Trouble in the Locker Room 

"No, yeah. Obviously, this isn't where we want to be. Only a few weeks from playoffs, a 10-game skid doesn't help our chances. I'm seeing a lot of miscommunication out there. I know this group of guys is capable of more and it's my job to draw that out. We got work to do before our next game. No more questions, thanks."

Coach stepped off the podium. A cacophony of questions erupted from the press. His team was in a deep rut and he had no idea where things had gone wrong. Only a few weeks ago, they were the top of the league, and then, overnight, it all collapsed.

He was in his office planning a bag skate when David Schick, his second-line centreman, paid a visit. Schick, the newest player on the team, was brought in from Czechia to give them a proper chance at the championship. He had immense skill, even if he was a little undersized. He'd started the year strong, but Coach noticed that his performance had fallen off recently. Coach felt that they were overdue for a talk.

"Schicker! What's going on?"

"Hey Coach."

He could tell that David was nervous. "I was hoping we could talk. It's about Owen."

Owen Jones. Point leader. Captain of the team. A leader among men. "Jonesy. What about him?"

David sat down on a leather chair. His demeanour worried Coach, who took a seat next to the European playmaker. "What's on your mind, kid?"

David shot up from his chair and started pacing the room. Coach's eyes followed him. "I know I should expect it, but Jones is way out of line. He pushes me and pushes me and I'm fed up."

"Tell me what happened."

"I shouldn't say it. It should be expected. I know I'm the new guy, but it's really too much. He talks down to me in front of the others. It feels like the whole locker room is on his side. Because he's the captain, he's the man. Now my linemates don't respect me. I can't control them and we aren't clicking. You see it. Passing to nobody, offsides, the whole deal. I can't play like this, Coach. I need Jones off the team. You brought me here to win championships and I know I can do it, but not if this jerk is always giving me a hard time."

"I get it," said Coach, "it's frustrating. But the fact is that Jones is our point leader. He's been with the team six years and has earned his position in that locker room. You said you should expect it and you're damn right. This is a hard-nose league. Everyone knows that you'll move to the Big Leagues next year, so you just have to play through it. Find a way to live with Jonesy and make this work. I have big expectations on my shoulders, too. I don't even want to think of a world where we don't make the playoffs. You're a hockey player. Play hockey. Everything else is just noise."

David's boyish face stared at the aging Coach with sincere earnestness. His eyes did not waiver. "I want to help you, Coach, but I'm serious. I can't play with this guy. It's either him or me."

Coach stayed late that night. His brain was racked with anger. Internationals are always more trouble than they're worth. The problem with the new generation of hockey players is that they have no grit. They whine and cry whenever someone steps to them. How is he going to win championships with these entitled crybabies?

Still, his current player conflict was still a problem that needed solving. The GM had brought Schick in to add prestige to the team, and Coach couldn't rightly let this valuable player walk away. At the same time, there was no way Coach was going to let their best player leave because he hurt the feelings of one of his teammates. Still, things couldn't continue like this. The losing had to stop or else he'd be the one out of a job. He knew the higher ups expected a playoff appearance this year. Hell, they expected the championship, and he had every intention of giving it to them.

Coach made the reservation for eight o'clock and arrived early so as to be the first one there. To his chagrin, but not his surprise, Jones had beat him there. He sat at the table alone, toque on his head, smiling casually at the waitress refilling his water.

"Jeez, Coach, if I didn't know any better I'd think you're trying to bang me!"

Coach let off an uneasy smile as he sat across from his star player.

"Who else are we waiting for?"

"Schicker's gonna join us."

"Oh," let out Jones as his demeanour changed to something more serious. "What's this about?"

"Let's wait until he's here."

They didn't have to wait long. A couple minutes before eight, the tall European entered the low-lit restaurant. His clothes were understated and dark. He moved like a phantom through the restaurant.

Coach felt the tension from the moment he mentioned Schick's name, but now the bad blood was palpable.

