That’s how I felt. Sidney was in this building, waiting for me to save him. For me to be his Superman this time, not the other way around. I had to get him out of here; it wasn’t where he belonged.
When I finally reached the end of the endless hallway, I breathlessly managed to choke out, “I’m here to bail out Sidney Crosby.” Before the woman at the front desk could answer, I mumbled to myself, “Jesus, that’s wrong.” I would never have thought those words would ever come out of my mouth.
The woman sitting in a grey felt swivel chair looked annoyed at me, as if I’d interrupted the updating of her profile on a dating website or something. She had pink lipstick on, tan skin and baby blue eyeshadow on her eyes. Not to mention, black mascara, black liquid eyeliner and too much blush. I felt bad for girls like that, who felt they needed to cover up to be beautiful, even with the death stares she was shooting at me. Sidney did, too. People might think that Sidney was too busy to notice such things, but he did. He was actually one of the most observant people I knew. He saw everything, heard everything, even if he didn’t seem like that type of person.
Obviously, this woman here wasn’t a Pens fan, otherwise she’d be going a lot faster. Or maybe she was and she was pissed at me for coming to take Sidney away. I almost chuckled out loud at the thought.
I watched her as she typed up something on the computer, and then dialed a number on the phone next to the screen. “Officer Tyson, I’m letting in Sidney’s bailout,” she said simply, before hanging up.
She glanced at me and gestured at the door to her left, before returning to her beloved computer, “He’s all yours, princess.”
I pushed through the door she’d pointed me to and there the Captain was, his hands held behind his back by shiny-silver manacles.
“Are those things as shiny as the Stanley Cup was?” I questioned, trying to lighten the mood a little bit. I could almost smell the relief in the air, both his and mine.
Sidney smiled at the memory of the 2009 silver dream. “Not even close,” he replied.
We went back through the door to the front office, where Officer Tyson sat down at a second computer. I forked over the bail money and he plucked out a file from the drawer at the back. Typing in some information, he nodded a couple of times, then sealed the money in an envelope that he placed back into the file. Walking over to Sidney, he pulled out a tiny key from his shirt’s breast pocket and unlocked my best friend’s manacles.
The Penguins’ captain wrung his wrists, forming manacles with his fingers around them, as if the metal had bit into his skin and pained him. He finally put his arms around me and we stayed in an awkward embrace in front of everyone. “The only disadvantage to having manacles is that I can’t hug you,” he stated with a grin as we walked out to the car. I was glad; I officially never wanted to come back to a jailhouse ever again.
“So what happened, Sidney?” The question that was burning my tongue finally rolled off it.
Number 87 sighed and looked up, not making eye contact.
“Max was drunk and he let some girl take a picture of him holding up the middle finger…” he started, and I rolled my eyes. Typical Max.
“So when the girl announced that she was going to the bathroom, I took her handbag outside and started looking for her camera. She was no exception to those girls that put everything in their purse, so I had a bit of a hard time finding her camera. I wasn’t shocked when I found some coke and 3 joints in a Ziploc. Long story short, the girl got one of the security guards because I guess she knew it was me. They arrested me on the spot. But at least I deleted the picture.”
There was the reasonable explanation I knew I’d get from Sidney. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Talbs, but I was pissed that he’d let Sidney get in trouble for trying to save his ass. Sidney, as captain, was expected to be the Savior of each and every time we were down by one goal. He might’ve been Superman, but he wasn’t the superhuman kind. When he was given a chance to save someone or something, he took it. No regrets, no looking back.
“As captain, I did what I had to do. I’d do it again, too. Wearing the C isn’t all fun and games, obviously.” He contemplated wisely.
Sidney was 25 now, but I sometimes forgot it.
I was proud of him for doing something that mature… But on the other hand he’d left me worried.
“I’m sorry,” he said instantly, as if reading my mind, “I must have worried the heck out of you. Thanks for coming to get me, though.” And he leaned over and kissed my cheek. When I looked over, I thought I saw his cheeks redden and I grinned at him a we jumped out of
the car.
“O captain, my captain, you’ve finally come home.” I teased, opening the door to the house.
“I was at home the second you walked through the door with the bail money. Home is wherever you are, Sam. We could be on a small desert island, miles from the nearest living human, but if you’re with me, I couldn’t give a damn less.” Sidney said powerfully and firmly.
I knew something was wrong the second I woke up.
The phone was ringing loudly, cutting into my dreams and when I peeked at Sid’s bed across the room, it was empty, the sheets unruffled.
I had 3 options in my mind at that point:
1) The dude had stayed over at Kris’, Marc’s or Mario’s (he usually called, and this time he hadn’t);
2) Sidney had hooked up with someone and gone back to their place (yeah, right);
3) Sid had gotten into trouble last night.
You could imagine my shock when the cop on the other side of the phone told me Ol’ Sid needed to be bailed out or he’d miss today’s afternoon practice.
Sidney? In jail? This was probably a dream.
I pinched myself a couple of times and was disappointed to find that everything was palpable. This wasn’t a dream, after all. A nightmare, maybe, but not the kind you have when you’re asleep.
I was seeing red. This was so unlike the Pittsburgh Penguins’ captain. How could he end up in jail? I knew he’d gone out for a celebratory dinner with the boys last night (obviously, their 5-3 win was something to celebrate), but what the hell had happened that Sidney had spent a couple of hours behind bars? I’d expect this from Maxie, not Sid. He must have seriously screwed up last night. Or he might have finally let the guys drench his insides with alcohol, which he always politely declined or refused.
