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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Marissa

I make my way to the arena, the brand new hoodie keeping away the chill of the late summer evening. I haven’t gotten used to how much it cools off once the sun goes down here. In Texas, it stays hot. Sure, the nights are cooler than when the sun’s beating down on you, but it’s still Texas, even at night.

Here, though, once the sun dips behind the buildings, the temperature drops quickly. And once night falls, it’s downright cool, especially for a southerner like me. The good thing about this side of the state compared to where my brother lives in Eastern Washington, is that it very rarely snows here. The summers are a lot cooler, too, which will be an adjustment. But hey, maybe I’ll enjoy it.

It’s also very green here. So many trees. I understand why the hockey team is called the Emeralds.

And the mountains … It’s a world away from Texas, that’s for sure.

It’s funny hearing people here talk about how, “The mountain’s out today,” when the weather’s clear, but I’ve heard the phrase at work several times in the month or so I’ve been here.

It’s true, though. A lot of the time Mount Rainier is obscured by clouds. When it’s visible, it’s gorgeous. Huge and snow-capped. I like being able to look at it.

It’s on so many pictures around here, too. Even the arena has a big photo mural of Mount Rainier on the wall opposite the main entrance.

I’m traveling light tonight—just my phone and my keys in one pocket, my ID and a credit card in my other one. I’ve been to enough sporting events to know that most arenas only allow see-through bags of a certain size, and the size limits here are different than the ones back home, so my see-through bag is too big. It’s fine, though, because I usually prefer not to have to worry about a bag at this kind of place. As long as I can buy something to eat and maybe a souvenir, I’m good.

I follow the signs on the wall to the right section, and an usher points me in the direction of my seat.

Dozer wasn’t kidding when he said these were good seats. I’m a few rows back from the plexiglass, not too far off the aisle, with a fantastic view of center ice.

I thought about googling things to know about hockey, but today was exceptionally busy with both client meetings and dealing with my less-than-cooperative coworkers, so I didn’t end up having much time. And now that I’m here, I just kind of want to enjoy the experience for what it is.

People are slowly filtering in. I arrived early so I wouldn’t have to fight the crowds too much, and that seems like it was a good choice. It’s a Friday, though, and the first game of the regular season, so I’m sure it’ll start filling up soon.

Now that I know where my seat is, I’m going to find a concession stand so I can hopefully get what I want before the game starts.

My brain filters through the different terms for the start of the game. I’m so used to football, so kickoff is the first thing I think, but obviously that’s not right. Tip off? No. That’s basketball.

Face off. That’s it. The face off.

Since I’m alone, I spend my time people watching while in the concessions line, listening in on families and couples talking to each other near me, the way the kids excitedly ask their parents for candy and ice cream, and the way the parents respond—both yeses and nos—makes me smile. It makes me feel like I’m part of something in a way I haven’t felt since I got here.

No, I don’t know any of these people. But we’re all here to support the same team. And it doesn’t matter that I’ve never been to a hockey game before. I’m here, I’m wearing a team sweatshirt. I’m part of the group.

Nearly everyone is decked out in Emeralds gear—jerseys, beanies, baseball hats, scarfs, jackets, sweatshirts, the works. And Dozer was right that most people dress fairly warmly. I didn’t notice the arena being chilly, but then I’m wearing a sweatshirt too. Maybe I’d feel differently in a blouse.

Once I have my soda, hot dog, and candy for later that I stash in my kangaroo pocket, I make my way back to my seat, settling in and enjoying the way people around me greet each other like longtime friends. These must be season ticket holders who’ve been attending games together for a while. Every once in a while, I’d go to a Cowboys game back home and encounter the same types there. These are the die-hards. They know the team stats, the recent trades, who’s on the injured list and for how long. They have strong opinions about coaches and players alike. And there’s a buzz, a feeling of hope and excitement about this season as they discuss the Emeralds’ preseason performance.

I kinda wish I’d looked up the team stats at least. Maybe caught up on the latest gossip about the team—who’s new, who left and why, what their prospects are for the year.

