One Shot for Change

By Richard Labrosse

A Woman's Natural Right to Be Equal One Shot for Change finds a young Casey, a star goalie in the women's league, who has a chance of a lifetime to try out for a major elite boys' junior hockey team, a dream come true. However, she has to face the pushback of the boys and coaches' mindset, that is, she does not belong in their world at that high level. In parallel, Amanda Anderson is the new owner of the junior team after her husband's tragic death. She, too, faces the same mindset that she does not belong. Unexpected events and tragedies will put them on a path that no one will expect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645750857

Richard Labrosse

Richard Labrosse was born in Montreal, Canada, and through work and hockey, he has traveled the world where he witnessed the inequalities that women are treated with. The book represents his strong beliefs in 'women's equality.' Growing up in a hockey family, he used hockey as the storyline to share the message.

Book preview

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About The Author

Richard was born in Montreal, Canada, and through work and hockey, has traveled the world where he witnessed the inequalities that women are treated with. The book represents his strong beliefs in ‘women’s equality.’ Growing up in a hockey family, he used hockey as the storyline to share the message.

Dedication

To my wife, Huguette; my mother, Patricia; mother-in-law, Colette and my sons, Chas and Shawn-Douglas.

Copyright Information©

Richard Labrosse (2020)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the ad-dress below.

Publisher’s Cataloguing-in-Publication data

Labrosse, Richard

One Shot for Change

ISBN 9781645750840 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781645750833 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645750857 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020908328

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

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Part One

A Women’s Natural Right to be Equal.

First Period

I stood outside in the brisk August Alberta air, waiting for my father to lock the old red van. It was early and cold for a summer morning when we left the hotel. Frost covered the vans windows and Dad had to scrape it off with a plastic card; he had put away the ice scraper and was now regretting the decision. I was nervous, remembering the night when two strangers came to our house, looking at me with impatient eyes. One of them was Jared O’Connell, the head coach and an ex professional hockey player. I recognized him from the hockey cards that I collected.

The other gentlemen who seemed friendlier was Mike Murphy, the general manager of the team, he looked nervous and anxious for my dad to sign.

You have to sign here, Mike said, a tall, strong-looking man, peering down to my father. The coach did not look happy and was anxious to leave as he looked constantly at his gold watch.

My father, a kind and gentle man, had no passion for sports running through his blood, unlike the two athletic men who loomed over him.

There you go, my father said. He had signed many documents in his life, being an accountant.

Then it was my turn to sign, I tried to be calm, but my hands were shaking. The whole situation was more than a little intimidating. I could feel their stares peering down as I signed the rather large document with details I did not even attempt to understand.

That particular signature was what had brought us here today to the ice hockey arena. It was a modern arena that stood tall in the sky with its oval shape and green siding. I had played here before and I liked the feeling it gave me, like we were in the big league. The arena had the capacity to hold six thousand fans, and the Red Deer team was well known for its sold-out games. The people of Red Deer liked their hockey, especially their junior team. The team was part of the Alberta division of the Western Hockey League, along with Calgary, Edmonton, Lethbridge, and Medicine Hat. I was there as the first girl to ever try out for the team and fulfill my dream of playing hockey at the top junior level in Canada. It was a huge feat, breaking down barriers. Girls’ hockey had come a long way and was growing so fast there was a lot of media attention and pressure on me.

The drive from my hometown of Spruce Grove was uneventful. We had made the two-hour trip to Red Deer several times. The magnitude of this day and how it would affect others was not something that had dawned on me yet. It was the first day of the tryout camp where a total of forty players – all boys and one girl – would do whatever they could to do to make the team. It was the gateway to the professional National Hockey League. I was trembling, not because of the cold, but because of what the doors in front of me symbolized.

Ready? Dad asked in his low voice. His five-foot-eight-inch frame didn’t match his voice. I smiled resolutely, not saying anything. I wore my favorite blue jogging pants with black hiking boots; I was not one to care about fashion. My goalie equipment bag, an old grey one with holes in it, was heavy, but I was determined to carry or drag it on my own. Sometimes, my father would carry it, but not today. We walked up the many steps that led to the first lobby then more stairs. It was a workout on its own. Dad opened the door and we walked into a large reception area. I didn’t see any other players, which seemed odd. Was I early or was I late?

There were a lot of people milling around, however, and their voices echoed in the room. My nerves took over and I felt like my legs were cemented to the ground.

Then they charged toward me—camera lights flashing and microphones held out. I noticed the Red and blue banner hanging over our heads that said, ‘Welcome to the Generals Camp.’ I tried to move forward, but the reporters rushed me.

Casey, Casey…How are you feeling today? one of them shouted at me, a sneer on his face.

The fact that I was standing in their arena holding my goalie equipment, ready to practice with the elite junior boys was sacrilegious to many of these people. This was where the National Hockey League recruited their players, where players, agents, lawyers, and owners could make huge amounts of money. I was the first girl to have a chance at the same. They didn’t recognize that I was already an elite player from the girls’ league. No, to them, I was just a girl who could never compete on the same level as their precious boys, but as I thought, it gave me more drive to pursue this crazy dream.

My father was pushed to the side and elbowed his way back into the media circle.

Gentlemen, he said, trying to be polite. Please, give her some room. He didn’t like all the hubbub and talk in the papers about me. I ignored the reporters and proceeded to a desk where a woman and an older man sat waiting for me. The woman had a huge smile and curly grey hair. I thought she looked proud to be talking to me.

Hello Casey, welcome to the generals camp, she said with a bright smile and marked off my name on her list.

Room 2B, down the hall. Your jersey will be in there. Please be ready to get on the ice for 10:30, the older man said without looking up at me. It was a quarter after ten.

I was late and had fifteen minutes to get ready. My hand holding my hockey bag was now sweaty. I gave a quick wave to the nice, older woman, and hurried down the hall, dragging my equipment bag. It felt heavier than ever before. I tried to find 2B, but I didn’t see it. For good reasons, I wasn’t allowed to be in the same dressing room as the boys. My heart was beating fast; I really didn’t want to be late for the first practice. A man washing the floor looked at me with uncaring eyes and pointed to a door without any number on it. It turned out to be a small closet with brooms and a wash bucket inside. There was an old wooden bench that looked like it was about to fall apart. There was no shower or toilet, and it smelled of bleach.

2B? he said with a smile. My father stood outside the door while I got dressed. It was now 10:25, five minutes before I had to be on the ice making me more nervous. There was a blue practice jersey with the team’s logo hanging from a hook on the wall, with three stars across the front and the word ‘Generals’ written in a script-like font. It was very large and hung down past my knees, which disturbed me. I knew the first impression was going to be very important when I stepped onto the ice. Even though I didn’t usually care how I looked, it bothered me.

Is she here? Jared O’Connell, the head coach of the generals asked his general manager as he was about to go onto the ice. He didn’t’ understand why he was so nervous. Was it the girl?

He remembered that day he was forced to go to her house to officially welcome her and sign a contract. In his mind, she did not belong in this league, neither the new owner, Mrs. Anderson. He struggled that he was ordered to go there against his will.

Yeah. She’s late though. The reporters held her up, his general manager and boss, Mike Murphy, said. He could see his coach not having any patience for the girl and tried to think how to ease the tension already brewing.

No excuses. Bad start, Jared responded and headed to the ice with his clipboard, whistle. and a mean look on his face. A fifteen-year veteran of the national hockey league (NHL for short) playing with