Listen to this audio and imagine yourself at a pub with your mates. This song, your song, written by you, plays on a loop from the time you walk through the door. Why? Because meta. You excuse yourself to the washroom and stare at your reflection until you work up the courage to get absolutely plastered. “You can do this.” You tell yourself and walk out before you have a chance to think rationally and run back home. You put on a brave face, and run back to your mates and proceed to knock back shot after shot of tequila. Now the real fun can begin.
listen do you guys know how great it is that trevor daley won another cup!!! i come from the same neighbourhood that he grew up in and there has never been enough funding to support hockey in communities full of primarily children of colour like ours, so you can imagine how all the kids here have been in love him ever since he, a person of colour playing hockey, brought the cup here last year!! there aren’t a lot of athletes or role models coming out of regent park let alone be 2-time champs!! representation matters and you don’t have to be a pens stan to support the success of black hockey players!!!
If you're still looking for prompts: physically disabled Jack playing sled hockey. Bonus points for trying to teach Bob. Thanks!
“Stop making fun of your father and get over here,” Alicia yells, slapping her sticks against the ice. “When he finally figures it out you’re doomed, might as well score now!”
But Jack doesn’t move because he’s laughing so hard he’s actually crying. “How are you a living legend? You can’t even balance on a sledge!”
Bob pushes himself upright and nearly falls over on his other hip. Under normal circumstances, he’d be embarrassed, so clearly struggling before an entire wedding party's worth of current and former NHLers, but this is a unique circumstance. He’ll happily play the part of the fool, today, or forever, really, if it means he can see Jack smile like this on a regular basis.
“We – ” Jack gasps for breath, shaking so hard he might topple himself, “– we can’t play if Papa can’t skate.”
Alicia streaks past, still radiant in her makeup from the morning’s ceremony. “Bobby, even I’m better at this than you. How is that possible?”
“You are ruthless,” Bob breathes, watching his wife circle him, “and you’re on my team! Is anyone else seeing this? Eric! Have some compassion and come help your father-in-law!”
Bitty, who up to this point has been taking easy laps with his parents, breaks away only to be quickly intercepted by Jack.
“Oh, no, it’s only been six hours, you can’t start playing the father-in-law card.”
Shitty quickly shoots between them, “Make it quick, gentleman, Bitty’s mom is brutal. She’s laid out Tater twice.”
“What’s the point of you getting married if I can’t abuse the relationship for personal gain? You helped Richard, you traitor, so your husband can help me.” Bob argues, propping himself up with his hands instead of the sticks.
“I didn’t think you’d need the help,” Jack grins, switching to French and sliding up beside his father, “you’re supposed to be the best.”
“Ah, well, one too many concussions and my balance isn’t quite what it used to be.” Bob looks up from the ice in time to catch Jack’s smile falter.
“Are you feeling alright? Is your vertigo back?”
Christ. He didn’t want to make this about him; any latent injury of Bob’s was dwarfed a long time ago by Jack’s accident, not that this is anything close to a competition. He shakes his head and holds out his arm so Jack can hold him stable.
“I’m more than alright, just old and jaded, watching all you handsome young bucks skate circles around me.”
Jack laughs and Bob watches his gaze flit back to Eric, who’s carefully coiffed hair is finally falling out of place as he tries to keep his mother from ramming her sledge into Alexei Mashkov.
“Lean forward a bit, center your weight around your hips,” Jack explains, pressing a hand against Bob’s lower-back. “Not too far, use your sticks to move forward, it’s easier to balance when you’re in motion.”
Bob is struck suddenly by a sense of deja-vu; remembering how easy it had been to teach Jack to skate nearly thirty years earlier. Or how easy it had seemed to a Stanley Cup champion. Jack must have felt exactly how Bob does now, unsteady and unsure.
“There you go,” Jack says brightly once Bob has centered himself. “See? Not so hard after all. Now you just have to score.”
Jack pulls a puck from between his thighs and tosses it onto the ice. Bob moves to pass it and promptly finds himself lying back on his side.
“This is just like the time I tried snowboarding,” Bob groans. “Had to scoot down the mountain on my ass.”
“Can we make new teams?” Alicia asks. “This doesn’t feel fair.”
Jack snorts a laugh and pulls Bob upright again. “C’mon, Papa, you’ll have this down in no time. Can’t let Maman get bragging rights, she’ll never let you live it down.”