Breakaway

Chapter 5 - Breakaway

DANA

It's a completely different experience looking down over a sheet of ice from the owner's box than it is being down at ice-level. Things move slower. You can see plays forming from above, see their genesis, things that you'd never recognize in time if you were down on ice level. At least not if you're a mere mortal like most hockey players. By the time you recognize what's about to happen, it's too late. The other guy has already stolen the puck and sent it up the ice to his teammate, and they score right around the time you recognize your mistake and react.

But up above? You can break it all apart a little easier.

That's why some coaches will bench a rookie for a few games. It's not that they aren't trying. A lot of times, rookies try too hard. So they get sent up to the press box where they can see plays taking shape with everything moving a little slower. More often than not, it helps. Plus, it pisses the rookie off, and that only makes them want to prove themselves to the coach that much more. A little piss and vinegar never hurt anyone, at least not where competitive drive is concerned.

Some very special players, though, have this ability to slow the game down and see ahead like that even when they're on the ice. They call it "vision" or "hockey sense," things like that. After you've played for a few years, you develop your hockey sense to a degree.

But those select few? They see the game like no one else does. Wayne Gretzky was one of them, and more recently, you could put Nick Lidström in that category. Players like that are always two or three steps ahead of everyone else on the ice.

As a fan watching the game on your television at home, you can't really get a feel for just what it means when the commentators talk about the vision those players have because it's about the things they do when the puck isn't on their stick. The camera follows the guy with the puck. That's who you see, plus whoever else is around him. But if you watch from the owner's box, you can follow the game away from the puck, see how guys position themselves depending on what's taking place on the ice, analyze the choices they make.

Coach Bassano had hoped it would help me after I was raped. She'd benched me more games than she played me, had me watch from the press box up above. It wasn't my hockey sense I'd lost, though. It was everything else.

But now, looking down at the Zamboni surfacing the ice in the near-empty Moda Center, I had to wonder why the expensive tickets were the ones down close to the boards. Yeah, fans wanted to feel like they were in on the action, I guess, but you can see the game in a much more complete way when you're up high.

Not once since we'd arrived had I picked up the book I'd brought with me, even though I'd been sitting alone in the box for a good twenty minutes. Instead, I'd been looking down at the ice, nearly seeing a game take place down there even though there were no players.

I didn't have a car of my own here, and Eric had suggested he ride in with Babs and leave me his. They had to be at the arena a couple of hours before game time, but there was no reason I needed to be. It was tempting, but I was afraid I'd chicken out and stay at his house if I didn't go with them when they left.

When we got here, they'd both brought me up to the box before heading down to the locker room. I'd assumed Babs would have just gone straight in to do his thing, get into his pregame routine. But he didn't.

It was only when we got inside the owner's box that I understood why. He made a beeline for the spread of food laid out, grabbed two turkey sandwiches and a banana, and then headed out. "Later, Dee," he'd called out behind him, his voice muffled around the half a sandwich already stuffed in his mouth.

I'd had to laugh. Eric had been right about Babs. I was starting to like him.

"It's good to hear you laugh."