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Too Many Men on the Ice?

Follow Sophie Fournier as she becomes the first woman drafted into the North American Hockey League. Available at NineStar Press and Amazon

Sophie Fournier is the first woman drafted into the North American Hockey League. Playing hockey is something she’s done all her life, but she faces new challenges as she finds her place on the struggling Concord Condors. She has to prove herself better than her rival-turned-teammate, Michael Hayes, and her rival-turned-friend, Dmitri Ivanov, and she has to do it all with a smile. If she’s successful then she opens the door to other women being drafted. She can’t afford to think about what happens if she fails. All she knows is this: if she’s not the best then she doesn’t get to play. No pressure, though.

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The Making of Sophie Fournier: 1

A Snapshot of Sophie’s Childhood

Growing up in Montreal, hockey was a way of life. Trading cards served as currency in grade school, trick shots were a way to move up the popularity ladder, and being able to recite the Mammoths’ roster was a necessity.

On Sundays, if there was an early afternoon game, Pierre was allowed to wear his jersey to church, and his maman would fill a crock pot and bring it with them to plug in while Pierre had to sit on an uncomfortable pew. But after the sermon, everyone piled into the basement to eat and watch the game.

It was the only time anyone was allowed to swear in church.

Pierre played hockey, because everyone played. He wasn’t particularly talented, though. His maman told him elite athletes need two things; talent and drive. He had plenty of the latter but not enough of the former.

Colby, his firstborn, shows promise as a goalie, but he doesn’t have the drive to take his talent to the next level. Pierre blames himself for it, and he’s determined not to make the same mistake with Sophie. While Colby shows flashes of greatness, Sophie’s a natural from the first time she puts skates on. But her path is going to be a tough one, and she’ll need thick skin and an indomitable will to make it.

Sophie’s grows up watching the Montreal Mammoths’ dominant Cup run on the thick rug of her grandparents’ living room. Her first word was, “Cup” spoken as the Maple Cup was lifted high, lights from the arena flashing off the metal.

Pierre knew then his daughter was going to be a great hockey player.

Sophie still doesn’t understand what it would mean for her to play in the NAHL, but she knows she wants to lift the Cup the way Bobby Brindle did, year after year. Pierre knows how difficult it will be for Sophie to play in the NAHL which isn’t co-ed yet like many of its European counterparts. He knows there’s a possibility she could be the first girl to play in the NAHL, and he knows it’s up to him to prepare her.

Given the choice, Sophie wouldn’t do anything besides skate and sleep, and he can use that.

Pierre stands on the front step, hands tucked into his pockets as Colby and Sophie play in the driveway.  Colby’s in partial gear as he guards the net, and Sophie’s focused as she attacks, drawing Colby away from his goal then going around him and tapping the ball in, easy as anything.

She’s even better on the ice, but this is good practice.

“Score on the next one,” Pierre says.

Colby tosses Sophie the bright orange ball and Sophie carries it back to the end of their driveway. She comes at the net from the side, but when she gets close, the ball rolls off the curve of her stick. She gathers it back, but her shot’s shaky, and Colby stops it with ease.

“Time to come in,” Pierre says.

Sophie turns her head, mouth falling open in outrage. “But we just got outside!”

“You should’ve scored.”

Sophie’s eyes, big and blue like her mother’s, fill with tears. It’s something they’re going to have to work on, the way she cries so easily. “But hockey,” she says, longing.

Pierre drops down to one knee and beckons Sophie to him. She drags her feet on the ground and her stick behind her, but she stops in front of her dad, cheeks flushed from the sun. “If you’re not the best then you don’t get to play. Do you understand?”

Sophie nods, serious, but Pierre knows she doesn’t understand yet. She will though, he’ll make sure of it.

Pierre pats her head, and says, “You can do stick drills inside or you can work with the reflex ball, but no more street hockey until tomorrow.”

“But--”

“What did I just tell you?”

“If I’m not the best then I don’t get to play,” she dutifully repeats back. “If I work hard in the basement, maybe I’ll score that one tomorrow?”

“I want you to be the best you can be.”

“Okay.”

Sophie waves to her brother then goes inside the house.

