In the morning, Kelly Block immediately began to work on building “team chemistry.” He had the Screech Owls take turns standing on the chair and falling backwards; they knew that when they fell, someone–a teammate–would be there to catch them. Even Nish managed to shut his eyes and fall back, first into Andy’s arms and then Simon’s, once he’d seen Sarah and Travis and Lars and Dmitri and Derek and Liz do the same without so much as a nervous tremor.

Travis was beginning to understand what Block was up to. When the sports psychologist talked about a team being like a chain, and “only as strong as its weakest link,” Travis could see how that made sense on a hockey team. It was fine to have puck-carriers and goal-scorers, but unless there was a solid defence to back them up, the game would become more like basketball–last shot wins. And it was fine to have forwards who were good in front of the net, but unless there were forwards who were also good in the corners, the puck was never going to get to the front of the net. And as for the goalie, well, that was the most important position of all, wasn’t it? Travis didn’t think there was a position in all of sports–not baseball pitcher, not even football quarterback–that had as much pressure as goaltender. Pitchers didn’t have to play every game, or even every second game. And there was no coach on the sidelines to send in plays to a goaltender the way they did in football.

To reinforce his “link” theory, and to get the Owls depending on each other off the ice as well as on, Block had a few more exercises for them to try. The best involved a nearby creek that emptied into the Red Deer River, a creek that was now swollen with the runoff from the recently snow-covered hills. Block had them build a “bridge” to get across it. He put half the team on one side of the creek, and half the team on the other. They had to assemble a platform on each side using logs and boards, fitting and clamping them together without the aid of plans. Then they had to figure out how to get a cable across from one platform to the other so that one of the Owls could cross the creek. They tried throwing the cable across, but the creek was too wide and the line fell short. On Nish’s suggestion, they tried tying one end of the cable to a hammer and then throwing it again. But the hammer was too heavy. It plunged into the water and very nearly snagged the cable permanently on the bottom.

“Not very bright, Nishikawa!” Kelly Block called out from the other side of the water.

Data finally came up with the solution. There was a sharp bend in the creek farther up towards the hills. Data suggested that the team with the cable pay enough of it out to span the creek, strap the remaining coils to a board, and carry it up above the bend so that the flow of the water would carry it across the creek as it rounded the corner.

“Now that’s using your head!” Kelly Block called over.

“I’d like use this hammer on his head!” Nish hissed as he stood by Travis, watching the coils of cable head for the other bank.

Once the cable was across, they were able to mount it like a clothesline, running from one platform to the other. And finally, the Owls on Travis’s side figured out how to fit little Simon Milliken into a safety harness and hang him from a sort of “roller skate” device they had fitted onto the cable. His teammates hoisted him up and launched him over the creek, little Simon sliding easily over the tumbling waters as Screech Owls on both sides cheered him on.

“Now that,” a proud Kelly Block announced, “is teamwork.”

It was, too. Travis felt great about what they had accomplished. They had been given a complicated problem and together they had solved it. Liz and Jesse had seen how to put the platforms together. Data had figured out how to get the cable across. Travis and Nish had worked on how to mount the cable onto the platforms. Jesse and Wilson had connected it all. Sarah had known how to work the safety harness. And Simon had flown over the river into the arms of the Owls on the other side–who had then used the same equipment to send Lars back.

“There was another way,” Nish grumbled when all the team was once again gathered together.

“And what was that?” asked Kelly Block, suddenly interested.

Nish pointed up the slope, where a concrete bridge spanned the same swollen creek. “We could have driven.”

Several of the Owls giggled, but Kelly Block just grimaced. Obviously, he and Nish weren’t on the same wavelength when it came to humour–or, for that matter, hockey or anything else. If Block was looking for an example of “bad chemistry,” Travis thought, he needed look no further than to Block himself and poor Nish.

Travis knew what was going on. He’d seen it too many times before. Nish was caught in a disaster of his own making. He was digging himself in deeper and deeper, desperately hoping his humour would spring him free when, in fact, it was only making matters worse.

