We are dividing and concurring on this segment. This week I’ll be following my brothers and Fish. The girls suggested that, because of our banter, which the internet has been loving, it would be a good idea. I agree with them, but also don’t. Not that I don’t like Fish, he’s a nice guy just …you think he is hot. And charming and … you get the picture.Not that I am interested.
Collette: I’m shadowing you tomorrow for the day in the life segment.
Fish: Are you telling me I need to bring my A game?
Collette: Yes, but act normal.
Fish: You want my natural charism to shine through, got it.
Collette: Don’t be weird.
Fish: I’m never weird.
Collette: You can be.
Fish: I’m offended, but so can you.
Collette: Me?
Fish: Yeah.
Collette: How?
Fish: Just do.
Collette: Tell me?
Fish: I don’t have anything specific I can recall right now.
Collette: Then I call bullshit.
Fish: Give me time, I’ll find examples.
Colette: Can’t wait. Tell me tomorrow.
Fish: Oh, I will. Don’t you worry.
The shoot startsat morning skate, and Fish shows up exactly on time, which is great, at least I know he isn’t a diva. He spots me rink side and grins. “St. Pierre,” he calls out.
“Fish,” I throw back at him.
“You ready to make me look good?” He smirks.
“I’m ready to point a camera at you, yes. Whatever happens after that is on you,” I warn him.
“Please, look at me, as if I would let you down.” He laughs and skates off. I tell myself the warmth in my chest is just the afterburn from my morning coffee. I lace up my skates and follow him onto the ice. The thing about filming Fish is that he genuinely doesn’t care about the camera. Some of the guys stiffen up when they know they’re being recorded, slipping into a subtle performance mode without realizing it. Fish just keeps talking, keeps moving, keeps being exactly whatever he is. It makes for incredible footage, and it makes my job significantly harder than it should be because I keep losing track of what I’m supposed to be capturing.
Morning skate is controlled chaos. Drills running, coaches yelling, the sound of blades on ice, and pucks cracking against the boards echoing around an empty arena that seats eighteen thousand people. I love it in here when it’s like this. No crowd, no performance, just the team doing the actual work.
I move around the ice carefully. Billie learned the hard way last month that sneakers and a rink do not mix, so I’ve got skates on while filming the drills, getting close on the footwork and passes, and the way Fish moves like the ice was built specifically for him. He’s terrifying to watch if you don’t know him. All efficiency, precision, and zero expression. Like watching a machine that just happens to be shaped like a person.
Fish is at the far end, running shooting drills with Bouch and Nelly. Top corner, top corner, wide, top corner. Bouch heckles him for the wide one. Fish says something that makes Nelly lose it. I get the drill footage, get Fish’s footwork, and get a wide shot of the whole ice that I already know is going to look incredible in the edit. I’m moving toward the bench end when Fish peels off from the drill and skates past me.
“You get my good side?” he asks without stopping.
“You don’t have a good side.”
“That’s right, all my sides are good.” He grins.