When John Tortorella invariably fucks up again and needs his image rehabilitated, I am going to pitch him my new feature film, Horse Hockey, a heartwarming coming of age story about Torts rescuing an orphaned foal and teaching it to play hockey, Air Bud style.
And obviously the horse is a beast on the ice, even more so under Tortorella’s rigorous coaching. I mean, can you imagine this thing on a breakaway?? Except he’s not the hard-hitting, physical brute that everyone in the league assumes he is. He’s sensitive. He’s patient. He’s got high hockey IQ and beautiful edge work. But the refs only see his size and his (ahem) pedigree, and the horse just keeps racking up the penalty minutes. Teams are starting to get worried he’s a liability, and Tortorella’s ever growing presence as the horse’s coach/agent/father is NOT helping.
In a pivotal game against their divisional rival, the horse gets a five minute major for boarding, and Torts is on the ice before he even registers his body moving, screaming at the refs that “it was clean hit! It’s not his fault he’s 17 hands high!!” But then he feels something on his waist. A hoof, somehow fitted with a hockey skate blade, pulls him back into the penalty box, and the horse whinnies softly until Torts stops his tirade and sits down, pacified. The entire arena looks on, dead silent, as Torts starts reflexively smoothing his fingers through the horse’s beautiful mane, the way he used to every night when the horse was still too young and afraid to leave his side.
And as his horse son looks at him with his big, wet horse eyes and places his big, warm horse head onto his shoulder, John has a realization. He may have taught the horse about stick handling and face offs, but the horse taught him something even more important. The horse taught John Tortorella how to be a little bit more human.
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