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***Aephino*** · 01-19-2020, 06:18 PM

2x Draft Media Bonus, 2810 Words, Ready for Grading

The Player’s Turn

How Do I Get There?

by Edward Williams

I wanted to talk about all my feelings these past few weeks. I want to be open with everyone. So, here’s me being open. First off, I am extremely grateful for being selected in the S52 SMJHL Draft by the Detroit Falcons, but I will get to that later. I want to begin by describing my process to get here. Because for every one of me, there are a hundred of you. Watching. Playing. Waiting for your chance. Well, here’s what I learned. Your chance doesn’t fall into your lap from waiting. You must ask yourself two questions.

Where do I want to go?

How do I get there?

Chapter 1

You can trace anything back to your childhood. A little decision? There’s a reason you did that. These past few years I let myself go off the rails a little bit. It wasn’t just alcohol in my blood... it was bad decisions. But like I said, this goes back further than drinking with my friends to relax. This goes back to the first time I ever picked up a hockey stick.

My father was a hockey player. And a bloody good one, at that. He never made it to the SHL, but he was in the majors back home in Manchester. He played for the Manchester Mountains, won a few cups, and became a local legend. He would talk about it all the time, all his friends were hockey players, and he wanted me to become one, too. Do you know how hard it is to be 7 years old, and to have your life supposedly planned out for you? Since I could walk, I was forced to skate. Every day I got home from year 1, from year 2, year 3, it wasn’t “go do your homework,” it was always “go skate.” Go skate. Go skate. It’s all I heard. I’m not saying that I disliked skating, I actually loved it. But it’s all I did. I couldn’t play with my friends unless we went to the local rink together. We had a small rink setup in our yard in the winter, but friends weren’t allowed to use that. My father said that they would damage it. Once I was a decent skater, I had to hold a hockey stick every time I skated. Soon skating turned from being fun to exercise to a job. I was being forced into a mold that didn’t quite fit, like plugging in a USB upside down. You know it SHOULD work, but it doesn’t want to. I really wanted to like hockey, but it seemed like it wasn’t for me.

When I turned 8 years old, I was placed into the first youth team I could join. My father had been trying to get me into the league for years, but I was forced to wait until I was old enough. I was a smaller kid, so I could skate well, but I would get bullied off the puck. My dad would yell at me during practices and games to be more physical, use my speed, skate past them, or just hurl insults. I felt so deterred because I was letting down my own father. Any hockey fan in Manchester knows the Williams name.

I was letting down my own name.

Chapter 2

I hardly remember the next few years of hockey. I skated every day. My dad told me to start bulking up, so I followed suit. I became stronger. I grew a few more inches. Soon enough I was the biggest kid on the ice. I was a force to be reckoned with, even at 13 years old. Coaches were talking about moving me up to U18 teams. But I felt too much pressure. Too much stress. I still feel it today, and it’s hard to put into words. It’s the same thing when parents want their kid to become a doctor, a lawyer, an engineer. You have fears that you will let them down. Every day you ask yourself, “is this what I want?” or “am I even good enough?” And living that kind of life—one where you doubt yourself every day—is no life to live as a 13-year-old. So I did what I had to do.

I could hear the car pull up, the familiar roar of my dad’s Bentley. I couldn’t see it because my head was in my hands. My dad yelled something out at me, but I couldn’t hear him behind the tears. As I wiped my eyes and prepared to stand up, a million thoughts ran through my mind. They say that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. The only thing I saw was hockey. My dad said something again and I walked to the car. I looked up to open the door and the only thing that I saw in my dad’s face was disappointment. I got in the car and he instantly pulled out of the parking lot. All he said was that the coach called. We didn’t talk the rest of the ride home, but we didn’t need to. His facial expression was painted with 1000 words.

At first, it was weird not playing hockey every day. But, over time, I grew used to it. It’s just like going through a breakup with an ex. Some days they’re the only things you think about. Other days you’re angry, resentful, hurt. Occasionally you cry. But life goes on and you learn. And you know what I learned?

That I f****** love hockey.

