Lindy at 103

[PASabreFan]

Where the imagination takes you when there are three days off between playoff games!

 

---

 

Lindy Ruff watches the rain hit the window, studying the droplets as they join, organize themselves into tiny rivers and criss-cross paths on their journey down the glass.

 

These days, this is how he spends a lot of his time ? sitting and watching simple drops of water, seeing in their choreography something familiar from an earlier life.

 

He used to draw them, make them criss-cross, urge them to join. His palette was a chalk board, and he had a captive audience. But now he creates only in his mind, and no one pays the least bit attention.

 

As he notices two more drops come together and move quickly toward a third, his so-called life interrupts.

 

?Time for your vascular restorative treatment, Mr. Ruff.?

 

Lindy looks up, doesn?t recognize the face, doesn?t speak.

 

Jarrode announces his name in a loud voice, says he?s replacing Kai. The Everglades Center is having a tough time keeping Perpetual Care Facilitators (PCFs) these days.

 

?Do you know what today?s date is?? Jarrode asks in one of those moments where old people are tested to see if they are still with it.

 

No answer.

 

Jarrode waves a wand the size of a pencil over Ruff?s chest for a few seconds and announces that it?s all over.

 

?Not so bad, huh??

 

No reply.

 

?It?s a wonder to meet you,? says Jarrode, offering a hand.

 

No reply AND no hand.

 

?We need the precipitation,? Jarrode says, motioning outside.

 

Lindy shifts in his chair. His legs are bothering him again. He?s in failing health now, despite the miracles that modern medicine routinely offers up. After Gaye passed away, the kids knew their dad needed to be in a place like this.

 

Finally, Lindy speaks, his voice shaky but clear.

 

?I need the rain too. Gives me something to look at besides that joke ITV.?

 

Jarrode laughs. They have something in common. ?I never watch it. There?s never anything good to assimilate.? Sensing an opening, the young man asks a dangerous question, a question his co-workers call The Conversation Killer.

 

?So, what did you for a living, when you were in the employable force, I mean??

 

Lindy smirks, sticking his tongue in his cheek, an almost lifelong habit, wanting very much to answer ?circus trainer,? but instead telling the truth: ?Hockey coach.? Lindy knows there is virtually no difference.

 

?Dude, that?s impressive.? Lindy can?t believe people are still saying ?dude? after all these years. How did that stick?

 

?Who did you coach??

 

Lindy doesn?t really want to talk about it, but, hell, he figures, he spends most of his days thinking about it anyway, so why not?

 

?Buffalo Sabres.?

 

?Buffalo, New York??

 

Lindy wants to shut down again but can?t resist one of his patented zingers.

 

?Yeah. Not Buffalo, Wyoming.?

 

?They still have a team up there??

 

?Nope. Moved to Japan. Became the Tokyo Katanas. The league is a joke anymore.?

 

Having grown up in south Florida, Jarrode doesn?t know much about hockey. Florida?s teams left decades earlier when the state?s population began declining and the Global Hockey League expanded in Europe and Asia. But, like everyone else, he DOES know that the Stanley Cup is THE preeminent sporting trophy in the world.

 

?It?s a dazzy sport,? says Jarrode.

 

Yeah, dazzy, thinks Lindy. He has no idea what it means, except his great-great grandkids call his ring ?dazzy? every time they come and visit.

 

?You must have some great memories.?

 

?Sure.?

 

?What game activates your memory the most??

 

Lindy?s eyes light up, a rarity since his wife died in ?61. He tries to hide his interest, but Jarrode has already noticed, just as he has already suspected that the scars on the old man?s face mean he PLAYED some hockey in his day, too.

 

?I don?t remember anymore.?

 

Jarrode kneels beside the motorized chair and looks Lindy in the eyes.

 

?I know you do. Come on.?

 

Using just his thoughts to guide the controls, Lindy nudges his chair even closer to the window, turns himself slightly away from Jarrode and gazes toward the little pond that abuts the center?s property, watches as a hard summer rain splashes down.

 

?Ottawa...?

 

?Ottawa??

 

?Yeah. You heard of Canada, right??

 

?Oh, no one goes there since The Incident.?

 

Lindy grimaces, suddenly wanting to go back into his residential space and just be by himself. But he feels like telling someone off today. ?Ottawa! It?s in the East! THAT happened out West!? he says in as loud a voice as he can muster, which isn?t much. Lindy is angry now.

 

And frustrated. He hasn?t told this story for awhile. Madeleine always used to ask him to tell it, but now the details are murky. He concentrates. It starts coming back. In waves.

 

?Oh six. The playoffs. Second round. No one gave us a snowball?s chance in Hell to win. We were young. Shoot, I was young...?

 

Jarrode laughs.

 

?...Bunch of kids, really, some rookies, some castoffs from other teams, some players we developed over the years. A helluva lot of talent and heart though. We just never quit that season. Came back to win so many games.?

 

Lindy rubs his chin.

 

?Ottawa was an all-star team, basically. Spezza, Heatley, Alfredsson, Havlat, Chara, Redden. Had a helluva time with them in the regular season. Going into the series weren?t given much of a chance by the experts. Jokes. They changed their tune after Game 1.?

 

?Game 1??

 

?Yeah, of a best of seven series.?

 

?Seven. Is that how they did it back then? The World Series is a best of 15 now. I remember Korea beating Cuba in eight games.?

 

?Well, this wasn?t the World Series, this was better -- the Stanley Cup playoffs.? Lindy?s hands start to tremble.

 

?I?m apologetic. Tell the story. Please.?

