By participating in this publicity stunt, I am further protecting the prestigious reputation Stiles worked overtime to clean up and keep clean.
When the regime change occurred, we were forced to stop being selfish assholes who liked to fuck Skins – or Puck Bunnies as others call them – and were required to become men held responsible for every fucking move they made.
I personally like the structure.
It reminds me of a good stanza.
Solid.
Steady but stunning.
I thrive in the organized systems.
It’s easier to understand my place and see my purpose.
It’s easier to know where my protection capabilities are needed.
“Also,” Stiles slowly states, reluctance rearing its head again, “I um…I actually won’t be coaching a group this year.”
This time my typically stoic face flinches in question.
I’ve played under him every year since I started.
Even though he was an assistant coach for the university, he got to be head coach for the volunteer shit.
It’s probably why his no bullshit style didn’t hit me nearly as hard as it did everyone else when he took over.
“I have…,” his voice trails off indicating there’s information I won’t be receiving, “family business that I need to tend to prior to next season officially starting.”
I offer him a sympathetic nod of understanding.
“As far as I’m aware, everything else with the league will be the same. Practices will still consist of two sessions staggered throughout the week. You should still be on whatever team practices Tuesdays and Fridays, which shouldn’t conflict with your summer semester class schedule. If, for some reason, you need to change, the league can’t decline the request since it’s for academic accommodations. Games are every other Saturday, and the ‘season’ will end with a small enough window for you to adjust back to life as an actual Viper instead of whatever animals are being used this year.”
Cats.
Big cats.
Needless to say – but I’m gonna fucking say it anyway – I’m far less excited about it than Stratton was when he was recruited to design the logo shit.
“My absence this summer also means the ‘team inspired practices’ over the next couple of months will be Peck planned and operated.”
A small grunt of irritation is given.
“Yeah, that seems to be the general consensus every time I make the announcement, but just remember these gatherings over the summer are of your own volition. You aren’t required to show up or to put up with his shit. It’s just…highly encouraged.”
Peck is a great fucking captain.
He really fucking is.
He cares about us like he has nothing else in his life to care about.
Unfortunately, the drawback to that is his drive blinds him to life outside of skates.
Rutledge, Stratton, and Gillette, all have chicks and hobbies that mean as much to them – if not more to them – than hockey.
I…I have my own minor hobbies that could benefit from a little more attention, but really I just occasionally want to sleep in late.
“I should be back the weekend before official tryouts, which will give me a couple of days to assess the damage he’s done to all of you – mentally and physically.”
I’m personally more concerned about the mental burn out for my crew than the physical one.
It’s not hard to protect them from lifting too much weight during a workout or to convince them to skip a session to give their sore muscles a chance to heal. I throw out scientific shit. They believe me. I know my shit when it comes to the human body, especially since that’s the basic foundation of my major, so there’s never pushback. Like I said. Defending their physical health is easy. It’s the saving of their strained spirit that’s difficult. There’s a bullshit stigma around expressing a weaker emotional state among your teammates that they fall victim to. I can see the mental depletion issues when they arise, but addressing them in an effective way is where the problem presents itself. The hard death glare I’m known for doesn’t always do the trick.
Except when it comes to Tucker Gillette.
It never fails in his case.
Stiles resumes outlining his future plans, “That’s also when I’ll get you all tested to make sure you’ve been maintaining the standards of your Conduct Contract.”
It’s pretty simple shit.
Don’t be a dick and start trouble.
Don’t be a dick and get into trouble.
And don’t let your dick get you into trouble.
Gillette, my best friend and the member of my crew that I’m closest to, was the reason that new addendum had to be added to our contracts, although that was prior to becoming “pussy whipped” as he and his girlfriend prefer to call it.
Aside from being able to kick your ass off the team for embarrassing it in any sort of way, the contract allows for random blood draws and piss tests throughout the year – pre and post season – to ensure we’re not doing any drugs or endangering others by spreading STDs around.
I failed the very first piss test due to a new lemon, poppy seed juice shot I had been experimenting with and nearly lost my spot.
I’m convinced the only reason Stiles let me immediately take a blood test to prove it wasn’t actually drugs was because of our interactions from the summer league.
He’s a fairly good judge of character, despite his Afro Samurai vibe without the afro.
“I know Gillette has this whole kick off summer thing planned for the five of you this weekend at some beach house on South Haven Island in which I am sure…” he pauses to search for the proper phrasing, “questionable choices will be made, but just help Peck remind the others that all choices have consequences.”
He’s openly worrying for no reason.
The guys have their girls to keep their asses in line, and Peck has all things hockey, all the time, to keep him from fucking up.
I’ll just be happy to eat fresh mangos in peace.
There are only so many pussy eating jokes I can stomach from Gillette before ten a.m.
At least while we’re on vacation, he’ll being doing the action instead of joking about it.
I’m not at all against eating pussy.
I just…don’t need to think about it every time I want to put fresh fruit in my mouth.
“You already know this,” Stiles’ voice hardens further, “but on the off chance you’ve managed to forget or had it knocked out of you during the last game of the championship tournament when you took that hit that would’ve given the average non-superhuman player a concussion…summer semester grades technically don’t apply to your eligibility status, but I’ll still be checking that you all passed the extra courses you signed up for before the first official practice with this year’s team.”