Training the Team (Dougie Hamilton)

Day 2

*this chapter uses uncensored language*

Tuesday, May 19

My alarm goes off way too early, jolting me out of my sleep. I groan, slap the off button, and rub my face with both hands. Tiredly, I throw my covers off me and get up for the day. I go through my morning routine, washing my face, applying makeup, brushing my hair and tying it up. I dress similar to yesterday, with Nike running pants and a thin workout shirt. I decide to leave my track jacket at home since it's supposed to be a balmy 76 out today. I pull on some socks and grab my yoga mat, unfurling it on my balcony as the sun rises over the city. I do a light workout and yoga routine before rolling up my mat and going back inside. I eat an energizing breakfast, pack a healthy lunch, pull on my sneakers, and leave for work.

 It's nice out this morning, so I roll my windows down as I drive to Ristuccia arena. I'm one of the first ones here this morning, and I wait in the lounging area where I was yesterday until Whitey finds me.

"Kid, I hope you're ready to go. We're pretty busy today."

"With what?" I ask curiously.

"End of the year evals. Here's the stats-" He tosses me a thick folder stuffed with papers. "-I need you to go through that and give me the data. There's an example sheet already inside."

Whitey leaves as I open the folder, thoroughly read the example sheet, and then get to work. I'm supposed to be finding the range of weight, BMI, muscle mass, fat mass, number of reps for various exercises, and running times. I sigh as I get to work. There's an equation written at the top of the example sheet that I can plug every player into to get their range, so the data calculations go by quickly. I take the heavy folder with two hands and set out to find Whitey. I hear him before I can see him. He's giving a talk to the guys about the evals, so I stand in the back of the room, listening to what he's saying.

"- every single one of you has got to have a fucking better score than what you did at the beginning of this fucking season, you hear me? Otherwise it's going to be a very unpleasant exit meeting with me."

The guys all nod, so I take this as my time to make my way to Whitey to hand him the folder. He takes it from me with a nod.

"Thank you, kid. You'll be recording all the data for the guys while I get them to do their best. Sound good?"

"Sounds excellent," I smile.

Whitey looks at the list and then barks at the guys. "Bart, you're up. The rest of you, stay quiet and be ready. You know the drill."

I follow Bart and Whitey into a small room where there's a scale, a ruler drilled to the wall, and a tape measure. I find my sheets of data and charts very, very interesting as Bart gets undressed to be measured. Whitey reads off numbers, and I write them down in the charts, glad to see that they're within the range I'd predicted.

"Thanks, Bart. Put your clothes on and send Bergy in here, will you?"

Bart nods, and leaves the room after he's dressed.

"Little awkward for you, eh Matthews?" Whitey asks, amused, as I look up, feeling how red my cheeks are.

"Just a bit," I admit, exhaling.

"Well, get over it because you have 21 more where that came from."

I make a face as Bergy comes in, and jump up on the counter, paying attention to the sheet. Whitey reads off numbers to me again, and I write them down. Campbell, Caron, Chara, Cunningham. Eriksson. Griffith. Hamilton. Kelly, Krejci, Krug. Lucic. Marchand, McQuaid, Miller.  Paille. Pastrnak. Rask. Seidenberg, Soderberg, Smith, Svedberg.