Chapter 3

Brad sat on the bench, taking another breather, when a player walked past him and skated onto the ice. He didn’t have to read the name and number on the back of the sweater; it was Daniel Alfredsson.

Brad was up quickly, grabbing the right-handed stick and onto the ice. Daniel skated to him, taking off his glove and offering his hand. “Hi, Brad, Coach Clouston called me to say you’d be here today. As Captain, I make it a point to greet new members of the Senators.”

“It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Alfredsson. I feel I should be asking you for a picture and an autograph.”

“Don’t get too wide-eyed about a player you might like to watch on TV and may someday play against. He’ll steal the puck from you faster than you can blink. I see you have my stick. Don’t break it; it’s my last one,” he joked.

“Let’s go and have some fun. I still do, after all these years of playing.”

They carried on shooting pucks at the net and passing back and forth on the fly. They went to the empty net, Daniel asked him a corner to shoot for, and Brad placed a wrist shot top left or right, lower left or right. They skated back and forth, exchanging passes, then did a little one-on-one. Daniel quickly took the puck from Brad on a pretend rush, then playfully guided him to meet the boards.

“Don’t be concerned with who I am. Play me like anyone else. The puck is an extension of your stick.”

Brad made another skate, this time shielding the puck from him. Daniel rushed towards him, stickhandling the puck. Brad couldn’t believe his oncoming speed. He didn’t look at the puck but at the crest on Daniel’s sweater. He tried to deek Brad to the left, and Brad stayed with him. Going right, he guided him gently to the boards.

“You learn quick, young grasshopper,” Daniel teased of the 1970’s TV show Kung Fu.

Brad was getting a better feel for the hockey stick when he lined up five pucks between the face-off hash marks. The first one went clear into the net; the next four went off the left or right post and into the net.

“Did you hit the post on purpose?” Daniel asked.

“Yes. My dad played in the OHL back in the sixties. He has shown me how the goal posts are my friend, not the goalie’s.”

“That’s a different approach.” Daniel stood on the right face-off dot and fed Brad several passes.

Coach Clouston skated onto the ice with a hand-held speed gun. “I know you don’t have your own stick with you, but we’d like to see the speed of your shot.”

Brad was poised to take the shot, and Daniel fed him the puck. The first slap shot hit the crossbar, deflecting into the netting. The next one was in the center of the net.

“Niney-two!” He yelled at the bench. Three shots in a row registered as ninety-five, ninety-seven, and ninety-nine.

The coach skated to the bench. “Highest is ninety-nine without his own stick and not totally in condition,” he said, picking up the left-handed one.

“Jesus, most pros can’t hit that!” Mr. Murray commented.

“Brad can do better than that. He’s shot 116 before,” Abby interjected with pride.

Daniel moved to the left dot, and Brad continued with a left-handed stick. “Eighty-five, ninety-three, ninety-one!” The coach yelled.

“Okay, Brad, that’s enough for today,” Coach Clouston said.

They skated to the bench, where Brad smiled the biggest at his wife and took a well-deserved drink of water.

“Maybe I should be asking you for your autograph,” Daniel joked.

“What’s the verdict, doctor?” GM Murray asked.

“Brad is definitely out of shape because of inactivity from his operation. If he can shoot ninety-nine in this condition, look out for when he’s fully healthy.” He looked at Brad, tipping his helmet back and taking another long swig of water. “Gentlemen, I think you have yourselves a hockey player!”