Login

ec06aaj · 01-28-2024, 02:19 PM

"Lahey...holds it, holds...to Marius, shoots, stopped by Mendenhall! Loose puck, Simo gets to it, scores! Simo Jaaskelainen puts the Falcons up 5-4!"

"It's a good stop from Karter Mendenhall on the first shot but Peyton McBride couldn't clear it and Simo muscles it in. Ugly goal but Detroit lead again, they aren't going to care how."

"The goalscorer there, Simo heading to the bench, pointing at his shoulder and talking with coach Herrera. Looking like he might have picked up a ding there."

"Mutou picks up the puck, through the neutral zone, Simo is there! Jaaskelainen crushes Jussi Mutou against the boards and there is the whistle."

"It looked like a clean hit to me but the referee has clearly seen something else, the call is...charging, 2 minutes for Simo Jaaskelainen."

"Simo holding his shoulder again as he skates off, and Rowan O'Beirne heads to the faceoff circle as the Isles team gets the man advantage."

"Harmi, että he masensivat sinut, ystävä."

("Sorry they pushed you down the lineup, mate.")

"Artu, olen pelannut kauheasti. Se on järkevää toimintaa."

("Artur, I've played terribly. It's the right thing to do.")

"Onko olkapääsi edelleen ongelma?"

("Is your shoulder still a problem?")

"Kyllä. Se ei ole tuntunut hyvältä viikkoihin."

("Yeah. It hasn't felt good in weeks.")

"Sinun täytyy kertoa jollekin. Aiot satuttaa itseäsi."

("You need to tell somebody. You're going to hurt yourself.")

"Tiedän tiedän. Mutta en voi missata finaalia."

("I know, I know. But I can't miss the final.")

"Pidä itsestäsi huolta. Sinä idiootti."

("Take care of yourself, you idiot.")

"simo u still up? zoom me if u r"

Nothing chills the blood as much as a message from one's boss that boils down to "call me". No matter how genial the boss or how good the relationship, messages with a dangling hook like that inflict anxiety on even the most resilient, and sitting alone in his shared hotel room Simo was feeling a long way from resilient. But when coach calls, coach calls.

"y 1 second". Simo opens his laptop, dials up Zoom and fires a link over to his coach - a minute or so later, Edilberto Gonzalez Herrera comes on camera.

"Hey Simo." Coach doesn't prevaricate. "You're hurt, aren't you?"

The instant impulse is to deny it, to deny everything. No athlete - hell, no true man admits to being hurt. The most you tell anybody is it's sore or it aches, but it'll be fine when you get on the ice, take the field, hit the track, whatever. "What? No, coach, I'm fine."

Coach Eddie actually smiles - not a toothy grin, it's a wan smile of recognition. "Simo, if the next thing you tell me is your shoulder aches but you'll be alright for the game, I'm going to fly over there and pin you to the trainer's table so they can have a proper look." Being small, slim and technically disabled, it's easy to forget that Eddie used to play. He's heard the cliches and used most of them.

"It's felt better?" Simo offers, his tone sure this isn't going to placate the coach but trying it anyway. "I know I'm not 100% but I'm not...injured properly, it's minor."

"Simo," Eddie says, with a sigh, "I know I'm your coach but can you forget that for a second and talk to me like a regular guy? I'm not going to snitch but if you're hurt, this is shit we need to know." Simo doesn't say anything. "If you can look me in the eyes and tell me you're not playing hurt, I'll drop it, but if you tell me that and come back injured I'm going to suspend you."

Simo takes a deep breath.

"My shoulder feels...I don't know when it happened Coach, but it hurts any time I do anything. I threw a hit yesterday and nearly cried how much it hurt."

"Coach, I'm not injured. It hurts, but the Norden trainers don't think it's anything not normal," Simo lies. He hasn't set foot in the trainer's room here for fear of what they'd actually find.

"Yeah, I figured." Eddie looks grave, but there's an undertone of relief to his voice. "I'm not going to tell you not to play tomorrow but the moment you get home, you're coming in and we're going to get it checked out properly." The light changes on his face as opens an email. "If you're still moving your arm it's probably not a fracture. Might be your rotator, might be a SLAP tear."

Eddie looks at him for a long moment. Both of them know Simo's not being truthful but Eddie sticks to his word. "Alright, just be sensible about it. Even if you're not injured, it never takes much to actually hurt you. Trust me, when you're run down anyway anything can tip you over that edge."

"What should I do tomorrow, coach?" It's been a long time since Simo heard himself sounding this much like a lost little kid.

Simo recognises a way out when it's offered. Even if he's not properly hurt, even the lightest tap in the final could be enough to cause a real problem, or so he'd tell the Falcons training staff. Eddie doesn't want to suspend him for being stupid, trying to be macho or playing through the pain. "I'll tell the trainers, coach."

Eddie looks up for a minute, face blank while he thinks. "Doubt there's much you can do that you're not already doing. Rest, ice, compression, elevation as long as you can, and I'll get hold of the Finland people. And Simo?"

There's a quiet sadness in Eddie's eyes. Simo has been one of his star pupils for the last two seasons but this, telling him a bare-faced lie that they both know is false, has put a huge crack in the foundation of their working relationship. "I know. And Simo?"

"Yeah, coach?"

"I'm proud of you for telling me." As young as he is for a professional hockey coach, Eddie talks with the gravity of a 40-year veteran. "It's a hard thing to tell the truth and I'm glad you didn't lie. You're rarely going to go wrong being honest."

"Good luck in the final. I know the tournament hasn't been great, but there's always tomorrow."

Eddie rings off.

Simo sits back down on his bed, staring at nothing and thinking about less, with just the constant throbbing pain from his shoulder to keep him company. He'd already begged off dinner with the rest of the Norden team but now the evening stretches ahead of him empty. This is his problem - when somebody deals with adversity by working out and pushing themselves, what do you do when that's not an option? Tomorrow he has a medal to win, but tonight...

He looks at the minibar.