Rating: PG
Original Date of Completion: December 2002
Disclaimer: I own Megan Lindsay and she's not to be used by anyone other than me for any reason. This is still 100% fake, conjured in the confines of my demented little mind. So yeah, don't sue me.
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Inside of a tiny studio apartment, a woman lay sprawled on her sofa, staring sleepily at the television before her. On the screen played images of days gone by, grainy, miscolored footage portraying events that had been long since burned into her memory. She knew every movement, every sound, every line and fleck of video that played across the screen better than she knew even herself. The events she watched had played like the background music for her entire life. They had helped shape her into the woman she had become; essentially, they were her oldest and dearest friends, her sweetest, most fondest memories. She had turned to them in childhood for comfort, in adolescence with grief, and now in adulthood for solace. And each time they were there, shining and happy, to give her whatever she needed, and bring a smile to her face. Just like any good friend would do.
"Here comes Quickdraw blazing down the left wing side!" A gravely voice spoke excitedly from the TV, as images of a man gliding swiftly down a barren stretch of ice played across the screen.
Noise coming from the TV grew in volume. The excited chatter of the crowd increased as they watched the man speed along the ice, in what was to everyone watching on that date so long ago, the most important hockey game of all time. The year was 1962, and the hockey game was a Stanley Cup Final. The Toronto Maple Leafs met the Chicago Blackhawks in a best of five series. The man charging down the ice, garnering excited cheers and angered boos from the crowd wore proudly a Maple Leaf on his chest, and a C on his shoulder. His name was Jesse James, but to all but his parents he was known as "Quickdraw"; a nickname garnered from his trademark "gun shot", a shot with blinding speed that could almost at will beat an opposing goaltender. For 10 years to that point, he had used that shot, along with a vast array of others to lead the Maple Leafs to many a victory, but never to a Stanley Cup. On that day however, all of that changed, and the legacy of "Quickdraw" Jesse James was written forever in the annals of National Hockey League history.
Outside of the television, the year was 2000. The game playing on screen had been long forgotten by most; perhaps all except for the woman who laid watching it now. She had been only seven years old the first time she had seen that game, but still now she was as riveted as she had been back then, watching the game curled up on the lap of her father. His reactions to each moment, the emotions he'd shown throughout the course of that game had bore in her a love for the game of hockey, a love that still burned as intensely as ever, over 20 years since she had first seen that game. For twenty years she had watched the sport of hockey, witnessing a plethora of amazing moments, but none good enough to dethrone that one game from it's spot at number one in her heart. There would be no moment that ever could, because there would never be another moment as sweet as watching "Quickdraw" Jesse James score the Stanley Cup clinching goal in triple overtime, to lead his Maple Leafs to ultimate victory.
After all, it's not every day you get to watch your father score the winning goal for hockey's top prize.
“Here comes Quickdraw in on Hall!” The gravely voice gained in excitement as Quickdraw neared the net.
Those in attendance were all on their feet in anticipation; the woman watching it all on TV moved to the edge of her seat. She had seen it countless times before, but it never lost it’s edge. As Quickdraw drew back his stick in preparation for his shot, she sucked in a deep breath, and the words she knew to come next began to play in her mind.
“Quickdraw with the spin, gun shot, score!”
That was the last to be heard from the gravely voice, belonging to the Maple Leaf play-by-play analyst. As the celebration for the Stanley Cup win began, the soundtrack of the video degenerated to nothing but celebratory shouting, from both the crowd and commentators. The woman watching sat back with a smile on her face, almost laughing to herself as the legendary Glenn Hall picked himself up from the ice and angrily kicked the puck from the net. When her father bent down and picked the slab of rubber from the ice, tears began to prick at her eyes. Sighing softly, she reached beside her for the remote control, and quickly put a halt the video. She knew if it continued to play, she would wind up enveloped in sobs. Her reactions to the video hadn’t changed once in all the times she had watched it. She could run the full gauntlet of emotions through the course of that game; most times that was exactly what she wanted. But today she had turned to the video to calm her frazzled nerves, before she embarked on a journey some would say was a lifetime in the making.
