Days of Black and Gold

Adventures through the halls were a common occurrence for me during intermissions. The coaches never wanted me in the room, said they found it too distracting for the boys, so they sent me to fetch ice. It wasn’t often that the ice was needed, but it got me away from the room, and away from the minds of the team.

I always took the same route. Head down the hall, past the visitor’s locker room and into the kitchen. The cooks weren’t overly fond of me, so I would stop in to say hello rather than take their frozen water. Following the kitchen, I would make my way further, stopping off at the Zamboni room to grab a couple bags of snow.

“Excuse me.”

The words startled me from my trance. I peered up into the hazel eyes of a young man in hockey gear. It was evident that he was waiting for a response. “Sorry?”

“Do you know where I can get some ice?”

I blinked a few times, trying to ensure that I was actually hearing the words he spoke. “I’m headed that way.”

“Can I join you?”

“If you need ice, who am I to say no?” I continued my walk, debating whether or not to hit up the kitchen this time. “Shouldn’t you be in the locker room?”

“I need to clear my head.”

I gave a quick nod, but stayed silent. There was no way I was going to ruin the concentration of the leagues “Golden Boy”.

“Do you work here?”

“Sort of,” I stated, unsure if continuing was a good idea.

“What does that mean?” He chuckled, glancing over at me with intoxicating eyes.

“I’m technically contracted by the Caps.”

“To do what?”

“Massage therapy.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Intermission means I get ice, and my male colleague does any team maintenance. It was an agreement they came to when I signed the papers. Wouldn’t want to distract anyone.”

“I guess that makes sense. So, does that mean you are a Caps fan? Are you going to be shunned because you are talking to me?”

“Not a Caps fan, and I won’t be shunned. They won’t find out I’ve been talking to you.”

“What if I use it as a tactic on the ice?”

“You won’t. From what I’ve heard, you are too much of a softy for that.”

He let out a laugh and shook his head. “Does that mean you’re not from Washington?”

“I’m from Calgary.”

“Oh, a Flames fan, then.”

“Not a Flames fan,” I chuckled. “Would you like to keep guessing?”

“Just tell me,” he surrendered.

“I’m a Devils fan. Always have been, always will be.”

“How did that happen?”

“I watched their entire cup run back in 2003, and haven’t looked back since. It was an amazing day when I got to see them live. I saw Martin Brodeur and Scott Neidermayer play. Man, those were the days.”

“Have you seen any other live games?”

“I saw the Stars when Jagr played there. A bit before that I saw your team play the Flames. I sat so far away, it was almost hard to see who was there, but I was beyond excited. You had a good team back then. Fleury, Staal, Letang, Malkin. Amazing.”

“Back when Jordan Staal played for us?”

“You bet. The Pens won, and I didn’t have to watch you play.” As the words came out of my mouth, my eyes widened and I stopped in my tracks. “I’m so sorry. That was not supposed to come out.”

“I wasn’t playing?”

“You were still out with a concussion,” I mumbled, still embarrassed by what I had said. “My friend was extremely sad. She had a crush on you back then.”

“I’m taking a wild guess here, but you didn’t?”

I shrugged, knowing what was coming next. Trying to prolong it, I opened the Zamboni room door and shuffled over to the leftover snow. I handed him a couple of bags, and picked up another few for myself. “I’ve never really been a fan.”

“I’m not offended or anything,” he explained. “I just want to know your opinion. It’s not often that I hear from someone who doesn’t think I’m the face of hockey.”

I drew in a deep breath, trying to decide how to approach the explanation. “I just don’t see you as the best player in the league. I mean, you are a very well rounded player. You see the ice well, and know what is going to happen.

“The problem with that is that there are a lot of players who do relatively the same thing. When you were drafted, you might have been the only one, but there were more coming. Now, you’re just an average player.”

“That really boosts a man’s ego.”

“Shit, sorry,” I winced, knowing that what I had said was unfair. “I think average is the wrong word, but at the moment I can’t think of anything else.”

“We are all entitled to our own opinions.”

“Maybe so, but I just told the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins that he is an average player within minutes of him playing the second period of a rivalry game.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled. “You’re right. Plus, it’s nice to have a grounding voice sometimes. I usually get praise from others, but this was something different. Something I’ve needed for a long time.”

“Well, here we are,” I said, stopping in front of the visitor’s locker room door. “Good luck during the rest of the game. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m secretly cheering for you.” Turning, I continued my walk in the direction of the Capital’s locker room.

“Wait.”

I spun slowly on my heels and stared into his hazel eyes once more. “What can I do for you?”

“I never caught your name.”

“It’s Margot.”

“Margot,” he said thoughtfully. “I like that.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I call you sometime? You know, in case I ever need grounding again?”

“I suppose that would be okay,” I agreed, taking the few steps closer to him. I handed him my phone, promising to send him a message in return.

With my phone back in my hand, I turned back in the direction of the home locker room. I could see my colleague standing near the door, waiting for me.

“What was that about?” He asked as I got within earshot.

“What was what about?” I feigned innocence.

“You were just walking with Crosby.”

“I told him he was an average player.”

“You didn’t.”

“I honestly told the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins that he was just like every other player.”