11 October 2007
Chapter 2

Copyright© 2017 by Mustang

Brad couldn’t believe his good fortune and immediately called home. “Dad, you won’t believe this, but Coach Stanton and General Manager Peterson want me to coach the Falcons for the next three games! GM Peterson says I’m the youngest coach in League history!”

Dan was speechless and had to stifle his enthusiasm to give Brad any suggestions except to pick Coach Stanton’s brain for suggestions on how to coach the team effectively. He texted Abby at school and told her his good news.

Brad busied himself with Coach Stanton, preparing for the practice, and wondered how his teammates would react to the news. He had already changed into his hockey gear; his usual OHL grey sweater, signifying a forward, replaced a yellow no-contact jersey. The team trainer had fitted him with a flack jacket style of protective armour, providing additional protection for his healing ribs.

He put himself through his paces, awaiting his teammate’s arrival. He felt the strains of inactivity but was able to take deep breaths with little to no discomfort. He envisioned different plays, moved in all directions, and felt good about being back on the ice. He loved the scratchy, clawing sounds his sharp skates made on the ice as he’d dig in for a hard stop and goes.

Brad returned to the dressing room, sweat now beading on his forehead. He smiled at his near-empty water bottle, remembering Abby’s words of caution to remain hydrated. His teammates give him high fives, seeing him now wearing the grey sweater and closer to being in game condition. He smiled, noticing his dad was lacing up his skates for his part in the practice. They exchanged knowing smiles at Brad’s temporary promotion to Coach.

Brad sat in his stall as the others changed into their hockey gear, feeling more like a member of the team. Coach Stanton came into the room, chatting with a few players, always taking a personal interest in everyone’s welfare.

The players were feeling tense with the ongoing losing streak and knew this would be a hard practice despite playing a game later on tonight. Frank went over a few basics on the whiteboard, explaining what he wanted today. A few minutes later, GM Peterson came into the room.

“Something must be up; the GM never comes in unless there’s bad news,” Captain Dale Corbett muttered to Jake.


“I have some news that affects the whole team.” That comment drew everyone’s attention to GM Peterson. “First of all, Coach Williams’s return from Europe has been delayed due to the passing of his grandmother. Condolences have been sent to the Williams family on behalf of the team. Secondly, Coach Benson was admitted to the hospital last night to have his appendix removed. He will be laid up for a week, unable to coach the team.”

“In these days of fast-paced hockey, it’s difficult for one person to coach a team effectively, and with the team playing the next three games in four nights, we had no time to find a coach who knows our system. And I’m sure you guys don’t want me behind the bench again.” His comment received guarded laughs from the players.

Coach Stanton continued. “In discussions with Coach Williams, Coach Benson, and General Manager Peterson, your new coach for the forwards during the next three games is going to be ... Brad Hayward, and I’ll coach the defencemen.”

A hush fell over the room, and Brad felt his face turn crimson with embarrassment. “Hayward? Why Hayward?” A voice questioned the decision.

“Don’t you have anyone else to use instead of Hayward?” Another asked.

“What about the goalie coach?” A player mentioned.

“He’s not available,” Frank answered.

“Why not, Mr. Hayward? He’s a great skills coach,” added someone else.

“We considered using him, but Brad knows our team’s system better than he does,” Frank defended.

The GM stepped forward. “Look, boys, this is no joke or publicity stunt. These games are all point games, and we’re mired in an early season slump. We have full confidence in Brad’s ability to help us out behind the bench. How many of you haven’t already taken advice from him during practice or a game?” He questioned them, looking at the different faces.

The silence in the room was his answer. “Just as I thought. I expect each and every one of you to give Coach Hayward your full support and play as well for him as you would for Coach Stanton, or you can change out of your uniform and leave the team,” he challenged.

Of course, no one was going to leave the team, even if they thought this idea was absolutely crazy. Dale Corbett, Captain of the Falcons, stood and walked over to Brad. Congratulations, Coach Hayward; on behalf of the team, we’ll play for you,” he stated, offering his hand to shake.

“Thanks, Dale.” All the players banged their sticks on the floor, whooped, and hollered in support of the Captain and Brad.

Brad stood, put on his helmet, and fastened the chin strap. “Okay guys, to the ice, and let’s have a good, hard practice!”

All the players put their strongest effort into the practice. Brad wasn’t above accepting suggestions from the players, and they felt encouraged by the effective bonding. Dan helped the players with their puck-handling techniques and offered Brad any advice only if asked for. On one sequence, the goalie took a hard slap shot close to his right collarbone, wincing in obvious pain.

Brad blew his whistle to get the team’s attention. “Guys, we’re defeating ourselves if we get injured during a simple practice. When we carry out plays and have a scrimmage, we should, of course, be more assertive. Another thing I’ve noticed is that warming up before a game is not the time to try and score every shot on our goalie. The warm-up is for his benefit, not yours. Keep your shots to his glove, stick, and pads. If he wants shots to the chest, he’ll ask for them.” The goalies nodded their heads, voicing their agreement.


After the practice, Brad stayed another hour and a half with Coach Stanton, going over different strategies and ideas. All this additional coaching knowledge made his head feel like it was spinning out of control.

Coach Stanton placed a hand on Brad’s shoulder. “Now comes the hard part, where you have to set aside your personal feelings and think like a coach. You have to scratch two players from the lineup for tonight’s game. I’ll give you a few minutes to come up with the names and reasons why.”

Brad busied himself trying to figure out who not to dress for tonight’s game. Then, seeing the trainer walking past, it dawned on him what to do. A while later, Coach Stanton returned to Brad. “Okay, Coach, what is your decision?”

“I talked to our trainer and asked Jim if Jason MacDonald was healed enough from his groin injury. He said Jason was likely able to play but could use another game’s rest. I’ll watch him during the warm-up to see how he looks. Chris Page hasn’t played for two games and had a strong practice, so I’ll put him in tonight and sit Peter Osgood, who’s taken two majors in the last two games. I’ll have my dad and Dale give him instructions, one on one, about giving cleaner bodychecks.”

“Welcome to my world, Brad. Coaching isn’t as easy as it looks. What the fans see during a game is only part of our job. I’ll see you later on, and you did very well!” He smiled, offering his hand.


It didn’t take long after practice for the Falcon players to text or call friends and family, telling them about Brad becoming their coach. He was nervous as hell for his first game behind the bench, but just like a player, the butterflies disappeared once the game began. The Falcon players were taunted by the Mississauga Ice Dogs for having a baby as a coach.

Jason Bennett, the Falcons’ number-one goalie, showed his frustrations by being scored on several times in the first period. He’d fish the puck out of the net and shoot it hard against the boards. During the first timeout, the players came to the bench.

“Having a tough game, Jason?” Brad asked, tossing him a towel to wipe his face.

“Sorry, Coach I should have had those two shots, damn rebounds,” he muttered.

“You hate being scored on?”

“Of course I do; what goalie doesn’t?”

“Then the only time you ever touch the puck again is on your side of the goal line or around the back of your home. When that puck crosses the goal line into the net, it becomes poison to you. Let the linesman get the puck out of the net.”

“Okay, Coach.”

Brad’s nervousness soon disappeared, and he’d constantly pat his players on the shoulder, praising a good play, a change of lines, or words of encouragement.

 
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