Her name was Megan Lindsay, but she had been born Megan James, in Farmington, Michigan in January of 1974. At the time of her birth, her father was entering his second year of coaching, with the Detroit Red Wings. The first five years of Megan's life were spent in suburban Detroit, watching her father coach a mediocre team to little success, but not understanding one bit of what she saw. It wasn't until her father moved on, to the New York Islanders, that she began to understand the game, and what it meant to him. It had been in New York where she had first seen that 1962 Cup Final, days before her father coached his team to the first of four back-to-back championships. Her love of the game began that day, and continued to grow throughout the six years their family spent in Long Island, and the three spent in Edmonton. The final year of her father's career had been spent in Toronto, the place where his playing legacy had been written. He had inherited a less than stellar team; but it mattered not to him, as he was once again a Maple Leaf. He led his team that year to the top of their conference, before a brain aneurysm ended his life before the playoffs even began. He was 56-years-old, Megan was but 16.
She had been devastated, spiraling into a deep depression, that had required brief hospitalization. Her mother had blamed hockey for her father's death. Too much activity and too much stress for a man his age, she had said. That had sent Megan questioning her own love for the game; if hockey had been the thing to take her father from her, she wanted nothing to do with it. She had vowed at some point in her grief never to put skates on again, and to never be involved with the sport in any way. Her mother had been thrilled to hear it, but her older brother had been dismayed. It was he who reminded her of that 1962 final, and with one viewing the vow she had made was shattered. That winter she re-donned skates, and like her father and brother before her, began a career in hockey.
Essentially, her career in hockey began today, though it was nowhere near the level of her father, nor her brother. At 18, her father had been a star player for the Toronto Maple Leafs, and had stayed that way until 32, when he was traded to Montreal, where he remained a star player until his retirement; at 18, her brother was drafted 1st overall by the Los Angeles Kings, where he would play all of his 12 year career, before a boating accident left him paralyzed from the waist down and confined to a wheel chair. At 18, Megan herself had been a star hockey player, for Michigan State University and the newly formed CCWHA. She played for MSU until her graduation, at which point she had moved to Europe in hopes of going pro. Those hopes never became much more, but while there she received training that was today aiding her in her new hockey career. She had stuck with her pro dreams for two years, before a call from the United States Women's Olympic team had brought her back to the US, then to Nagano, Japan. That had been the opportunity she had waited a lifetime for. But what she had thought was a blessing, in the end became a nightmare.
Her playing career had ended in Nagano, in a game against Team Germany. A vicious, illegal hit had sent her tumbling into the benches, tearing to shreds her knee, and shattering her ankle. She had spent the rest of the Olympic tournament in America, heavily sedated, in and out of various surgeries to repair the damage she had incurred. The tournament ended without her knowing; she wasn't even able to see her teammates take home the gold. Two months later, her medal arrived via FedEx; she had missed all the excitement, all the celebrations, all of the glory. Not long after that, she received the official word that her career was over. And without so much as an announcement in her local newspaper, she ended her playing career.
But her hockey career was far from over, it was simply on hiatus until the right opportunity presented itself. That opportunity had taken two years to show, but it had finally came, in the form of a job with the Calgary Flames, as massage therapist. It was far from a glamourous job, but Megan only saw the bottom line; it was a job in hockey. As far as she was concerned, she could've been sweeping floors for the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim, as long as she was working in "the family business." She had grown up with the sport of hockey, the love of it had been transfused into her blood long ago; the only time she really felt whole was when she around the game. Massage therapist was far from her dream, but it was more than she could've hoped for at this point in her life.
Little did she know, her hopes were on the lowest rung of a ladder she was destined to climb. She was hockey royalty, deserving of more than the title of massage therapist; her family held the keys to the hockey Royal Throne, but before she could claim it as her own, she had to show her worth. Not in the role of a player, but in a role of just as much importance. All she needed to do so was assistance from a few notable contributors, to begin her journey to her rightful spot a top the hockey world, as an NHL Head Coach. Megan Lindsay was none the wiser of her destiny, it had been written in the stars the day she was born. The love of the game had been instilled in her in childhood, but the knowledge of it, and the uncanny ability to see it like no other could was something she had been born with. All that remained to be seen was if she could make use of the gifts she'd been given. From her first breath, she was earmarked to change sports, and the world forever. The opportunity to do so was written to her in fate, in the destiny of Megan James written on January 18, 1974. Why she had been chosen was a question that only the heavens held the answer to. Some would call it fate, some would call it family connections, some would call it ludicrous; most however, would just call it luck.
All the while thinking this is the good luck
Stays with her most of the time
It takes time to make these machines work
People are so unkind
People are so unkind
She looks in the mirror
To make sure she’s here
Counting Crows “Good Luck”
Used Without permission
© 2003 Triple X
