Thanatos
October 25th, 2012, 01:39 AM
I posted a story a while ago either under Pre Game or The Locker Room. I wrote it one night as I was overtired, bored and depressed. In my procrastination of actual school work, I decided to go back and edit and expand it a bit. My only issue is that the tone and tempo of the story don't flow smoothly, but oh well. Here ya go.
The locker-room is usually home to the antics of those as close as siblings. Here jokes are shared, heated debates thrive, pointless arguments emerge, and witty banter is ever present. Tonight the locker-room has a different atmosphere altogether. Tonight the room is filled with little but silence. The only sound to be heard is that of soft breathing and the seemingly distant noise of the Zamboni finishing up its cut. Some players have in ear buds, others rest their head in their hands, and still more lean back against the cool surface of the brick walls. The coaches have given their final pregame speeches, the captains spoke a few words of encouragement, and now there is nothing but time and thoughts. Thoughts of sweet victory and crushing defeat. Thoughts of glory and of despair. All that can go wrong, and all that may go right. Thoughts of every play, bounce or situation that has a chance of occurring in the next 60 minutes.
All season has led up to this moment. Every game played, every practice attended. Every drop of sweat, and every tear shed. You have skipped school events for practice, stayed up all night to finish a paper because you had a game. You sat in the backyard alone, iPod on, shooting puck after puck into an empty net. You stood in the living room watching TV, all the while stick-handling the round wooden ball that lay near your feet. All you have done over the past year has been to reach this point. You have dedicated every fiber of your being to reach this place, and now here you are.
You are here and you must overcome one final foe. All that preparation was not done just to reach this place; you did not put in all that work to fall one game short. Now you must execute, you must do what it is that you have been preparing yourself for. Despite all of the effort that you have put in, none of that matters now. All that matters is what happens next. The opponent doesn’t care that you have shed blood, sweat and tears to get here. They don’t give a shit that you gave up night after night of sleep to keep up with your work, or that you woke up at 4 am to get in an hour of practice before school started. Every goal you’ve already scored, every hit you’ve already thrown, every shot you’ve already blocked. All are meaningless to the result of tonight. This game is something entirely separate and new from all that has come before, and you must either thrive or fall under that pressure.
So, as the coach signals that the time has come, there is a collective sigh across the room. It is a sigh of relief to escape the vicious thoughts, of anticipation as to what shall occur, and of sadness that all you have done this season is coming to a head. Your team huddles in the locker-room, enjoying the last moment of peace that you will have together, saying one last prayer in unison. Though the words don’t mean as much to you, as the prayer continues the voices of the players merge into the voice of the team. By the time the last line of prayer is spoken, there is an electric current in the air, the team abuzz with anticipation.
The teams yells start before you even reach the door out of the locker room. All that anxiety now replaced by a fiery passion, a readiness that none of you knew was within yourselves. You emerge from the locker room a united front focused only on success, one body, one heart, one mind. As you take the first steps out of the locker, your own chants are suddenly overrun by the cheers of the gathered crowd, the roar of fans, family, and friends.
As you take the ice and the first few strides of warm-ups, calm arises within you. This is what you have been waiting for and you are ready. The noises of the crowd fall into the background as crisp focus emerges in your mind. Your team goes through their pre-game routine, the whole while yelling across the ice. Speaking of how ready they are, chirps against the opponents, and plenty of Here We Go’s.
The warm-ups end, and the team huddles at the net. By now all that needs to be said has already been stated. The Captain leading the huddle looks around, closely examining the group surrounding him. This is a group he has played with and against throughout his career, at the beginning of this season they were a group of strangers bound together only by a uniform. Now they were a group of brothers, connected by a bond that would long outlast this season. Those who were previously but nameless opponents are now the closest of friends. The Captain keeps it short and, with what is either a bead of sweat or a tear in his eye, reminds you of how proud he is to have served as captain and to have played with all of you. Win or lose, you are a family and a family you shall remain. After a quick chant that came out much louder than it ever had before, the starting line heads to center ice, while the rest of the team files onto the bench. The goalie scratches up his crease and checks his posts once more before dropping into his normal stance.
At center ice, the defensemen find the angles they like and take their positions. The teams’ wingers pair off, and before the centers even line up, the jostling for an advantage has begun on both sides. As the center slowly slides into position, he surveys his lineup once more, assuring himself that all is ready. Finally, after a curt nod to the opposing center, his head drops to the ref’s hand. The whistle is blown, the puck is dropped, and instinct takes over.
