Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I was supposed to be celebrating a great season, and sure…I did that, but drunk and high me hated Jake more than sober me did. That asshole had even ruined partying.
Needless to say, the seed was sown.
A week after the big L, my agent lined up an interview for me on a popular podcast hosted by two retired hockey players who’d been teammates of NHL legend Vinnie Kiminski. Fun fact: Vinnie was from the same small town in Vermont as my nemesis. Skeeter and Shawn were very familiar with Vinnie’s internationally renowned Elmwood juniors camp, and they seemed to keep track of the pros who’d coached for Vinnie and his team over the years.
Like me…and Jake.
And they knew we didn’t get along. That wasn’t a secret, but it also wasn’t newsworthy. Not everyone was your buddy, right?
Yeah, well, apparently, the key to a successful podcast was to create a story out of thin air and provoke your gullible, pot-stirring guest into saying crazy shit for the entertainment of the subscribers. And there was no one more primed and ready to deliver the goods than me.
“Take us through that last minute, Trinsky. What was going through your head?” Skeeter prompted.
I adjusted my headphones. “Score.”
They chuckled as if that were the funniest quip ever.
“No, really,” Skeeter chided. “Conference championship fifteen years ago, we were up one with two minutes to go in the third period and all I could think was, ‘I want hot chicken wings…like now.’ ”
More laughter. And this time, I joined in.
“It was bacon for me. Bacon cheeseburger, hold the onions, double fries. Maybe I was subconsciously hungry.” I waited for their bout of hilarity to pass and added, “I’m kidding. I was focused. It’s just that—nah, never mind.”
“None of that. Let it all out,” Shawn prodded.
“What was it? Milligan was in your head, huh?” Skeeter joked.
Wow, good one, Skeeter.
Just like that, I was on the ice in the final minute of that third period distracted by Jake’s hair and his jacket and—Ugh. Fuck this. You know what? They wanted a little something extra to tantalize their listeners.…I could definitely play this game.
A cartoon angel and a devil each sat on a shoulder, duking it out.
Don’t do it, Trinsky.
Oh, fuck that noise. Get it off your chest.
Guess who I listened to?
Easy decision. I didn’t want to talk about losing anymore. The goofball in me wanted to get into the spirit of things and joke around with these guys. I wanted to shake off my frustration and pent-up anger, and just have a laugh.
I eyed the veteran players across the table and leaned into my microphone.
“Okay, fine. There was this glare from the stands and it was driving me nuts. It was a laser or a beacon. I passed the puck, took a peek, and get this…” I paused, my comedic timing on point. “It turned out to be Jake Milligan’s shiny leather jacket.”
Not very funny, I know. But to a couple of hungry podcasters hoping to spin any line into a catch phrase, it was money. Skeeter and Shawn guffawed and as I’d sort of figured, they turned the shiny leather jacket moment into a saga.
“Milligan has it in for you!”
“The feud lives! Milligan scored on that one. Enemy brought down by cowhide.”
It was a tad much, but it was also vaguely humorous. And hopefully, therapeutic.
I walked out of their recording studio feeling lighter than I had in days, and the throng of fans waiting for autographs and selfies pumped me up. Losing had sucked, but it was a temporary setback. I was ready to move on.
Thank you, Jake fucking Milligan.
“Trinsky-Milligan feud is on!” –ESPN
“Denver’s charismatic forward suggests Stanley Cup subterfuge!” –The Denver Post
“Is a rival’s shiny leather jacket to blame for Denver’s loss to Ontario?” –The Hockey News
I snickered as the headlines rolled in, each one more ridiculous than the last. Hashtag Shiny Jacket was trending, some genius social media influencer made up a song that had gone viral, and my jersey was selling like hotcakes.
Jake’s was too, but…whatever.
It was goofy, and to most of the world, it was just good, clean fun.
My agent, however, couldn’t decide if I was secretly a marketing guru or a loose cannon.
“I’m popping antacids like M&M’s here, Trinsky,” Marty groused in a thick Long Island accent. “Your contract is up for renewal. Denver loves you and you wanna stay, but you’re gonna cost them a pretty penny. You gotta play nice to get everything on your wish list. There’s a posse of fresh talent coming up, and you know it. They can get two good rookies for half of what you earn.”
I scowled at my cell. “Oh, c’mon, they love me.”
“Business first, baby. Denver doesn’t like press they don’t control. You oughta know that by now. And don’t get me started on Milligan. Christ, his agent’s office has left me five messages this morning.”