“Who am I going to play with now?” Colby asks.

“Let me get my stick,” Pierre answers.

They only play for half an hour, Colby’s eyebrows pulling together with each shot Pierre takes until there’s a permanent frown on his face. He gets sloppy with his glove, but Colby’s always been harder to motivate than Sophie.

When Pierre says, “Alright, pack it in,” Colby goes without complaint. He looks relieved be be sent inside.

Inside, Ellen clasps her son’s head between her hands and drops a kiss to his forehead before she tells him, “Dinner’s on the table. I was about to get you.”

“Yes, Mom.” Colby wriggles out of her hands and slips into the kitchen.

And then Ellen turns to her husband, hands planted on her hips. “You want to tell me why our daughter said she couldn’t come up to dinner until she was ‘the best’?”

“She’s practicing,” Pierre says.

“You sent her inside for missing a goal?” Ellen keeps her voice down, but she’s angry all the same. “She was playing with her brother. The game is about fun.”

“She needs to learn now if she’s not good enough she won’t get to play.”

“She’s six!”

“Do you want her to learn when she’s thirteen and it’s too late? When she’s fifteen? When she’s pinned her dreams on the NAHL, and they don’t invite her to the draft? She has to be the best, Ellen, and I think she can be.”

Ellen’s eyes narrow. “Her dreams, Pierre? Or yours?”

Ellen overcooks his chicken, but the extra chewiness is worth it when, tomorrow, Sophie scores on all three of her make it or come inside shots.

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NAHL: At a Glance

North American Hockey League 

1920-1921: Canadian Hockey League Inaugural Season 

1925-1926: First American teams added to the League

1945-1946: Canadian Hockey League becomes the North American Hockey League

1995-1996: Last Expansion Draft (League is up to 32 teams across Canada and the United States)

2011-2012: First woman drafted into the NAHL

2020-2021: The Centennial Season of the NAHL

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There’s a paradox in thinking that you’re better than other girls, when your whole reason for feeling that way is because you think your gender is so inherently inferior that you want to dis-identify with being a girl altogether.

More Than Words: Tomboys R Us

THIS whenever some girl brags about being “one of the boys” or says something like “I’m not like other girls, I LOVE [stereotypically masculine thing].”

(via giraffodill)

I want to add that I TOTALLY understand if you’ve done this and you don’t need to feel stupid for it. In my experience, many (most?) people who can sense an imbalance between genders start here. It seems to make sense when you’re first grappling with the idea that women are treated differently - girls get made fun of for X, and you don’t do X, so you’re not like other girls, the ones who are holding all girls back. A lot of people fall into the trap of thinking that because people have a problem with, for example, girls who like boy bands, that the thing that needs to change is girls liking boy bands and not people judging the value of girls based on whether they like boy bands.

I’m not saying it’s an okay thing to think, and once you realize you’re doing it you should do some work on yourself to get rid of the thinking that says there is a right way to be a girl. But you don’t need to beat yourself to a pulp over it, because internalized anything really is an easy trap to fall into.

(via

coffeebuddha

)

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soft hands is my favourite hockey phrase because it makes it sound like a regular moisturizing routine is the key to playing good hockey

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things girls do that I love:

offer their friends sips of their coffee drinks without being asked

scratch each others back

say things like “smell this lotion I bought this weekend”

compliment each other’s eyebrows 

that thing when they agree with you and their eyes get really wide and they nod their head solemnly 

throw out each others gum wrappers or chip bags when they get up 

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fictional kiss things that end me

being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward

one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other

pressing their foreheads together while kissing

speaking normally, then after the kiss their voice is hoarse

guys furrowing their brow when kissing passionately

staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

running their thumb over the other’s lips

when they lean forward a fraction as if to kiss the other person, then realize they shouldn’t and pull back to stop themselves

ripping the other away - “no we shouldn’t” - but when they kiss them again they moan and hold them close

one sliding their hand into the other’s hair slowly

their entire body freezing for a second when their love kisses them

accidentally being forced inches apart from each other, staring at each other’s lips, and just before they kiss someone pulls them back apart

when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more

a hoarse whisper “kiss me”

then licks their lips and says “please”