We agreed to meet at Mario’s, a bar and grill that opened fifteen years ago, owned by a famous former Pittsburgh Titans player named Mario Fontaine. After he retired, he stayed in the city rather than return to his hometown of Montreal, and he now owns a number of businesses and does a lot of philanthropic work. The restaurant, located between the arena and the baseball field, is normally so packed on game nights, it’s practically impossible to get in. But Baden apparently has clout, and he made reservations, assuring us we would have a table awaiting our arrival.
I give the hostess Baden’s name and she acts as if she’s been waiting all evening for us. She welcomes us graciously and shows us to a high-top table that borders the bar and restaurant area. While we wait for our waitress, we talk about the game.
As a lifelong fan—and I mean, I was raised on Pittsburgh sports from the time I could speak—it was thrilling to be at the first game after the plane disaster. I’ve been to many games in that arena, as well as to football and baseball games, but nothing has ever been as incredibly emotional and exhilarating. Not even when we were in the playoffs.
And even though we lost, every single fan there left satisfied.
The loss wasn’t hard to swallow by any means. It wasn’t a blowout, and our team held tough. The final score was 4–1, and admittedly, our new goalie was a little shaky, but they played their hearts out. If not for a couple of unlucky breaks, the score would’ve been closer.
I can’t wait to hear Baden’s take on it all. He’d confided in me that Patrik had outperformed Jesper in practice this week and got the call to start in net. But Baden felt that Jesper would do well, too, as his mentality is better suited for the stress of the position.
Regardless of the loss, I think all would have to admit the team played well considering they were just pieced together. The only goal came from veteran player—straight out of retirement—Gage Heyward. Surprisingly, our best player, Coen Highsmith, underperformed across the board. Not only did he not have a point to his name this evening, he didn’t even come close to getting a point. Our star center looked sluggish and dull. The fan favorite, known for his incredible energy, disarming smile, and roguish antics, was nowhere to be seen. I expect that might be due to an emotional component, but it’s so hard to tell. Maybe Coen was only good because of the people he played with. Maybe without the players who died on that plane, Coen isn’t going to be good at all.
So many unknowns.
But this is also what makes things exciting for the city. Pittsburgh was built on the backs of steelworkers, a breed known for their determination, strength, and grit. An unwillingness to quit is the spirit that embodies the character of the city. It is what we expect of the team out on the ice.
While we would like a winning team—one that looks like the Titans we had before the crash—that’s not as important as having a team playing their guts out on a consistent basis. The citizens of Pittsburgh will appreciate that and will never abandon this team if that’s all they have to give right now.
Our waitress appears, decked out in jeans and a Titans jersey. We advise her we’re still waiting for one more, but we each order a beer to sip on while we wait. We decline menus as we had plenty of junk food at the arena.
“It seems like you really enjoyed the game,” I muse as we settle in to wait for our drinks.
Frankie snorts. “Oh, you noticed, did you? I wasn’t sure with you staring at Baden the entire time.”
“I was not,” I exclaim indignantly. “Okay, maybe I watched him a little, but I was mostly focused on the game.”
“Whatever.” Frankie gives me that look… the one that says I’ll never get away with bullshitting her.
“I wanted to see how he was doing.” My attempt to explain will probably fall flat, but I’ve got to try. “This has been a hard transition for Baden. Tonight was so monumental, not only because it’s a new career but because it’s probably the final nail in the coffin of his old life.”
Frankie’s expression becomes sympathetic. But it’s me she’s worried about. “I love that you’ve got a close friendship with him and all, but please protect your heart.”
I frown, her tone catching me off guard. “What do you mean by that?”
“I see how you look at him,” she says softly. “And I hear how you talk about him. You care very much for him, and well… I’m afraid it won’t be returned and you’ll get hurt.”