Shadows (Patrick Kane)

(22) The Spark

Patrick

With the new hockey season fast approaching I decided that it was time to teach Sophie all about hockey. And it would be best if she learned from the one person who taught me all I know about the game, my dad. So he pulls out old game tapes and all the things he's collected from his decades of being involved in this game. He lays it all out on the living room floor and we dive right in.

"Awww look at little Patrick" Soph Aww's as we watch some of my peewee hockey game tapes. I don't actually think this would help her learn about professional hockey but my dad just wanted a excuse to watch these.

"They hated playing Pat. He would have three goals and four assists a game and that's with him being sat out for like the last 10 minutes. We shipped him around the country to play for teams who needed a offensive boost and he got to face new players, bigger players. His game grew far and wide and now... well you know" my dad teases.

"So you've always been this amazing hockey prodigy" she asks me.

"You could catch me in every hotel practicing stick handling, making my sisters play goalie in the rooms. Once I picked up a stick I never put it back down" I admit.

"I like that" she smiles.

We get to the good part of my career and my dad sits there and tries to explain all he knows. He has seen a lot of styles of hockey. The game isn't the same as when we went to Sabers games when I was younger or even when I started playing, it's faster, smaller, harder. And my dad understood that, as a fan and as a father as one of the athletes. I truly think he has some insight that Sophia would really like.

"Now watch the way Pats eyes are never on the puck, never looking down. Your plays aren't going to be there, they're out there somewhere else on the ice. So you have to keep your head up because there's probably two to three men coming for you or that puck on your stick. Your job is to think three steps ahead of those guys, so you look around at your options. Maybe your center is in front of the net and ready to clean up. Or your winger there, he's open with all the guys coming for you. The defensemen on the blue line can be a outlet pass back to you. There's so many ways you can see the game but you'll never see it if you're looking down.

What makes Pat different is his vision. Sure, his hands are above average and his escapability is the best out there. But his eyes... his eyes can change the game. Take the game winning goal from the first Stanley cup as an example. No one knew what Patrick was going to do with the puck. He had Sharpy open down low and he had a defensemen right on him. People were waiting for him to decide to shoot or pass but Pat already knew. The play played out in his head and the puck was in the net before anyone had a clue what was going on. His vision is what allows him to avoid being hit or find a guy who wasn't open but was about to be in a few more seconds. It's what makes this game so... beautiful" my dad explains.

"I always had a thing for Pat's eyes" she teases as I laugh a little. "But I never saw the game like this. I see why you guys love it so much. In a way it's like... cinema. You guys have the chance to create drama, chaos, triumph. It's a story you tell from the turn of a blade on the ice, the skip of a puck on a pass. And for some you have the special ability to know how this movie is going to end before it ends" she says as she turns to me.

"Couldn't have said it better myself" I smile.

Eventually my dad packs away everything because he saves and preserves every piece of my hockey history. He even let Sophia hold my first goal puck, that never happens. As he tucks the rest of this crap away I find Sophie looking at one of my rookie cards. I sit down next to her as she continues to study it.

"You really love this game. Even when it was mean to you and you didn't want to like it, you still loved it" she says.

I let out a soft sigh as I nod my head. "Yeah, things we weird for a while. I went to the rink every day and that spark was gone. The flame whithered away and for the first time I felt cold out there. I was freezing and I hated it" I explain.

"Do you still feel like that" she wonders.

"No, I don't. I miss the game, I miss being out there with the guys who fuel my fire. I miss feeling warm again" I admit.

"Well I'm happy you love this game again. It's a better one when you're playing well" she claims.

"I might not always feel that spark but hockey will always be my one true love. I couldn't leave this sport if my life depended on it" I shrug.

"What about when your body can't take it anymore? What then" she asks.

"When I get older I actually wanted to coach hockey" I admit and she smiles at me.

"Like one of the office guys or a head coach" she questions.

"Maybe assistant coach at first. Q will probably still be coaching. I would want to be by his side learning how to transition from player to coach. I know the plays, admittedly gonna have to figure out some more of the defensive side of the game. But I like being a part of the team. Even if my body doesn't let me play my mind... my mind is still full of stuff that I can use to help people like me. Talent, gifts without direction or purpose is a waste. Anyone can have talent or be gifted, but to take that to a whole new level is something few can achieve. And I had great coaches growing up. Sure, I had natural abilities that made hockey easy for me. But I had coaches who saw that in me and knew all I would ever be is a good player if I didn't learn things like accountability or patience or how to be a good teammate.

So when I'm old and I hang up the skates I hope I am considered one of the greats. I hope there isn't a Damn thing more that I could have given this game as a player. And I can continue to mold it through a new generation" I explain.

"You'll be a great coach. Might want to take your dad with you though" she teases.

"I'm never getting rid of him" I laugh.