bhurst99

Nov. 12, 2008

In terms of shake-ups this was an earthquake.

It hasn't been a good start to the season for the Chicago Blackhawks organization. The Hawks are in 27th place with a 5-8-2 record. The persistent rumours of pending trades, firings, demotions from Chicago and promotions from Rockford have really started to affect everyone. You can't control what is out of your hands, but you can try to get the best available information.

That's why I decided to call my agent Pete Satt before the game against Milwaukee. He can be a pain to talk to on the phone and his memory isn't very good for an agent, but he is very connected. If anyone can tell me what's going on in Chicago it would be Satt.

I started to call his number on my phone when it rang before I could finish dialing.

"Yo, Hurst! It's your favourite agent."

It was Satt. He must be mind reader to know I was trying to get a hold of him.

"I was just about to phone you, Mr. Satt," I said.

"I got good news and I got bad news," Satt said.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Chicago is going to announce today they are promoting four players from Rockford," he said.

Four players! I never thought in a million years they would take four of us. If they are taking four players that means I have a chance --

"But you're not one of them," Peters added before I could complete my thought.

My heart sunk.

"In fact they're not really happy with how you've performed on the first line," said Satt.

My heart was in my ankles now.

"Don't worry, kid. Since Chicago is promoting four players that means they have also demoted four players. Four guys who will be hungry like vultures in the desert to get back to the NHL. They'll tear it up down there and you'll get plenty of scoring opportunities with some of them on your line," Satt said.

"Yeah, I guess your right," I said meekly. "Who are the four players who were promoted?"

"I don't remember," Satt said.

"Who were the four players who were demoted?" I asked.

"I don't remember," Satt said.

"So what's the good news?" I asked.

"I already told you -- three NHLers have been demoted to Rockford. It's like you don't even remember what I just said. They're going to be as hungry to get back to the NHL as a kid in a chocolate factory. You'll get points just by being around them," Satt said.

"But you don't even know who the four players are," I reminded him.

"Doesn't matter. They'll be hungry. I gotta run kid. All your talk about eating has made me starving," said Satt.

It was pretty apparent when I walked into the dressing room the four players from Chicago -- centre Tim Brent, left winger Tim Brouwer, centre Jacob Dowell and defenseman Niklas Hjalmarsson -- weren't hungry. They were barely alive. I have seen happier people at a funeral. They were hanging their heads like they went to the funeral, were told they weren't in the will and got stuck paying for the tombstone.

We were awful against Milwaukee and I was minus 2.

I'm going to miss the four guys who got promoted: Dave Bolland, Kris Versteeg, Petri Kontiola and Aaron Johnson.

Hopefully, we'll have a great reunion in Chicago one day. But right now that day seems far away.

bhurst99

bhurst99

Game 15: Rockford at Milwaukee

bhurst99

Nov. 15, 2008

I got my revenge but it wasn’t what I had in mind.

You have seen by now that I was high sticked in the face by Milwaukee’s Ryan Maki in the second period. His stick hit just beneath my left eye and left a nasty slice in my face. I look like I was in a fight with a pair of scissors and lost. I’m lucky I wear a face shield that prevented the stick from going higher. If it wasn’t for that I might be a Cyclops.

I was furious. What was Maki doing with his stick so high? This isn’t lacrosse.

I went off the ice, got some stiches from our trainer in the dressing room and came right back. I was swearing like a gangster when I got back to the bench. Coach Bill Peters must have heard my cursing.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Hurst. We need this game,” Peters said. “There is a time and place for everything and this isn’t the time for you to get another stupid penalty.”

Peters was alluding to the fact I got a cross-checking penalty in front of their net earlier in the game.

We were clinging to a 1-0 lead thanks to Bryan Bickell’s goal. Peters was right. Given our recent form we needed the win.

That’s what made my game-saving play so sweet.

While short-handed Milwaukee had a great chance in our end. Admiral defensemen Alexander Sulzer raced in from the point, had a clear chance on goal and fired one at Wade Flaherty. Flaherty only got a piece of it and the puck trickled behind him for a certain goal.

