Chapter 2: My life before NHL
Chapter 2:
My life before NHL🏒
Troy
Nova Scotia, Canada🇨🇦
An alarm wakes me at dawn. My usual routine-my hockey routine. I live and breathe hockey. It's so much a part of me that my coaches sometimes hide my skates to force me to rest. They say rest is important, but I've been skating since I was two years old. People joke that I must have been born with skates in my mother's womb.
I'm a hockey prodigy. I was the first overall pick in the latest NHL draft, selected by Pittsburgh in a lottery. I'm thrilled with the team that chose me because its owner is a hockey legend, and I want to learn as much as possible from him. My goal is clear: I want to be the best.
My routine is perfected to the smallest detail, and I don't change a thing. I'm incredibly superstitious, and while some people think it's ridiculous, I don't care-it works. Why change something that works? There's no room for distractions in my life. Everything is hockey.
No girls, no partying, no alcohol, no bad behavior. My focus is crystal clear: the NHL and the Stanley Cup. People might call it extreme, but for me, it's perfect.
I started playing hockey in my parents' basement, using the dryer as my goal. After years of taking hits, that poor dryer is dented all over. My mom wasn't thrilled about it, but people say it's a small sacrifice for a greater good-it taught me to shoot accurately.
My path to the NHL has been unconventional. Early on, I played against older kids because of my talent. I later attended a sports academy in Minnesota before being drafted into the QMJHL by Rimouski, a small town in Quebec. Quebec is the hockey Mecca, home to Montreal, the most successful team in NHL history. Some of the greatest Canadian players-Maurice Richard, Ken Dryden, Guy Lafleur, Mario Lemieux, Jean Béliveau, and more-have ties to this region, including my new team owner, Mathieu.
My Hockey Routine
Wake-up: 4:00 a. m. No mercy for slackers.
Breakfast: A protein-packed meal for strong muscles.
Warm-ups and weight training.
Snack: Classic PB&J toast.
On-ice practice: 1-2 hours.
School classes.
Lunch.
More classes.
Nap if there's a game.
Dinner: Always pasta.
Pre-game: I never walk past the opposing team's locker room (superstition).
Warm-up routine: Always in the same order (superstition).
Game visualization: I tape my sticks on the bench before fans arrive.
Game entry: I'm always the last player onto the ice (superstition).
Post-game: I'm the last to salute the goalie and the last to leave the rink (superstition).
People say it's a lot for someone so young, but I never complain-I love hockey.
Tomorrow, I leave my hometown for my new home in Pittsburgh. I'll be living with the team's owner, who is also a player. His house is huge, complete with a pool and gym, so I'll feel right at home. Mathieu has agreed to mentor me, and I couldn't ask for a better teacher. He's returning to play after a five-year break due to health issues, including cancer and back problems.
Back to Today
I get out of bed and pull on some shorts and a T-shirt. I head to the bathroom to wash up, where I bump into my little sister, Tina. She gives me a quick hug before vanishing inside.
In the kitchen, the smell of my mom's cooking greets me. God, I'll miss her meals.
"Morning, Mom," I say, kissing her cheek.
"Good morning, sweetheart," she replies with a sad smile.
Her eyes betray the sadness of a mother losing one of her chicks to the world.
Dad walks in, clapping me on the back with a big grin.
"Morning, son. The countdown is on, huh?"
"Yeah, almost done packing," I reply.
A knock at the door interrupts us.
"I'll get it," I say.
Two of my cousins stand on the porch.
"Hey, guys!"
"Hey, Troy! We came to see you before the big move. We're all meeting at the rink later for a game," they say.
From the kitchen, Mom calls out, "Have you boys eaten? I made plenty of blueberry waffles!"
Knowing my cousins, they can't resist. I stifle a laugh as they chorus, "Sure thing, Auntie!"
I grab a couple of chairs for them. Growing up surrounded by cousins, we could easily form two hockey teams. Some of my fondest memories are of those chaotic, laughter-filled games.
Seated at the table, Tina comes in with a pout. I get up and give her a comforting hug. She's five years younger than me, and I've always been protective of her. She's a goalie, following in our family's hockey footsteps.
I pull out her chair and pass her the waffle plate, channeling the gentleman my mom raised me to be. What follows is a joyful, messy breakfast-a perfect moment before my departure.
Cousin Shawn asks, "What time do you land in Pittsburgh?"
"Around 3:00 p. m.," I reply.
Mitchel chimes in, "Who's your first preseason game against?"
"Montreal," I say.
It's sentimental for all of us-Dad was once drafted by Montreal as a goalie.
"Will we be able to come see you?" Tina asks hopefully, looking to Dad.
All eyes turn to him. He finishes his bite, smiling at Tina.
"We'll try to make it happen, but no promises," he says.
The meal ends on a happy note. I head out with my cousins and Tina, walking to the neighborhood rink for one last game before my move. It'll be followed by a family barbecue in the backyard. It's going to be epic.
