Getting drafted by the Falcons is an experience. The second I left the draft floor, I felt myself get grabbed and an arm wrapped around my shoulder. I jerked my head to the side to the grinning image of Wolfhard Richter, directing me to the (temporary) locker room and speaking so fast I could barely tell he was breathing. “I told them we should take you,” he said chuckling to himself, “but they already had you on their mind.” Walking into the locker room, everybody immediately greeted me as a team, whooping and hollering. So much different from my experience in U-16 hockey, the room buzzed with a vibrant, nervous energy. But nothing brought the room together quite like pick 62, when Colorado tried to claim me.

“No!”

“He’s ours!”

The whole team was up in arms, and there’s no better feeling. Coming in and having a group ready to defend you at a moment’s notice—that’s how I knew I was going to the right place.