I managed to get the puck just before it crossed the goal line and swept it away. I’ll be honest with you it might have been past the line by the time I got it. My eye had swollen up so much by that time I could barely see.

The Admirals were screaming at the referee.

“That’s a goal. It was in the net,” said Sulzer. “It was in. It went past the line.”

But the referee didn’t stop the play. No goal. Too bad suckers.

When I got back to the bench during the next stoppage, our guys were going nuts like I had just recorded a hat trick. They were all standing and tapping me on top of my helmet.

“You’re a pretty good blind hockey player,” laughed Bickell.

That’s when our bench heard Maki still yelling at the referee about the no goal call.

“What are you blind?” Maki asked the referee during the stoppage

That infuriated our bench.

“Hey, Maki, maybe you blinded him with your stick,” Tim Brent yelled back at him from the bench.

That quieted down Milwaukee. We hung on to the 1-0 win. I won’t forget your stick work Maki.

After the game, coach Peters said he wanted to see my in his office tomorrow morning. I wonder what he wants now. It seems like he is always calling me into his office.

bhurst99

bhurst99

Game 16: Peoria at Rockford

bhurst99

Nov. 16, 2008

Getting beaten to a pulp was a fitting conclusion to my worst day in professional hockey.

It all started with my meeting with Coach Bill Peters before the game. Those one-on-one meetings are always about as pleasant as a proctologist exam.

It was about 7 am when I had my meeting in his office. It’s entirely possible that Peters lives in that eight-by-eight foot office. It’s also possible that Peters never sleeps and that he’s part vampire, slowly sucking the life out of me.

I enter the office and I notice the plant that was dead when I entered his office back in September is still in its pot. It’s turning brown now. I’m not going to ask if anyone cleans his office because the junk food wrappers that are on his desk immediately tell me no.

“Have a seat,” Peters motions toward the chair in front of his desk.

“I have some bad news,” Peters said.

I’m not surprised. It’s like when you go to the dentist office; you’re never getting good news.

“After seeing you these past few games the organization has agreed with me that you were not ready for the first line and starting tonight you’re going to be playing on the second line.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Peters,” I said. “We’ve had tons of opportunities to score but we just can’t seem to come through.”

It was a pretty meek attempt to save my spot on the first line. With only one point since I was promoted to the first line it was hard to make a convincing argument.

“Hey, for a late round round pick you’ve made quite an impression, quite a start to the season. Keep working hard and good things will happen. It’s a long season and things can always change for the better,” said Peters.

This was a new side of Peters I hadn’t seen: Conciliator.

That’s why it’s so disappointing I absolutely stunk against Peoria. I was on the ice for our first goal against and took a penalty that resulted in Peoria scoring a power play goal to make it 2-0.

I got in a bout at the end of the game with Brad Winchester and got absolutely clocked. My face looks like I was run over by a truck. I have a bruise under one eye from the cut I got two games ago from the high stick and another on the other side of my face thanks to Winchester’s fists.

Things can only get better, right?

Exastick

This is a really good Be A Pro. It makes me REALLY want to start a Be A Pro and post it on these forums. Anyways, good luck on ending up on the Blackhawks!

bhurst99

Thanks. Glad someone is following.

bhurst99

bhurst99

Game 17: Peoria at Rockford

bhurst99

Nov. 21, 2008

You know things have been in the trash can when your teammates should make of fun you and they refuse.

My recent demotion to the second line has me playing with wingers Byran Bickell and Michael Blundell. I didn’t have any chemistry with my linemates on the first line and couldn’t buy a point but that’s not a problem on the second line.

I wish I could explain to you why I play better when I am on the second line but I can’t. Who knows? Maybe I feel more pressure playing on the top line.

Playing with Bickell and Blundell, I had my first multi-point game of the season. I had two assists – both on the powerplay – setting up each of my linemates for goals.

