(no subject)
It was inevitable, really. Right?
Everyone knew. I gave an intervew before I left. I didn't say anything, but I didn't need to. I had said it all before. Months, years. It was only a matter of time. Right?
I came home. Gave more interviews. (We play for two and a half hours and are grilled for 15 hours. I didn't play at all and was interviewed for days) I had a physical. Everyone nodded their heads; they winked at me as I walked by. Of course, of course, of course. Nobody thought otherwise. There was no other choice. Because, really, this was the way things were supposed to end up. Right?
I hadn't even thought about it. I didn't even speak to my pa about it. It was just assumed that afterwards, after the season--no matter when it ended, that I would retrurn home. And stay there.
I never felt more awful, than the day after when they medically cleared me. Because now I was expected to accept their offer. Any offer. Because it wasn't about the money for me. Never about the contract. Because I was coming home. Staying for all the right reasons.
There had been articles about my smile. True enough, I was. Smiling. More than I had all season. Because I was home, and I was with my family, and there is something that home and family can give you that nobody else can. Almost nothing can compete.
But then.
I never thought that I'd be sitting there torn. Of course, I would miss the NHL. My chance at the Cup. Of course. But everything was supposed to outweigh that. Supposed to be blinded by my home town's beaches--the glare off the water, and my daughter's smile. I wouldn't miss what I couldn't see. Fond memories at best, right? No longing. No real burning desire. I mean, this was what I was supposed to do. Sign with Lulea, right?
And yet--
I found myself wishing I wasn't so predictable.
Everyone knew. I gave an intervew before I left. I didn't say anything, but I didn't need to. I had said it all before. Months, years. It was only a matter of time. Right?
I came home. Gave more interviews. (We play for two and a half hours and are grilled for 15 hours. I didn't play at all and was interviewed for days) I had a physical. Everyone nodded their heads; they winked at me as I walked by. Of course, of course, of course. Nobody thought otherwise. There was no other choice. Because, really, this was the way things were supposed to end up. Right?
I hadn't even thought about it. I didn't even speak to my pa about it. It was just assumed that afterwards, after the season--no matter when it ended, that I would retrurn home. And stay there.
I never felt more awful, than the day after when they medically cleared me. Because now I was expected to accept their offer. Any offer. Because it wasn't about the money for me. Never about the contract. Because I was coming home. Staying for all the right reasons.
There had been articles about my smile. True enough, I was. Smiling. More than I had all season. Because I was home, and I was with my family, and there is something that home and family can give you that nobody else can. Almost nothing can compete.
But then.
I never thought that I'd be sitting there torn. Of course, I would miss the NHL. My chance at the Cup. Of course. But everything was supposed to outweigh that. Supposed to be blinded by my home town's beaches--the glare off the water, and my daughter's smile. I wouldn't miss what I couldn't see. Fond memories at best, right? No longing. No real burning desire. I mean, this was what I was supposed to do. Sign with Lulea, right?
And yet--
I found myself wishing I wasn't so predictable.