For whatever reason, this torturous life that I’d been living was one that I wanted to live… but without the torture. I vowed to myself that if I ever played hockey again, it would be for me. When I quit, I quit because I was done living in the shadow of my father. And my father accepted that. I think he was just happy I was playing again. My first official game back on the ice, I scored a hattrick. I felt freedom. It was the first time in my life that I had the opportunity to truly enjoy the game.

And I was going to enjoy it.

Chapter 3

Unfortunately, the problems started to creep up on me when I began to enjoy it too much. I had my first drink when I was 15 years old. I told myself it was a one time thing, but a year later that wasn’t the case. At least once a week, after hockey practice we would go back to someone’s house and get completed trashed, which would always bring ourselves back down. We felt awful. And the next week we would do it again. And again. This continued well into our late teens, as the core of us grew and improved at the same pace. There came a point where we were all hoping to play in the majors in England, just like my dad. After a while it got to our heads and inflated our egos. My dad would even chime in and say that we could be going to America some day to play. He didn’t care that my head was big, at the time all he cared about was that my head was full of hockey.

As the drinking got worse, it compounded with other issues in my life. My grades were dropping so much that I essentially stopped going to school. I definitely had mental health issues that I was ignoring. But the largest issue became the women. Dating didn’t really work for me, since I spent so much time training. When Tinder became popular I joined the scene. Being 6’2 and a hockey player... to be honest that made things simple for me on the app, and so I became more destructive. Possessing a massive, albeit fragile, ego wreaked havoc on my personal life. Soon I spent just as much time playing hockey as I did hanging out with girls and drinking. This is hard for me to speak about because it’s one thing to have an alcohol problem and be damaging yourself. It’s another thing to be emotionally hurting and damaging others. All I cared about was myself. My actions during this time are something that I will never forgive myself for.

It was God who looked down upon me when the American scouts reached out to me. Apparently they saw me play at some tournament and I impressed them enough to invite me to a round robin in the United States. Hockey had been the least of my concerns, but this rejuvenated my spirit. It reminded me why I loved hockey in the first place. I told myself that America would be my opportunity to change. It was almost like getting a second chance, but I only had one shot. I knew it was this or nothing. Telling my father only made it worse because all he did was emphasize the pressure that stood on the upcoming tournament. But before I said my final goodbyes, he said four words that he had never said like this before. “I believe in you.”

Chapter 4

Those words rang in my head on the plane ride across the pond. In the taxi to my hotel. Laying in my bed my first night in Manhattan. My dad... believed in me. For the first time in years I finally believed in myself. Sadly, the next day that all came crashing down. I found a rink I wanted to practice at and the pressure of this tournament, the Prospect Showcase, hit me again. When interviewers bombarded me one night, I lost it. It all came flooding back. The anxiety. Drinking away my problems. Hiding from my fears.

The first day of the Prospect Showcase I woke up still drunk from the night before. Clearly my brain was elsewhere. I felt like a fool on the ice; I was being outclassed. On my off-days I would train harder and harder but it felt like I was making no progress. Maybe it was the drinking, but I actually felt as though I was regressing. I would get an assist here or there, but I just couldn’t find the back of the net. There was a mental block somewhere in my head and the harder I tried to fix it, the worse it became. But I had to get through the tournament. I wasn’t going to quit this time.

One of the last games of the round robin, we played a team that wasn’t very good and because of that, we ended up scoring 9 goals against them. Yet not one of them was from me. Zero points. I was sulking after the game, just trying to take it all in. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Alright, mate?”

I look up and there’s a very concerned redhead standing there. I didn’t know what to say... so I said the first time that came to my mind.

“You’re English.”

He guffawed and told me he lived just outside of Exeter. So we struck up a conversation, and by the end I was smiling for the first time in weeks. I was honest and told him that I didn’t really notice him playing that day, I must have had other stuff on my mind. Fred just laughed again.

“Ah, no worries mate. You looked like a bloody good skater from what I saw. Bare fast.”

“You... noticed me out there?”

“You kidding? You were one of the best guys on the ice.”