We won 3-1 and I was named first star. It felt great going out on the ice after the game, waving to the crowd and hearing the cheers rain down.

The only problem was that I should have had a three-point game.

Peoria pulled the goalie late in the game and I had a shot at the empty net from inside the blueline.
I missed by two feet.

I went to the front of the net and got a pass for an easy empty net goal. But somehow I hit the post. I couldn’t believe it. I kind of stood there trying to figure out how I missed the empty net twice.

In the dressing room, I braced for the worst ribbing possible. I was expecting Wade Flaherty to have 100 one-liners ready to make fun of me.

I find the best way to deal with these situations is just to make light of it yourself. Have some fun at your own expense and people will think better of you.

I opened my locker and turned to Flaherty.

“Wade, I’m going to need some help from you,” I said.

“Why, Hurst?” asked Flaherty.

“My locker is empty and I’m afraid if I try to put my uniform in there I’ll miss,” I said, trying to look as serious as possible.

Flaherty smiled then he shocked me. “You played well today Hurst. Don’t worry about missing the empty net. We won and you were our best player.”

What the hell?

Bickell must have overheard my attempt at humour.

“Good game today, Hurst,” Bickell said. “No one cares about the empty net. I’m just glad you broke out of your slump with a couple of points.”

That’s what happens when things have been going poorly, players avoid saying anything to you that might be interpreted as an insult. No jokes at my expense today.

“The important thing that happened today is old man Flaherty was able to get out of his wheelchair and stop some pucks,” Bickell said.

“Lucky, I am deaf or I could hear that,” said the 40-year old Flaherty.

Well, it’s good to see all of the fun bantering isn’t gone.

bhurst99

bhurst99

Game 18: Quad City at Rockford



There were some technical problems recording this video. My apologies for the quality.

bhurst99

Nov. 23, 2008

The pounding in my head woke me from the nice dream I was having of murdering two people.

I laid in bed hungover, the thumping in my head so loud I couldn’t sleep.

After last night’s game we went to Michael Blundell’s place to celebrate his birthday. He had a fridge that was stacked from bottom to top with beer. Since I don’t get to drink too often because I am underage in Illinois I went a little crazy and drank like an idiot. I have no idea how I got home.

There was that pounding in my head again. I wonder what looks worse: the inside of my head or my raccoon face that is cut from the high stick of Milwaukee’s Ryan Maki and purple from the beating I took from Peoria’s Brad Winchester.

I wish I could go back to my dream where I was smashing Maki’s and Winchester’s faces to a bloody pulp. I know, I know. I have to do a better job of controlling my anger. It’s unhealthy—

Now the pounding was coming from outside my bedroom. It wasn’t in my head at all.

I slowly rolled out of bed as the knocks on the the front door became louder and more insistent. I doubt the police in pursuit of a criminal would knock that loud.

It had to be my roommate Bryan Bickell. He was always losing his keys. I wonder what trash took him home from the party?

More thumping. Was there a heavy metal band using my front door as a drum? This was out of control.

“I’m coming, you idiot,” I yelled to Bickell outside the door.

I staggered to the front door and opened it.

“Oh my, God!” she said.

I gasped. It was my mother.

“You look like you have been hit by a truck,” Mom said. She looked startled, raising her hand to cover her open mouth.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to hide behind the open door since I was wearing only my underwear.

“I’m worried about you. Dad and I saw your face on the internet highlights. I didn’t raise a son to be carved up like a Halloween pumpkin,” she said.

I saw Dad at the bottom of the stairs to my apartment. I looked at him as he shook his head from side to side and shrugged his shoulders. From past experiences I knew he would have tried to talk my mom out of making the 11-hour drive from Ontario but it was less aggravation to get in the car and drive than it was to listen to mom for days.

“Come in, come in,” I said, retreating to my bedroom so I could get some clothes.

In the living room, my mom started crying and then came the waves of anger.

