Coach blows the whistle and we all sink to the ice, exhausted. He's been riding us so hard this season. We haven't won the Cup since the first year I was on the Fury, but we got to the semifinals last year. Coach can smell the silver polish on that big ass bowl, and so can every guy out here. But fuck, I'm tired. “That’s it for today, men,” he bellows. “You know what I’m asking Santa for this year, and you’re the little elves who’re gonna bring it to me.” I don’t even have ...