Sin-bin

Chapter 8 - Marical

36 days. It was always going to come to an end. I knew that. I fucking knew that. No matter how much we all pretended like I was doing amazing and there was some miracle where I could stay sober with one attempt (not counting the little incident immediately after my detox), it was all just a dream. A goal that I could never meet. 

But it still feels so awful that it happened. Guilt and shame and fear and disgust and sadness and anxiety all swirling like the world's worst hangover. A consequence of my actions that fester inside me while the outside world also deals me with consequences. The disappointed looks and sighs. The pity and treating me like I'll do it all again if anyone makes any sudden movements. The shame of facing the people who are working so hard to keep me on track and help me. The stupid fucking text from Cap wishing me luck like I'm a competition with myself but can't seem to win. 

It had started off as a shitty day. On Saturday, I was one of the few people in the Yeti offices. I wouldn't have come in for just this Zoom call, but the players association insists that the meetings, even over Zoom, be held in my team's offices for privacy and team confidentiality or some shit. It's pretty stupid that I have to meet with my sober coach on a Saturday, but hockey shit never follows a logical schedule. 

My "sober coach," provided by the players association, is a skinny man with a blonde beard that swallows his face named Robbie. He kind of gives off the vibes that he was never good at hockey as a kid, so he makes up for it by interacting with hockey players. He's overly jolly, so happy and excited about literally every single thing, even all the sad, complicated shit that I feel obligated to bring up. 

I've never been to a sober coach before, but part of me feels like Robbie isn't really a sober coach. He's more like an implant from the league to try and get back in the game as soon as possible. At every meeting, I have to tell him about how my AA meetings are going and any tactics I've used in the past week to combat the desire to drink. Then I have to talk about how I've been getting ready to play, whether it's workouts, diets, or practicing with the team. He's more excited and ready to hear that than I was when I almost broke Friday when the Yetis group chat discussed getting drinks. If he were here in person, I think he would pat my back and tell me I'm a strong, brave man and that the hockey league would be better because of my perseverance. 

The calls usually take less than half an hour. On his end, he talks about some of the details he's gotten from Shelia and David, my sponsor. They are required to provide a certain amount of positive input about my progress before the players association will release me back into the game. I have a feeling that Shelia and David are not rushing enough because this Saturday, he made a very specific comment.

"If you can get your therapist and sponsor to see how much you want to get back to playing, we could have you back in the game by next week. Wouldn't that be great?"

I know he said that because I'm supposed to pressure my therapist and sponsor to sign off on me so I can play. It's been nearly eight weeks since I first entered the program, and the regular season will begin in only a couple of weeks. Although in the beginning, the goal was to get me better by the regular season, it now seems too soon. 

His words take my breath away and send my mind spiraling. He signs off with a cheery affirmation, and suddenly, I'm alone in a Yeti conference room. I could be playing in just a week. It feels like I've barely started my recovery and improvement process. I've barely improved anything. It hasn't even been enough time to make sure my new meds are working properly. It's not enough time to get over my fear of how my dad and the press see my playing. It's not enough time to prepare myself to have to rely on a group of men that I've barely hung out with. It's not enough time to get over the dying urge to drink, too, whenever I'm simply around alcohol like most post-game get-togethers are.