“What kind of job is this? You never got hurt like this in junior hockey. Am I suppose to sit at home and just accept the fact people are beating you up and you were almost blinded? You know how I feel about you fighting and you’ve already fought three times this year. What has happened to you?”

“I guess I should just quit.” I said, my voice rising. “I scored last night and now I’m leading the team in scoring but I should just quit because you’re not happy. I should just go back home and become the parish priest.”

“Priest is a good occupation.” Mom pointed a finger at me. “Don’t knock someone who is looked up to in the community. Don’t knock someone who teaches us what is morally right and what is reprehensible. You remember the difference between what is right and what is wrong, Bryan. Or have you forgotten?”

I didn’t want to argue with my mom. The truth is I didn’t like fighting. That wasn’t the path that was going to get me to the NHL.

“Holy crap, Hurst. What’s with all the noise?” said Bickell from his bedroom. I didn’t even know he was in the apartment. He walked into the living room, looking groggy and saw the three of us sitting there.

“Oh, these must be your parents,” said Bickell. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst,” He went over to shake their hands.

A woman came out from Bickell’s bedroom and yawned. As she yawned she raised her arms. She wasn’t wearing a top. Either she didn’t know we were there or didn’t care.

Now it was time for my Dad, who hadn’t said a thing, to sound shocked.

“Oh, my, God!” said Dad, failing to hide a grin.

Mom shot him a dirty look that would have made Mike Tyson flee a room. It was time for me to turn the tables.

“Now Mom don’t be angry at Dad,” I said. “That’s not right.”

Look at the trouble that started with Maki and Winchester. My family is a mess. Screw the anger control; Makie and Winchester are going to pay.

bhurst99

bhurst99

Game 19: San Antonio at Rockford

bhurst99

Nov. 26, 2008

Rotten. Horrid. Wretched. Ugly

Pick any one of those adjectives to describe our play because they all fit in our 4-0 loss to San Antonio on Wednesday.

It was a rough few days with my parents in town but it was nothing compared to our performance against San Antonio.

It was enough to send my parents scrambling out of town.

After my parents had the awkward experience of meeting my roommate Bryan Bickell and his half-naked woman-of-the-week when they showed up unannounced on Sunday morning, they had a lot of questions for me.

“Why was I hungover? Was I drunk like this every night?”

“What kind of lifestyle was I living with naked women running around the apartment?”

“Was I worshipping the Devil in my spare time?”

Okay, I made the last one up. But that’s what my mom was thinking.

It didn’t help that the apartment I rent with Bickell looked like Animal House. There were frozen dinner trays all over the kitchen, spent beer cans on the floor, and someone’s cigarette butts in the living room corner. I haven’t figured the source of the butts yet because neither Bickell or I smoke.

It was embarrassing having my mom spend a lot of her time the past few days cleaning the apartment. She said she couldn’t sleep knowing I was living like this.

As the week progressed my black eyes, that had compelled my parents to drive down here out of concern, began to heal. With my improved appearance their spirits began to improve.

My parents with their religious upbringing think I should just turn the other cheek when someone hits me. I explained to them that as a rookie opponents were going to take liberties with me unless I stood my ground. They may not agree with the fact I may need to drop my gloves to create some space on the ice but hopefully they understand.

I think I might have been trying to prove my point against San Antonio and lost focus on the rest of the game. I ran around all game bodychecking people. I had 10 hits and none of them helped us. Instead, I was on the ice for three of San Antonio’s four goals. I was a minus three.

We’re less than 20 games into the season but there’s a distinct possibility we could miss the playoffs.

Coach Bill Peters told us we have a practice tomorrow at 6 am. I guarantee our punishment will be lots of hard skating and conditioning drills. I expect he won’t be happy until three or four of us vomit on the ice.

I was just sick thinking about it as I left the dressing room and met my parents.

“I think we’re going to leave tonight,” said my Dad. “We’ve probably brought you a lot of stress that you don’t need. We’ll call you as soon as we get home. Stay positive, things will turn around. ”

They hugged me and quickly left the arena. It certainly had been an uncomfortable visit but as soon as they left I was upset rather than glad that they had departed.

