No surprise there. Maddison’s wife, Logan, is one of my closest friends
and probably the most capable person I know. They’re my only friends who
have kids, but their family of four has become my extended family. Their
daughter calls me Uncle Zee, and I refer to their kids as my niece and
nephew, regardless of the lack of blood ties between us. Their dad is my
best friend and practically my brother at this point.
Which wasn’t always the case.
Eli Maddison was once my most hated rival while we were growing up.
We were both raised in Indiana, playing travel hockey for two different
teams. He was the golden boy who got everything he ever wanted, and it
annoyed the shit out of me. His life was perfect. His family was perfect, and
mine was anything but.
Then he went on to play for the University of Minnesota while I played
for Ohio State, and our childhood rivalry turned into a heated five years of
college hockey. I had some family stuff going on at the time, and I took all
my anger out on the ice. Maddison ended up being the recipient of my shit
when I threw him into the boards with a dirty hit early in our college years.
I fucked his ankle up enough to pull him out of his sophomore season and,
subsequently, the NHL draft.
Ironically enough, I also had to sit out my sophomore year, thanks to a
few classes I was failing.
He hated me for it, and I hated myself for a whole lot of other reasons.
Then I started going to therapy. Religiously. I worked on my shit, and
by our senior year, Maddison and I were the best of friends. We still played
for different teams, but we respected each other and found common ground
through our mental health struggles. He dealt with anxiety and panic
attacks, and I dealt with so much bitter anger it would result in panic attacks
simply because it would consume me, blinding me from reality.
And as fate would have it, Eli Maddison and I landed on the same team
here in Chicago, playing professional hockey for the Raptors. This season is
the start of my seventh pro year, and I couldn’t imagine playing anywhere
else.
Which is why I need to make sure I get re-signed when my contract is
up at the end of the season.
“Scott, did we get a new plane?” I ask one of our team managers,
walking ahead of us.