Since I was a kid, making it into the World Hockey League was the ultimate goal. No relationship could match my first love, and after my rough childhood, I wasn't putting my heart on the line.
When Bellerive makes a successful bid to move the Califo...
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The crisp, clean scent of fresh ice always makes my heart sing. From the minute I stepped into a hockey arena as a kid, something inside me knew I was home in a way I'd never been before. For me, the air in an arena has been rich with possibility from my first deep inhale of its sharp coolness.
So when I arrive at Bellerive's Tucker-Summerset Arena and get within sniffing distance of the ice, I'm not surprised at the rush of pleasure that hits me in the chest, even if I'd rather be in Michigan, or really any other state in America. Hell, I would have even taken a trade to a Canadian province or territory, but the fuckers would not negotiate.
Who puts a World Hockey League team on a tropical island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean? Hand on heart, I don't see this move lasting more than five years. They could hold an island wide meeting in this arena, and there'd be almost enough seats for everyone. That's madness. Capital M madness. That's when you know that people who live here have more money than sense, and I've never been about that.
"Mr. Bishop," Tamiko, my tour guide of the arena calls out to me from the bottom of the stands. "Are you coming?"
I don't answer but instead suck in another lungful of my favorite air before ambling down the stairs behind her.
"In here," she says, leading the way down a wide hallway, "are the team changerooms. Your coach assigned your spots in the room." She opens an oversized door, and I step through in front of her. "You'll find names are already attached to different cubbies or whatever you call them in hockey."
Another reason that having a hockey team in this country makes zero sense—not one person I've come into contact with so far has used the terms I'd use for anything.
The space is huge and circular—a lot more room than I was expecting, and I find my name and number easily on one of the squares above the lockers. My place isn't where I want to be in the room, so I'll have to message my agent and manager to fix this shit before we start practicing.
The next surprise, though it shouldn't be, is how clean everything smells. Once a locker room has been used enough, it's musty, even when it's technically clean. The stench seeps into everything and without it, the place feels almost too new and sterile. It's another reminder that people in this country have pinned entirely too much on the success of this team and this arena.
Next, she shows me the weight room, the dry room, and the team's exit out onto the ice surface. Everything is high class and clearly expensive. I can't fault the execution, even if the reasoning behind moving the team here is baffling.
"Any questions?" Tamiko asks.
Any questions I might've had, I already asked my agent months ago when it became apparent this deal was actually going to be approved and go through. I'm convinced that coming to Bellerive is where hockey careers go to die. There's no press following, no international broadcasting contracts, and I don't even want to think about the endorsements that won't happen.