I walked outside the arena into the cool November night. And for the first time since I arrived in Rockford in August, I felt very alone.

bhurst99

bhurst99

Game 20: Rockford at Peoria

bhurst99

Nov. 29, 2008

It took all of my restraint not to clobber the referee last night.

After our horrible performance in a 4-0 loss to San Antonio had some of us looking for high buildings to jump off of, we rebounded with a spirited 2-1 overtime win against Peoria yesterday.

I took a bad slashing penalty in the first period. No complaints from me on that call. I was trying to retrieve the puck when I accidently caught one of their players arms with my stick.

But how in the world did the referee miss the blatant retaliation on me a few minutes later?

A Peoria player elbowed me in the face after I passed the puck in my own zone. It should have been a major penalty but instead the referee kept his whistle in the pocket. I guess if there’s no autopsy there’s no penalty.

I was furious. I’ve already almost lost an eye this season and now players are taking cheap shot elbows at me.

But even that’s not what infuriated me. What made me want to throw my stick at the referee was when I was called for interference later in the game. I still have no idea what I did to draw the penalty.

“You can’t be serious,” I yelled at the referee when he signaled the call. “What did I do?”

“Get in the penalty box 14,” he said, referring to my uniform number.

“What about the elbow to my face?” I said, pointing at my bruised chin.

“Didn’t happen. Now shut you’re yap or you’re going to get a misconduct.”

Didn't happen. I wanted to throw my stick through the referee's head. I grasped my stick like a javelin. I had an image of my mom reading the news story of how a Rockford player assaulted a referee. That would have been it. My parents would have disowned me or worse yet, moved in with me. I sat down in the penalty box before my emotions overran me.

It is a good thing I didn’t lose my cool because I wouldn’t have been around late in the second period when I scored the tying goal on the power play. I needed that goal like a politician needs a fund raiser.

That forced overtime where Colin Fraser scored our winning goal.

Fraser's winner set off a riot on the bench and on the ice. Guys were hugging each other like they had won the lottery. We really hate Peoria.

In the dressing room, we could barely hear each other talk over the loud rock music and the celebrations. Guys were pretending to be Peoria players practising their cheap shots, pretending to sharpen the butt end of their sticks. It was hillarious. Did I mention we really hate Peoria?

Yet above the din I heard one unmistakable voice. The voice of coach Bill Peters.

“Hurst, tomorrow morning--” Peters started.

“You want to see me in your office,” I interrupted. “Let’s say 7:30 am. I’ll bring the coffee and donuts.” I had his routine down pat.

I was hoping I would see a little smile out of Peters for completing his sentence before he could. No such luck. I had a better chance of getting children to smile eating broccoli then I had of making Peters grin. I wonder what he has in store for me tomorrow.

bhurst99

bhurst99

Game 21: Peoria at Rockford

bhurst99

Nov. 30, 2008

“I’ve never met a more selfish player in all my years of hockey.”

Coach Bill Peters is glaring at me in our dressing room with his hands crossed, following our overtime loss to Peoria. But this time he’s not the one criticizing me. It’s captain Jack Skille who is blasting me from across the room.

“Hurst, you don’t care about this team,” Skille said. “You don’t care if we win or lose; it’s all about you. I thought you were suppose to be a playmaker not a puck hog hell bent on seeking revenge no matter what the cost.”

I’m looking at Peters hoping he’ll tell Skille to back off. Skille is turning crimson, yelling at me.

“What are you doing getting in a fight with Brad Winchester again. He’s beaten you twice now, stop fighting him. You’re a first line center not a goon. How are we suppose to win with our first line centre in the penalty box?” asks Skille. He fires a glove against a locker in his fit of rage.

I’m not just going to take it while Skille is going mental.

“I care about winning or losing as much as anyone in this room,” I said.