 

?Derek Roy, kid skated like his hair was on fire. Timmy Connolly -- amazing hands. Chris Drury, so clutch, and Danny Briere, a little guy, played huge. They shared the captain?s C. Mike Grier. Always thought the G stood for grit. Jay McKee, beauty of a defenseman. Teppo. Good ole Teppo. Goalie was a strange kid with long hair, Ryan Miller. Talked about sacrificing squirrels. Probably did. Backup was Marty Biron. Never stopped talking. A Russian kid called Max -- could stop on a dime and leave nine cents change.?

 

?I like that. Can I use it??

 

?What do I care? And that was Thomas Vanek?s first year. He...?

 

?Wait. THAT Thomas Vanek??

 

?Yeah.?

 

Jarrode is impressed. He has no idea Thomas Vanek played hockey before becoming the first man on Mars.

 

Lindy turns quiet again, and Jarrode figures he?s interrupted him for the last time.

 

But Lindy breathes in deeply, his chest rattling, and finds the energy to continue.

 

?Game 1. We score 35 seconds in, Grierzie. Ottawa gets two quickies. We keep falling behind but catching up, falling behind but catching up. Numminen ties it at 2, Havlat puts them up on a breakaway. Connolly ties it at 3 -- one of the nicest goals I ever saw. Heatley comes right back. Royzie scores late in the second. Ottawa just wouldn?t let up. They get one early in the third. 5-4. Still down with a couple minutes left. Take a penalty. It looks really bad right there. Really bad. Reall...?

 

Tones ring out as Lindy?s voice trails off and his body slumps. A mechanical voice announces some code or another. Unfazed, Jarrode delivers another wanding treatment. The tones stop. The recording shuts off. Lindy straightens up, smooths out what is left of his wispy white hair.

 

?Are you all right??

 

?That thing inside me is a joke.?

 

?It?s keeping you alive.?

 

?It?s the only thing... I?m going to my room.?

 

?No, the story is just getting there. Keep going.?

 

Lindy nods but seems mixed up. He appears to be counting on his fingers.

 

?Four...five... Yeah. Yeah. On the PK, Derek, he steals the puck from this kid defenseman, passes to Timmy. Two on one. Emery doesn?t know if Timmy is going to shoot or pass. Frozen, a deer in the headlights. Well, Timmy passes and Royzie buries it. 5-5.?

 

?Dazzy.?

 

?Yeah, dazzy. I tell the boys to settle down, we?re still shorthanded. Man, the Senators are dangerous. Come right back 24 seconds later.?

 

Ruff slams his hand on the padded arm of the chair. Jarrode is startled.

 

?Son of a bitch. Three of our boys went right to Alfredsson, a real hockey schmozzle. I call a timeout to get our heads together. We pull Miller for the extra attacker.?

 

Jarrode understands little ? not the strange names, not the hockey terms ? but nods, afraid to interrupt again.

 

?Danny Briere hasn?t had much of a game, is sick as a dog. Makes a huge play, sends the puck out front. Emery can?t grab it. The damnedest thing. Timmy swipes it on his backhand, roofs it top shelf. 10.7 seconds to go in the third. 6-6. Dazzy goal.?

 

Jarrode smiles. He notices his palms are getting sweaty and laughs at himself for actually getting into this senile old man?s story, most of it probably imagined. But the details are amazing, and he wonders if Lindy isn?t pulling one over on the staff when he pretends to be out of it.

 

?So, it?s overtime. Right off the hop, the Ottawa defenseman is coming out of his zone when he loses control of the puck, just about spins himself into the ice. Never saw anything like it. In a flash, Grierzie takes it away and gives it to Drury...?

 

?The guy who shared the captain?s seat??

 

Lindy just shakes his head.

 

?...Wrists it past Emery from the left circle to win the game. Eighteen seconds. Just like the season. Never say die. They say it was a wet spot on the ice that messed up the defenseman. I think it was the Hockey Gods.?

 

Lindy sniffs.

 

?They still remember that game in Buffalo. Ask anyone up there about The Ottawa Game. They?ll know. They cherish that game. For us it was just the beginning though. Knew deep down after that game we had something special going on.?

 

?So I take it you were prevalent in the -- what did you call it? -- the series??

 

Lindy maneuvers his chair so he faces Jarrode again, and winks. Without saying a word, he glides back to his residential space, pulls up in front of the window and starts watching the rain drops trace out odd man breaks.

 

Jarrode can?t help but follow, stopping in the doorway.

 

?But did you win the Stanley Cup?? There is no answer, and Jarrode figures the old man?s hearing is shot, too.

 

A fellow PCF walks past. ?He?s in his special place,? she says. ?It?s what his family calls it. He just... goes away. But he?s happy.?

 

Jarrode sees the reflection of Lindy?s face in the rain-streaked glass. Sure enough, he?s grinning, ear to ear.

 

Lindy spins his chair around.

 

?Hey kid.?

 

Lindy puts out his hand, and Jarrode steps closer.

 

?It?s a wonder to meet you too.?

 

They shake. The old man?s grip is iron. Jarrode feels something pressing into his hand so hard it hurts.

 

?There?s your answer,? Lindy says, sticking his tongue in his cheek.

 

Jarrode doesn?t understand.

 

?And, oh yeah, today is July 23, 2063. That day was May 5, 2006. Anything else you want to know??

[PTS]

I cried, I laughed, I cried again.

 

Good stuff.

[BuffalOhio]

Great story! I got chills reading it and imagining....

[nfreeman]

Holy cow. Ernest Hemingway is a Sabres fan!

 

Now I'm really ready for tonight.

[PASabreFan]

Hemingway!? That hack!