So, Fred and I went to get drinks at a bar that night. And the next night. And the one after that.

Chapter 5

The best part about hanging with Fred was that we would barely talk about hockey when we were together. We could chat about anything, he was just that easy to talk to. Eventually, Fred did bring up the topic.

“So, Eddie, you chat with any GMs yet?”

“Umm... were we supposed to? We don’t even know if we’re gonna be drafted to the juniors.”

“Mate, don’t you know? If you were invited to this showcase, it’s because the GMs wanted you. But they’re looking for the active ones. People like you and me, we’re good players, but they need lads who are gonna go above and beyond. Listen, if you need to get in touch with them, I can help you out. I believe in you.”

There was that phrase again. Even so, Fred and most of the other top prospects had already talked to many of the SMJHL GMs. I was far behind. The last week of the Prospect Showcase flew by, and I was struggling to get in contact with all the GMs. A handful replied to my inquiries, but I ended up being left in the dark by most. I was upset. Not at the GMs, but at my myself. I left things too late. And that’s when asked myself those two questions.

Where do I want to go?

I wanted to get drafted in the SMJHL and make my way to the SHL.

How do I get there?

There was the million-dollar question. How did I repair my errors? Was it even possible? I had to begin at the basics. Cut out alcohol. Cut out girls. Cut out everything in my life that could possibly get in the way of hockey. I needed to train and I needed make smart decisions.

Chapter 6

The week of the draft was hectic. Reporters left and right. People talking about me. Nerves. Stress. Pressure. But I wasn’t going to crack this time. It was time to show my true self. I wasn’t a crazy, drunken mess. I’m human. I’m a hockey player. I’m a great hockey player. I can do this. I believe in you.

Before I knew it, it was the day before the draft. Some reporters were saying I would go early. Others were saying I would go undrafted. I wasn’t going to crack. I believe in you.

Draft day. I believe in you.

All I could do was replay those words in my head over and over. I had done everything I could. At the time, I didn't know if my efforts were enough. Regardless, I wanted to see Freddie one last time before the draft, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. I needed to thank him for everything. The day was going by so fast and so slow at the same time. I was seated at a table with a number of players I didn’t know and their families. Before I had a chance to catch my breath, the draft had begun. First pick. Would I go first? I want to. I have no idea. What is going on?

The draft began with Chris being picked first, who I remembered. He was a center, like me. Next was Magnus, another one I actually remembered. He was an incredible defender. Then Ohira, and Steve, I knew those guys. When am I going to go? Will I even be drafted? Am I next? I believe in you.

“Edward Williams.”

Slow motion. That’s the only way I can describe this moment, or a thousand moments happening at once. I was picked at number 11. Eleven?! There had to be a hundred prospects at the draft. Eleven?! It was Detroit. The Falcons. I had heard things about Detroit, but after living in New York City for weeks I knew I wouldn’t be fazed. I was drafted. I have a team. I made it. My body must have walked itself up to stage and back because I hardly remember moving a muscle. I am a Falcon. I am proud. I was caught up in the moment, overcome by emotions. Yet again I was brought back to reality by a second bombshell.

“Frederick Wanesly.”

Wait. That’s Fred. Freddie. Twelfth! I knew he would go high. Who picked after Detroit? I looked at the draft order... and it was Detroit. Detroit had picks 11 and 12. Freddie and I were going to be Falcons.

I don’t know if he heard me, but I cheered louder than anyone else in the building. In that moment, everything was perfect. I had a friend. I had a team. I was going to the SMJHL. One step away from the SHL. But I had to ask myself.

How do I get there?

If I’ve learned anything these past few weeks, you can achieve almost anything through hard work, a good attitude, and a will to learn. But there’s one last thing, and I’ll tell you now what you have to do. It’s what I say to myself every day. It’s what you should say to yourself, or to anyone you want to succeed.

I believe in you.

***notorioustig*** · 01-19-2020, 06:44 PM

Z0REM · 01-19-2020, 07:58 PM

Damn. I'm not crying. Nope

Credit to Vulfzilla for the awesome render pic

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