Travis thought that perhaps Nish’s luck had turned when Kelly Block announced that he was going to begin one-on-one sessions with the players. They were going to work on self-esteem and concentration and focus, and he was going to teach them some special “envisioning” techniques.

Those Owls who closely followed the NHL knew about “envisioning” and were excited by the prospect of learning how to do it themselves. Paul Kariya, who was idolized by many of the Owls–especially Nish, who still claimed Kariya was a distant “cousin”–was famous for his ability to concentrate fully on the game at hand. Even before a game began, he could “see” the way it would be played, and to the Screech Owls this ability was almost as impressive as his ability to skate so fast and shoot so quickly.

“We’re going to do this step by step,” Kelly Block announced. “We’ll work on those things that distract you and keep you from being the player you can be, and then we’re going to work on clearing your mind of everything but the game. We all start envisioning the same game; we all start playing the same game. And that’s where proper team chemistry begins–up here.” Block tapped his forefinger against his right temple and spun slowly around on his heels so the point was made to every person in the room.

“I’ve drawn up a list of players in the order I’d like to meet with you,” Block said. “You’ll find it tacked up at the end of the hall.”

The Owls rushed away to see, as if they were racing to slap a teammate who had just scored. Everyone wanted to know when they were going to start learning how to “envision.” And everybody wanted to know who was going first.

The most surprised player of all, when they saw the list, was the one whose name was at the very top.

Wayne Nishikawa.

 

Travis was in his room, changing, when Nish burst in from his session with Kelly Block.

“This guy is a certifiable class-A nut!” Nish shouted, flopping backwards onto his unmade bed.

“Whadya mean?”

Nish sat up, his face red and flustered. “Okay,” he said, “we go over my ‘psychological profile,’ right?”

“Right.”

“He says I’m an insecure kid who has no sense of himself and doesn’t even like himself. That’s crap! I LOVE myself!”

Travis couldn’t argue with Nish. But he couldn’t really argue with Kelly Block, either. The truth, he figured, was somewhere in between.

“He wants me to refocus. He says I play the wrong position for my personality. He says I’m a natural forward and that Muck has messed me up by having me always back on defence.”

Travis shook his head in sympathy. “You’ve always played defence. Muck didn’t put you there. He just kept you there.”

“I know that. But this lunatic says that I have these needs that would make me a great forward. I need recognition. I need to be the star. I need to hear my name coming over the public-address system.”

All true, Travis thought to himself. But he said nothing. And Nish didn’t seem to see any truth in it. He continued, unaware that Travis was stifling a smile.

“So he says he’s going to teach me how to ‘envision’ playing forward. He has me lie down on a couch while he plays this stupid sleepy music like my mother plays, and he tells me to close my eyes while he talks.”

“Did you?”

“You have to–wait’ll you get in there with him. It’s creepy. He’s a wacko!”

“Maybe.”

“He sits there talking like he’s me. You wouldn’t believe it! He’s sitting there saying, ‘I want people to like me. I know my role on the team is to be the funny guy and make people laugh, but I don’t really want to do that–’”

“But you do, too!”

“I know that. But he’s being me, and he’s not doing a very good job, okay. He’s saying, ‘I want to be Wayne Nishikawa, team leader. I want to be Wayne Nishikawa, good friend. I want to be Wayne Nishikawa, good person’–That’s him speaking, not me. I just want to be Nish, and I’m not too crazy about being a good person!”

“What then?”

“What then? I don’t know. I fell asleep.”

Travis couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh. “You fell asleep?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“How could you?”

“It was hot in there. And he had that awful music on. And he was getting pretty boring–”

“You fell asleep!” Travis repeated, delighted.

“Big deal. I’m awake now.”

“Where was he when you woke up?”

“I don’t know. Gone.”

“He was gone?”

“Yeah. So?”

Travis couldn’t believe it. Here was Kelly Block, trying to do what he was being paid to do, trying to do what he was supposed to be an expert in, and the kid he’s working on falls fast asleep when he’s talking to him.

“He must hate your guts,” Travis said.

“Then we’re even,” Nish said. “Because I hate his.”