Tightrope

5

NOW

WILL

"William Mitchell: From the biggest disappointment of the year to the best Center in the Chicago Whispers."

I turned off my tablet before I could even think about reading the latest article published in The Hockey Journal. It was the most influential hockey paper, and lately, it had been focusing on me. 

The title was absolutely right; the first part, at least. I had been the biggest disappointment of the year when I got drafted. I scored only a few goals, had barely any assists, and got banged around so much that even I started doubting whether I would be able to pursue a career in the NHL. 

I grabbed my car keys and headed out of my apartment. I needed to work out all of these... doubts away. A new season would be starting tomorrow, and I needed to get my head in the game. I couldn't let myself get distracted by a news article, as truthful as they were. 

I tried weightlifting for a while at the gym, but my thoughts were running too fast through my mind for me to actually be able to focus on my form, so I tried running. 

Apart from skating, running had always been a way for me to clear my head. I usually started with a light jog and kept adding speed until I was running so hard and fighting so hard to get enough oxygen into my lungs to be thinking about anything that could be bothering me. 

Not this time, though. I pushed myself to the limit, sprinting until my lungs ached and my legs felt like giving out, but the thoughts were still there. 

The truth was, after being the first pick in the NHL Draft, everyone had such high expectations for me for my rookie season. Even I had thought that I could shine in the big leagues just like I had in the junior ones. I had been overly confident in my abilities and had underestimated everyone else. It took me a while to understand that I might have been the first pick my year, but there had been a first pick too in the years after that. There were people who were so much better, bigger, older, and faster than me. 

The first ever game I played, I got slammed against the boards so hard that my helmet just flew off and my head hit the ice so hard I couldn't play for a month after. The following games weren't any better. I had a hard time accepting that I was failing, and so I started losing my temper. I got sent to the penalty box so many times, giving the other team so many power plays, that I cost my team several victories. My knuckles were always cut up and bruised, and my lip was always split. 

It was around this time when the news started spreading; apparently, the Chicago Whispers had made a huge mistake in drafting me and were now paying the price. Everyone who had once shown me immense support and who had been so hopeful I would succeed was now turning against me, blaming me for the downfall of their favorite team. And although I had never really cared about what other people thought about me, especially not the media, the thing that truly hit me about it was when I realized my teammates thought the same thing. 

My teammates, the great Chicago Whispers, were some of the best men I had ever met. Such good guys with such positive attitudes, immense talent, and nothing but positive feedback to give me after every game. They never complained about how badly I was playing, only gave me pointers to help me improve. They never said anything about the many fights that I caused and how they cost us several games, only backed me up and asked if I was okay after. And although they never told me, I could tell they thought they were better off before I joined the team. I had cost them too much, and although they were too kind to tell me, they couldn't help but feel the same thing the media had been announcing. 

I remember the sinking feeling in my stomach that came with failure, and I remember the pressure in my chest that rose whenever I was alone, allowing myself to dwell on my failures and overthink. It was only once I realized how badly I was letting down my teammates, that I reached out to our coach, and asked for help.