“What on Earth were you doing on the tying goal,” Peters asks. You knew he was going to comment about the goal Peoria scored with less than 30 seconds left to force overtime.

“I’m sorry I lost the face off,” I said.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Peters. “Once you lost the face off, you went toward the defenseman. He’s not your man. You know what I think? I think you were hoping a teammate would get the puck and you were already headed up the ice hoping to get a pass for the easy open net goal.”

Peters is eerily calm as he makes the accusation. The room is quiet, too quiet. I feel like every one is awaiting my response but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what will make our collective pain of giving away a game to our hated rival in overtime go away.

“Hurst, I haven’t been here too long,” Tim Brent said, breaking the silent. He was one of the players demoted recently from the Chicago Blackhawks when three Rockford players were promoted. “But it looks like you’re trying to stir things up too much. No team can afford to have its top center in the penalty box for nine minutes.”

“C’mon that last penalty was bogus,” I said.

“Maybe but you’ve got to understand that you’re not going to get the benefit of the doubt when you lead the team in penalty minutes,” Brent said.

Peters walked across the room toward me.

“Your first goal has to be to win, not to pad your stats,” Peters said. “The goals you’re scoring are great but we need you to use your teammates. Pass to them. Set them up. You were a playmaker in the OHL. Now show us you can do that here because you know what? No one is going to care if you’re the leading scorer on a team that can’t make the AHL playoffs.”

I wanted to tell Peters that I have been passing to my teammates but that all of the good scorers have been promoted to the Blackhawks. But of course, I can’t say that. I’m not going to insult people. It’s just hard setting teammates up for perfect one-timers only to see them cradle the puck and wind up for the big slap shot, giving the goalie time to get back in position or allowing the defenseman to block the puck.

So instead of saying that I reach for anything that will please Peters.

“We’ll make the playoffs coach. That I’m sure about,” I said.

I hope I sounded confident when I told Peters that because to tell you the truth, the way things are unfolding I have no idea where we are headed.

bhurst99

bhurst99

Game 22: Rockford at Quad City

YouTube Video

bhurst99

Dec. 5, 2008

Don’t let anyone ever fool you: It’s all about the statistics.

You’re going to have coaches and agents tell you it’s all about winning, teamwork, playing defense, protecting leads or an inspirational hit. I wish that were true, but it’s all bull. People remember the stats, the numbers, the scorers.

We won tonight but all anyone really wanted to talk about was my career-high three points. I couldn’t have been off the ice for more than a minute when my cell phone started ringing like I had just won the lottery.

I should have just let my phone ring and not taken any calls but I answered the first call without looking at the call display.

“Three assists,” yelled the caller into my ear. I immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Pete Satt, my agent “That’s what you are, kid: a Playmaker. Great work.”

“Why are you yelling,” I asked.

“Three assists! That’s always worth yelling about,” Satt replied. Maybe for him it was like winning the lottery because the better I played the more commission he would earn on my next contract.

“It was a great night, Pete. I’m just glad we won,” I said.

That comment caused Satt to roar with laughter.

“You sound like you’re doing a media interview,” Satt said. In a low-pitched voice he tried to imitate me: “ ‘I’m glad we won because Rockford means so much to me. I love Rockford so much that when Chicago comes calling, I’m going to say no I’d rather stay here in Rockford than be promoted.’ ”

Satt couldn’t stop laughing as his own imitation of me.

“I doubt Chicago is going to promote me anytime soon.” I said. “They’ve been going like gangbusters since they promoted--”

“Got another call, Hurst. Gotta go. Just remember: If you keep scoring the Hawks will call you up,” Satt said. “You score three points a night, the Hawks won’t even care if Rockford loses the next 20 games.”

The phone calls from family and friends continued throughout the night and I did live post-game interviews with both Quad City’s and Rockford’s radio stations that broadcast the game.

But the best part of the entire night happened just before I left the arena.

Captain Jack Skille, who I set up for a goal tonight, was waiting for me just inside the arena door.