The locker-room is usually home to the antics of those as close as siblings. Here jokes are shared, heated debates thrive, pointless arguments emerge, and witty banter is ever present. Tonight the locker-room has a different atmosphere altogether. Tonight the room is filled with little but silence. The only sound to be heard is that of soft breathing and the seemingly distant noise of the Zamboni finishing up its cut. Some players have in ear buds, others rest their head in their hands, and still more lean back against the cool surface of the brick walls. The coaches have given their final pregame speeches, the captains spoke a few words of encouragement, and now there is nothing but time and thoughts. Thoughts of sweet victory and crushing defeat. Thoughts of glory and of despair. All that can go wrong, and all that may go right. Thoughts of every play, bounce or situation that has a chance of occurring in the next 60 minutes.
All season has led up to this moment. Every game played, every practice attended. Every drop of sweat, and every tear shed. You have skipped school events for practice, stayed up all night to finish a paper because you had a game. You sat in the backyard alone, iPod on, shooting puck after puck into an empty net. You stood in the living room watching TV, all the while stick-handling the round wooden ball that lay near your feet. All you have done over the past year has been to reach this point. You have dedicated every fiber of your being to reach this place, and now here you are.
You are here and you must overcome one final foe. All that preparation was not done just to reach this place; you did not put in all that work to fall one game short. Now you must execute, you must do what it is that you have been preparing yourself for. Despite all of the effort that you have put in, none of that matters now. All that matters is what happens next. The opponent doesn’t care that you have shed blood, sweat and tears to get here. They don’t give a shit that you gave up night after night of sleep to keep up with your work, or that you woke up at 4 am to get in an hour of practice before school started. Every goal you’ve already scored, every hit you’ve already thrown, every shot you’ve already blocked. All are meaningless to the result of tonight. This game is something entirely separate and new from all that has come before, and you must either thrive or fall under that pressure.
So, as the coach signals that the time has come, there is a collective sigh across the room. It is a sigh of relief to escape the vicious thoughts, of anticipation as to what shall occur, and of sadness that all you have done this season is coming to a head. Your team huddles in the locker-room, enjoying the last moment of peace that you will have together, saying one last prayer in unison. Though the words don’t mean as much to you, as the prayer continues the voices of the players merge into the voice of the team. By the time the last line of prayer is spoken, there is an electric current in the air, the team abuzz with anticipation.
The teams yells start before you even reach the door out of the locker room. All that anxiety now replaced by a fiery passion, a readiness that none of you knew was within yourselves. You emerge from the locker room a united front focused only on success, one body, one heart, one mind. As you take the first steps out of the locker, your own chants are suddenly overrun by the cheers of the gathered crowd, the roar of fans, family, and friends.
As you take the ice and the first few strides of warm-ups, calm arises within you. This is what you have been waiting for and you are ready. The noises of the crowd fall into the background as crisp focus emerges in your mind. Your team goes through their pre-game routine, the whole while yelling across the ice. Speaking of how ready they are, chirps against the opponents, and plenty of Here We Go’s.
The warm-ups end, and the team huddles at the net. By now all that needs to be said has already been stated. The Captain leading the huddle looks around, closely examining the group surrounding him. This is a group he has played with and against throughout his career, at the beginning of this season they were a group of strangers bound together only by a uniform. Now they were a group of brothers, connected by a bond that would long outlast this season. Those who were previously but nameless opponents are now the closest of friends. The Captain keeps it short and, with what is either a bead of sweat or a tear in his eye, reminds you of how proud he is to have served as captain and to have played with all of you. Win or lose, you are a family and a family you shall remain. After a quick chant that came out much louder than it ever had before, the starting line heads to center ice, while the rest of the team files onto the bench. The goalie scratches up his crease and checks his posts once more before dropping into his normal stance.
At center ice, the defensemen find the angles they like and take their positions. The teams’ wingers pair off, and before the centers even line up, the jostling for an advantage has begun on both sides. As the center slowly slides into position, he surveys his lineup once more, assuring himself that all is ready. Finally, after a curt nod to the opposing center, his head drops to the ref’s hand. The whistle is blown, the puck is dropped, and instinct takes over.