11-15-2022, 05:13 AM(This post was last modified: 11-15-2022, 05:14 AM by eddiesnothere.)
(CRASH)
“Khó hơn.”
A stick finds a puck, the noise easily heard on an empty sheet of ice.
(CRASH)
“Khó hơn.”
Haggard breathing gets louder and louder as the player on the ice strains to keep his stick up.
(CRASH)
“Khó hơn!”
Another puck slams hard into the middle of the boards. It hits just to the right of an X written in tape between the seam. The momentum of the collision carries it almost all the way back to its original resting place.
“Trượt trên nước đá!”
The barked command triggers a flurry of skates and snow.
The poetry of the game for Eero Hämäläinen is broken by the sound of a door opening behind him. His team’s captain, Collin Gibbles, has returned with coffee.
“He’s got some training regimen, doesn’t he? Decaf.”
Eero takes the coffee without looking.
“This one’s interesting. Watch.”
They watch as Hải Nam Hoàng , their 2nd round pick, works in a private rink in Great Falls. Hoang is wheeling around the rink at top speed, without a second of relaxation or easing of the pedal.
Both men watching from the stands have been around hockey for years.
“Too fast.” They both say in unison.
Hoang’s lungs are on fire, his joints and muscles in his hips, thighs, and feet burn harshly with every push. He knows exactly what’s coming next, yet his brain races with his previous attempts, his previous failures.
Hoang rounds the rink one more time, and then cuts hard to put himself in the center of the ice. He screams down center ice until he hits the blue line, where he sees a puck sitting perfectly in the middle of the ice. He squares up for a shot, then pivots his skates to attempt a stop right at the puck. He quickly slows, gets his stick ready for the shot, and…
Collin turns away, but Eero doesn’t divert his eyes. He watches Hoang catch an edge, and fall hard, sliding as his momentum takes him all the way to the crease.
Hoang lies there, his visor keeping his nose and face from touching the ice. Every inhale is a chore now, and every exhale is a wheeze. The man who yells at him skates up to him slowly. He can only just stop, almost like a child new to his blades, and he stands above him, saying nothing.
“Tough trainer.” Collin says, returning his gaze to the scene.
“Not his trainer.” Eero jumps in. “His father.”
—
Bình Đạt Hoàng finally leans down towards his son, who struggles to find a way up.
“<<You’re not focused, you’re determined. Stop trying to impress me, just do what you’re supposed to.>>”
The words bite, just how most words from his father do. Hoàng slowly and shakily gets to his knees. He doesn’t meet his fathers’ eyes.
“<<You think the Bears would suck as bad as they did if you played like you’re acting right now?>>”
Hoàng gets one skate blade on the ice. He sighs.
“<<The team doesn’t rely on me yet,>>” He says. “<<and the team is the Grizzlies.>>”
His father doesn’t appreciate the correction. He straightens back up, and stiffly skates back to the bench, grabbing a puck.
“<<Get in position.>>”
Hoàng skates to just between the hashmarks. His breath, though slowing, is still ragged. His father throws a puck from the bench. Hoàng raises his stick for a one-timer. He makes quick contact, right on the meat of his curve. The puck slams hard into the board, almost dead even on the taped X.
(CRASH)
“Khó hơn.”
Collin leans into his coffee. “What’s he saying?”
“It means ‘Harder’.” Eero responds. Collin, mid-sip, notes he hasn’t seen Eero blink in a minute.
The second shot happens faster than the first, Hoàng instinctively makes his most common error when shooting - he wires it high to try and hit the net. There is no net, and the puck snags the top of the tape.
(CRASH)
“Khó hơn.”
Hoàng takes a deep breath, which stings his throat. He needs some water, but his father has the bottle. He squares up. The tape is starting to fall off the boards. His father throws the puck higher than usual, meaning a higher bounce. Hoàng twists his stick in his hands.
He releases a shot on its face, the puck flying, lob-lolly towards the tape. He does not watch hit hit the tape face-first, stamping the tape back onto the boards.
Hoàng is already halfway to the other side of the rink, flying back into a wild sprint.
His eyes water with the speed, his lungs again brace and burn with the oxygen needed to keep his body going, his muscles ache.
He blows by his father once and twice. Each time he does, he pushes himself a little faster. Subconsciously, he wishes he could skate right through the boards, out through the street, away from all of this, and away from his father.
But the boards do stand in the way, so he turns, doubles back, and then starts on his attack run.
Eero and Collin watch without a word this time. His father watches too, entirely inept at the game, but driven to make his son good at it.
The puck sits still. Hoang hits the blue line, twists his body to stop and wind at the same time.
A bang echoes through the arena. Hoang makes perfect contact, and nails the X dead on. He slides to a controlled stop just feet from where the puck lay. When he stops, the puck hits his skate.
Hoàng stays upright, but his body screams to halt. He almost buckles hard at the knees. His father slowly skates up to him.
“<<Better. Much better. But you’re snowing the net, you’re gonna get your butt handed to you. Stop quicker. You’ll need to do better if you want to play in the SHL.>>”
The words catch in Hoàng’s throat. His father hasn’t played a game of hockey, hasn’t touched a hockey stick before, and barely finds time to watch any hockey game that isn’t the game film he brings home. But he is right. Hoàng knows in his heart he is right.
Collin and Eero can’t hear or understand the words, but they have seen enough. They know Hoàng needs another year in juniors to work on fundamentals.
Eero shakes his shoulders awake, and stretches his stiff back. “More coffee, then we head back to Minneapolis.”
They both walk to the door. As the door closes, they continue to hear the sounds of hard, but senseless work. He knows Hoàng will never shoot that shot ever, it just will not work on SHL ice.
(CRASH)
“Khó hơn.”
The echoes fade as they head for the front desk and the double doors to the parking lot.
The training worked for you, you had an amazing shot pourcentage of 27.8% in the last WJC tournament!
Second in your team in goal scoring last season so even if training is hard, the results are there.
Keep it going in see you in the SHL soon!
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