“Er, I want to say something to you before you go,” said Skille.

“What’s up, Jack,” I asked.

“I wanted to, um, apologize for the other night when I got mad at you in the dressing room. This is kind of hard for me to say,” Skille sighed and looked down at his feet.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I said.

“No, I want to say it. Er, I was wrong. I was out of line. There I said it: I was wrong,” Skille said the words and bolted out the door. Very strange.

It was a fun night. I could get use to scoring three points a night.

bhurst99

bhurst99

Game 23: Rockford at Chicago

YouTube Video

bhurst99

Dec. 6, 2008

I’m not much of an orator. No one will ever mistake me for being Mr. Charismatic. That ‘s what made it surprising when a crowd surrounded me in our locker room, spellbound by my story.

I told a few players about my odd encounter with captain Jack Skille the previous night when he apologized to me for an outburst a couple of days earlier.

They couldn’t believe he apologized.

“You’re lying to us, Hurst,” said goaltender Wade Flaherty. “Skille has never apologized for anything in his life.”

‘What do you mean?” I asked. “Skille seems like a decent guy.”

Skille is my linemate and set me up for a goal tonight in our 4-3 win. I didn’t want people badmouthing him just because he made a weird apology.

“Colin, do you remember that time he drove your car and got into an accident?” asked Flaherty.

“I’d like to forget about it,” said Colin Fraser.

“Did he ever apologize?” asked Flaherty.

“He paid for the damages. But he never said he was sorry. I didn’t have a car for a week while it was in the repair shop. It sucked,” said Fraser.

“Hey, Johnson, I hate to bring this up but --“ Flaherty said.

“What’s up old-timer?” asked defenseman Aaron Johnson playfully.

“Do you remember the party where you caught Skille making out with your girlfriend? Did he ever apologize?” asked Flaherty.

“Are you kidding me? Jack, apologize? He was just like ‘Hey, man, I was drunk. Things happen.’ I should have slugged him,” said Johnson.

More players overheard our conversation and came over to listen. There must have been a dozen listening to us. I was starting to get nervous, looking around the room to make sure Skille was out of sight.

“Bickell, do you remember that time Skille called you ugly?” asked Flaherty.

“No, when was that?” Bickell responded.

“Oh, wait my mistake. He never said that. We were just all thinking about how ugly you are. He really should have told you,” deadpanned Flaherty.

“Isn’t it past your curfew at the nursing home?” retorted Bickell.

“Hurst here says Skille apologized to him for going monkey crazy in the locker room,” said Flaherty pointing at me.

“Hurst is a liar,” said Bickell.

That’s when I told everybody again about Skille’s awkward apology. How he was almost stuttering. When I was done they asked me to repeat it word-for-word. Tim Brent was acting like a prosecutor, telling me to repeat certain phrases, asking me about Skille’s body language. I felt like I was on trial.

Fortunately, Brent was satisfied I wasn’t lying.

“That’s very strange. I bet you dollars to donuts somebody in the organization demanded he apologize to you. Skille would never apologize if he didn’t have to,” Brent said.

“I never asked him to apologize,” I said.

That’s when coach Bill Peters saw us all huddled together, talking quietly because we were all getting afraid Skille would find us talking about him.

“What’s going on Hurst? Are you guys conspiring against me or something?” yelled Peters.

Great, a new side of Peters: Coach Paranoid.

“What are you doing Hurst? You score one goal tonight and you’re giving out goal scoring advice,” asked Peters.

“We weren’t talking about anything important,” I said.

“You’re lying. I can tell from how nervous you look. I don’t need people talking about me behind my back. Now all of you break up your witch hunt. This isn’t Salem.”

Peters left the room as quick as he had entered it. We all sat there stunned for a moment and then Flaherty started to laugh at Peters paranoia.

Flaherty made sure Peters wasn’t around then said to us: “But coach we found a flying broom in your closet.”

The rest of us roared. I guess this is what is called team bonding. It was time to get out of there before Peters went postal.