The older couple next to me chat with another middle-aged couple in the row in front, swapping stories about their summers and opining about the preseason.

“I caught one of the preseason games,” the man next to me says. “They played good, but their first line’s a little less solid than I’d expect. Hopefully they’ve cleaned up their act for tonight!”

“For sure. We want a Stanley Cup!” agrees the man in front of us. “We can’t get that if our best players are constantly out with injuries and their replacements aren’t up to snuff.”

It’s the same kind of talk I’m so used to from football games both growing up with my parents and when I’ve gone to games and sports bars as an adult.

After sipping my soda, I take a bite of my hot dog, focusing on the activity on the ice in front of me. The zambonis are making their rounds, a trail of smooth, shiny ice behind them, a man with a little boy in his arms riding on the back of one and an older kid riding on the other one. The little boy is waving at the crowd, and all three of them have wide smiles on their faces.

Who knew you could ride a zamboni at a professional hockey game? That’s really cool.

Pretty soon, the announcer starts welcoming the crowd to the game, doing a good job of getting everyone excited and ramped up for the start of a new season.

The Emeralds are a young team without a lot of history here, but they clearly have a loyal fan base from the people still streaming in and taking their seats, concessions in hand, cheering loudly from wherever they happen to be at the announcer’s prompting.

The lights dim, and the mascot goes out on the ice—an anthropomorphic eagle—holding up a sign. It says GO! in capital letters, and he points at our side. My half of the arena screams, “Go!” in unison. Then he points to the other side, and they scream, “Emeralds!” Though, as a multisyllable word, it comes out a little more garbled.

We go back and forth with the cheering for a few rounds, then the mascot raises his hands—wings?—and the entire arena breaks out in wordless cheers.

The announcer goes through a few more pieces of housekeeping, announcing the refs, who come through the tunnel and out on the ice, and the entire crowd boos loudly. I can’t help laughing, because what? I’ve never heard anyone boo refs before, but apparently that’s a thing here. Is that hockey in general? Or is it specific to this team?

When the announcer says, “And here are your Seeeeeattle Emeraaaaalds!” the whole crowd goes wild, and I enthusiastically join in the clapping, scanning the circling players under the roving spotlights, trying to spot Dozer.

Of course, I realize I should’ve taken the time to refresh my memory on what his number is. My mom Googled him and told me his full name … Boggs. That’s his last name. That’s what I need to look for. Not Dozer.

But by the time I realize that, the teams are climbing over the wall into the place where the team sits during the game. Does it have a special name in hockey like it does in baseball?

The announcer calls out the Emeralds starting lineup one by one, saying their name and position as they take the ice and come to a stop. I’ve always enjoyed the pageantry of the start of a sporting event. There’s always so much that goes into it, from announcing all the sponsors and naming the players to the ceremonial bits like singing the national anthem followed by the coin toss in football or the first pitch in baseball. In hockey, they have a ceremonial face off as well, with someone special coming in to drop the puck. Tonight, it’s someone from the company sponsoring the giveaways for tonight’s game.

After the ceremonial face off, they clear the carpets and things off the ice and finally set up for the actual game.

I adjust my position, crumple up my hot dog wrapper, and take a sip of my soda in preparation for things to start. There’s a moment where it feels like everyone’s holding their breath as the ref holds the puck above the sticks of the two players in the center, waiting for the puck to drop.

The puck hits the ice, and the action starts immediately. It reminds me a little of basketball with how everyone seems to be involved the whole time, with the exception of the goalie who stays in the net.

The game is fast-paced, and it’s difficult to follow the puck as the players whip it back and forth to each other, even catching it in mid-air and dropping it to the ice. The puck is intercepted as much as anything, and it feels like so much more of a free for all than football, which is governed by strict rules of play despite its reputation as violent. Hockey’s violent, too, but this is more like melee combat than pitched lines of battle.

It’s riveting.

Grinning, I soak it all in, standing and clapping and chanting along with the crowd when the Emeralds score the first goal.

I might’ve had my doubts about how suitable this was for payback, but after this? It’s definitely more than enough.

This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.