I guess we were about to find out, huh? After ransacking the house for the 1500$ I needed to bail out my best friend (you’d think Sid would leave a couple of bucks layin’ around, but no), I ran to the car and jumped inside. Nervously, my hands jammed the key repeatedly around, under and on the sides of the ignition keyhole. Basically, everywhere else, except where I needed it to be.
“Really?” I yelled to no one but myself, “I gotta get Sidney!”
I took a deep breath, knowing that if the captain had been here with me, he’d be frowning. He hated when I got mad or angry and started raising
my voice. “Going to get Sidney.” I said to myself in a civil and calm manner. There, I thought, Sidney would like that better. This time, the key slid perfectly into the ignition.
Since it was just before 6 a.m. in Pittsburgh, there was little to no traffic on the highway.
I pictured Sidney on the floor of a cold, musty, humid and somber cell, surrounded by three walls and poles separated by a couple of inches of nothing. Sidney, the warmest person with the biggest heart on Earth.
It was all I could do not to cry on the steering wheel. Even if I didn’t know the story at all, I was sad for Sidney. His reputation would never be the same. It would never again be clean and blank. Would they go so far as to null his captaincy? There has to be some explanation, I kept telling myself. This wasn’t Sidney’s doing, I was sure of it. I was so confused.
The outside of the prison was unwelcoming and über creepy. It would be the perfect lieu for a community haunted house. I stalked into the building and raced through the corridor. You know how in books, the corridor seems to stretch out? The faster you run the further away you get to reaching the end? That’s how I felt. Sidney was in this building, waiting for me to save him. For me to be his Superman this time, not the other way around. I had to get him out of here; it wasn’t where he belonged.
When I finally reached the end of the endless hallway, I breathlessly managed to choke out, “I’m here to bail out Sidney Crosby.” Before the woman at the front desk could answer, I mumbled to myself, “Jesus, that’s wrong.” I would never have thought those words would ever come out of my mouth.
The woman sitting in a grey felt swivel chair looked annoyed at me, as if I’d interrupted the updating of her profile on a dating website or something. She had pink lipstick on, tan skin and baby blue eyeshadow on her eyes. Not to mention, black mascara, black liquid eyeliner and too much blush. I felt bad for girls like that, who felt they needed to cover up to be beautiful, even with the death stares she was shooting at me. Sidney did, too. People might think that Sidney was too busy to notice such things, but he did. He was actually one of the most observant people I knew. He saw everything, heard everything, even if he didn’t seem like that type of person.
Obviously, this woman here wasn’t a Pens fan, otherwise she’d be going a lot faster. Or maybe she was and she was pissed at me for coming to take Sidney away. I almost chuckled out loud at the thought.
I watched her as she typed up something on the computer, and then dialed a number on the phone next to the screen. “Officer Tyson, I’m letting in Sidney’s bailout,” she said simply, before hanging up.
She glanced at me and gestured at the door to her left, before returning to her beloved computer, “He’s all yours, princess.”
I pushed through the door she’d pointed me to and there the Captain was, his hands held behind his back by shiny-silver manacles.
“Are those things as shiny as the Stanley Cup was?” I questioned, trying to lighten the mood a little bit. I could almost smell the relief in the air, both his and mine.
Sidney smiled at the memory of the 2009 silver dream. “Not even close,” he replied.
We went back through the door to the front office, where Officer Tyson sat down at a second computer. I forked over the bail money and he plucked out a file from the drawer at the back. Typing in some information, he nodded a couple of times, then sealed the money in an envelope that he placed back into the file. Walking over to Sidney, he pulled out a tiny key from his shirt’s breast pocket and unlocked my best friend’s manacles.
The Penguins’ captain wrung his wrists, forming manacles with his fingers around them, as if the metal had bit into his skin and pained him. He finally put his arms around me and we stayed in an awkward embrace in front of everyone. “The only disadvantage to having manacles is that I can’t hug you,” he stated with a grin as we walked out to the car. I was glad; I officially never wanted to come back to a jailhouse ever again.
“So what happened, Sidney?” The question that was burning my tongue finally rolled off it.
Number 87 sighed and looked up, not making eye contact.
“Max was drunk and he let some girl take a picture of him holding up the middle finger…” he started, and I rolled my eyes. Typical Max.
“So when the girl announced that she was going to the bathroom, I took her handbag outside and started looking for her camera. She was no exception to those girls that put everything in their purse, so I had a bit of a hard time finding her camera. I wasn’t shocked when I found some coke and 3 joints in a Ziploc. Long story short, the girl got one of the security guards because I guess she knew it was me. They arrested me on the spot. But at least I deleted the picture.”
There was the reasonable explanation I knew I’d get from Sidney. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Talbs, but I was pissed that he’d let Sidney get in trouble for trying to save his ass. Sidney, as captain, was expected to be the Savior of each and every time we were down by one goal. He might’ve been Superman, but he wasn’t the superhuman kind. When he was given a chance to save someone or something, he took it. No regrets, no looking back.
“As captain, I did what I had to do. I’d do it again, too. Wearing the C isn’t all fun and games, obviously.” He contemplated wisely.
Sidney was 25 now, but I sometimes forgot it.
I was proud of him for doing something that mature… But on the other hand he’d left me worried.
“I’m sorry,” he said instantly, as if reading my mind, “I must have worried the heck out of you. Thanks for coming to get me, though.” And he leaned over and kissed my cheek. When I looked over, I thought I saw his cheeks redden and I grinned at him a we jumped out of
the car.
“O captain, my captain, you’ve finally come home.” I teased, opening the door to the house.
“I was at home the second you walked through the door with the bail money. Home is wherever you are, Sam. We could be on a small desert island, miles from the nearest living human, but if you’re with me, I couldn’t give a damn less.” Sidney said powerfully and firmly.