Page 31 of Goalie Interference
I pick up my phone and scroll to my text thread with Nikolai. Would it be weird if I texted him right now? Probably. I’ll check the goalie group chat instead.
Since games are currently being played, it’s pretty quiet, but a few of the goalies who have the night off are active in there. It looks like Granlund in Calgary got injured tonight and most of the group is leaving messages wishing him well.
Quickly I search my phone to catch a replay of what happened to him. Yikes. He collided with one of Florida’s forwards on a play and ended up twisting his knee awkwardly before getting crushed under the weight of the player as he fell on top of him. He had to be helped off the ice by the trainers while the rest of his team was engaging in the resulting scrum between the two teams after he went down. It looks like chaos to say the least. I send a text into the chat wishing him well and asking for an update, then send one to him personally as well, asking if he needs anything. It’s likely he’ll be out for a while.
The few other goalies who are active congratulate me on my win. I tell them thanks, but I don’t really feel like I deserve it. I also don’t believe that they’re all that happy for me. Yes, believe it or not, for the most part we are all friendly with each other, but we’re also each other’s competition. It’s a weird dynamic, one that most people will never understand.
Take Granlund for instance. He grew up in Minnesota. He and I have known each other since we were kids. We’ve never played on the same team, but we went to the same hockey camps as kids. We shared a goalie coach for two summers. He’s a nice guy and I wish him nothing but the best, same as he does me. But also, when we get down to it, it’s still my aim and everyone else’s to be the best in the league.
Case in point, playing Nikolai two nights ago. I know he wanted to win that game. Why? Because I wanted to win it. I know he took pleasure in me struggling all night. Why? Because I would have felt the same.
What I didn’t expect was for him to be waiting around the stadium after the game was over to check on me. That was a surprise. And if I’m being honest, a really nice one.
Smiling, I open my text thread with him.
Good game tonight.
For me or for you?
He texts back almost immediately, which surprises me.
I wonder what he’s doing. Is he still in the locker room? Have the Mules made it back to their hotel? Or are they flying out tonight? Whatever it is, he had his phone in hand judging by how quickly he got back to me.
For you.
I answer back with a winky face.
You won tonight too.
I frown.
That was all thanks to Connor and Tavs.
No. You were in net. That win is yours too.
I can hear his voice in my head as I read his texts. The way he misses some words. The way he places punctuation where it sounds sharper. Sighing, I realize I miss hearing him speak.
Impulsively, I hit the call button. I’d rather be talking right now than texting.
Nikolai
Seeing my phone screen light up with Ander’s name on it shocks me, especially since I’m lying here in my hotel bed waiting for his text reply.
I swipe to answer. “Hello.”
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry to call. But sometimes I prefer to talk to people, you know?”
“I do know,” I say, because I do. I’ll admit that in the debate between texting and talking, I’m a rarity in that I prefer to talk. Maybe it’s an English as a second language thing, but I find it easier to speak the language than to type it. And the whole autocorrect thing always screws me up, never correcting to what I’m trying to say. It can be quite frustrating. “It is easier for me to talk anyway.”
“Really?” he asks.
“Does this surprise you?”
“Kind of… I mean, you speak really good English. If it wasn’t for your accent, I’d forget this wasn’t your first language.”
“I have gotten better over years, but still not perfect.”
It has gotten better but it’s been a hard road. With each season it gets easier, and since I haven’t gone back to Russia for a few years, I don’t lose the progress I’ve made over the summers anymore.