"I get a certain level of hazing," started Coach, looking at Owen Jones, "but I can't let it affect the team. We're a month out from playoffs, boys, and the better we do, the better your future prospects are. You're not going to let some petty beef spoil your chance of playing in The Show, are you? I've already heard it from David. Owen, what's your side of the story?"

"I don't know what he's told you, but you put the C on me cause I'm a leader. My respect is earned, not given. Schick here is a nice guy, but his stats don't lie. He's an anchor on the team. He doesn't bring anything to the powerplay. Luckily he can win his draws, cause without that he'd have nothing. I don't care that he's gay, I really don't. All I want is a teammate that I can rely on. Cause I'm out there every night giving one hundred and ten percent. And if he's just gonna be skating around half-ass, giving away pucks and not finding the back of the net, then I'm gonna give him some tough love until he improves. That's how I got better and that's how he'll get better too."

Coach looked over at David who was looking at Owen. David was fuming, jaw clenched and his eyes showing the slightest ripple of moisture. This was news to Coach, and it was clear that David preferred it to be left unsaid.

"You single me out," said David abruptly. "Look at Richy, he's way worse than me and you two are buddies."

"Richy is a fourth-line grinder," exclaimed Owen. "I don't expect shit from him. You're supposed to be this European maverick, destined for The Show. I've been here six years, grinding it out, earning my place. We got a chance at the 'ship this year and you're sinking us cause you're acting selfish and soft! Can't handle a few chirps. Give me a break."

David put his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes for a moment.

"Owen," started Coach slowly, "how many people have you told that David is gay?"

Owen looked perplexed by the question.

Coach repeated, "How many people have you told?"

"Well, when I found out, I told the guys. You know, I tell them everything!"

The gravity of the situation was beginning to dawn on Coach.

"Owen, that was a very dumb thing to do."

"What's the big deal?" asked the captain. "Nobody cares."

"Yes they do," David whispered under his breath.

"We laugh about it, that's all! Just having a little fun."

Coach had another sleepless night. He knew what he had to do, but he didn't know if he could bring himself to do it.

Coach spent the morning in his office staring at the phone. The number was on his screen, all he had to do was dial it. His thoughts raced. He felt a little ashamed that what he was most concerned about was the performance of the team.

He finally found the courage to call the Spokane Cougars. It wasn't a very long call, and the other end of the line didn't quite believe that he was being serious. Coach assured him that this was a real offer, and it closed in a manner of minutes.

News shot through the local town like wildfire. Owen Jones traded to the Spokane Cougars "for a bag of pucks," as one news outlet put it. Jones didn't mince his words in the press either, but he was smart enough to not mention David.

Before their first game without a captain, Schick arrived early. Alone in the locker room, he sat looking into his bag, thinking of what kind of hell he'd have to pay.

The first to arrive was Mac Scott, first-line winger who would surely be paired with Schick now that he was getting the bump up to the top line. Mac saw David sitting alone, lost in thought, and he at first was hesitant to approach. Finally, he made his way over.

"Hey," started Mac.

Schick responded with a head nod and a muted, "Hey."

"Listen, whatever went down with you and Jonesy, just want you to know that the boys and I are cool with the past being the past. We all know Jonesy wasn't easy to get along with. Truth is, most of us put up with him because we had to. I got a lot of texts the past couple days talking about how the boys are happy he's gone. So, I know he was riding you, but don't worry about that anymore. These guys here, they just wanna win. What's done is done, so, like, let's just get back to what we do."

Schick looked up at Mac. His face was filled with appreciation.

"Sound good?"

Mac extended a fist bump.

"Yeah," responded Schick, putting knuckle to knuckle. "Sounds really good."

The locker room continued to fill out. Sheck Wes blared from the speaker, echoing through the locker room and back halls. The boys were cracking jokes, keeping things loose. Coach schemed with his assistants in the corner as gametime neared.

David taped his socks, and tossed his jersey over his shoulder pads.

"Here we go boys! Here we go!"

The door swung open and the team started to march toward the ice. Schick received some stick taps to the shin guards. His mind was quiet. There were no more distractions. He was ready to do what he was brought there to do.