The text tone on Ian Cole's cell is as predictable as the pain.
He's been felled by a slap shot. To the instep of his foot. To the exposed upper crust of his kneecap. To the bone atop his shoulder. Right to the gut. Wherever the puck hits, it hurts.
But it hurts nowhere quite like it hurts back home in Ann Arbor, Mich.
Because that's where Mom is watching.
"On special occasions, he proudly shows me his more distinguished welts, scars or stitches and tells me their stories," Connie Cole was telling me Sunday night. "They all have one, you know."
That's generally as far as it gets, though. Beyond that ... beyond that ... well, as Mrs. Cole put it, "He lies to me. Because I'm his mom."
Which, of course, doesn't keep any mother from pushing:
He really wasn't fine. He really isn't ever fine.
And yet, Mrs. Cole's pride and joy is genuinely enjoying the time of his life.
____________________
____________________
A couple of them square to the chest, no less.
"Got some real pec exercises in there."
Thing is, Cole's not insane.
Sure, Fleury can recall admonishing him more than once to simply let the shots get through: "I tell him, 'You're crazy.' Because he is. He's crazy. There are some guys in this league with really hard shots, and he goes down in front of one-timers ... he's just crazy."
Nope. All jest aside, he isn't. Not in the slightest.
He's also nowhere near stupid. He's quite the opposite, actually, as quick-witted as they come and aware of events well outside the scope of hockey.
And inside hockey?
Well, wait till you hear his explanation when I asked about this routine outlet interception he made in the third period Sunday:
OK, ready?
"Getting up to the red line there quickly is the important thing," Cole began. "Because if you do that, you can still find that momentum that you need to come back, and you can stay in front of their guy if he gets the puck. And you can make your read with the puck and say, 'Oh, this is going to be short, I can stop. I can get to that puck.' Because he can't see it. He's looking at the white, right? Or I can keep momentum back, so if it does go overhead, I can still go back and skate with him, right? Or I can continue to go, 'Oh, it's going to be short. He can't get there.' "
He took a deep breath.
"You know what I'm saying?"
Nope. He lost me at the red line. But the point is made: This is a seriously smart, analytical, calculating athlete, one who considers every act on the ice before taking it.
So ... um, why eat vulcanized rubber at vicious velocities?
"For me as a hockey player, I'm always going to be a defense-first guy," Cole said, coincidentally or not reciting Sullivan's description by chapter and verse. "Whether that means having good gap, good stick, PK ... hey, bottom line: If you can have a good gap, good stick and get clears, you don't have to do that. But almost inevitably, things do break down on the PK because they've got that one extra player. And if that's the case, someone's got to step up and block it."
That's the motivator, then? Do all the rest at max effort so the block is moot?
"I guess you could say that. But it's part of the game. It's part of what we all do in here, and not just the defensemen. We've got a lot of forwards doing it, too."
And the pain? That never crosses his mind as he's hitting the ice or staring at that puck?
"Yeah, you think about it. But you get used to it. The goalies get used to it. They're wearing more pads, but they still feel it."
Dude ...
"OK, it's different for us. It hurts. There are some stingers. But nothing too bad. You try to go down with good technique, good timing. You try to stay square so as many of your pads as possible are facing front, and you hope it hits a hard spot.
"That one was bad. One of the worst," he said. "Again, it's part of the game."
____________________
It's been part of Cole's life, in some ways.
"Ian started out as an 11-pound baby," Connie Cole, the bearer of that extra weight, recalled. "When he was young, he was bigger and stronger than most of the other kids. And he used that with confidence, which made him feel invincible. In addition to youth hockey, he played soccer. At age 8, he wanted to play goalie since the other kids were afraid of the ball. With his size, he realized if he came out and challenged the player, they backed off and his aggressiveness was rewarded."
And now?
"Now it's a game of Superman versus the puck!"
A stubborn Superman, some might say.
"He's never minded the repetition of something. He figured out early on that it can lead to success. Whether it was constant practicing of backward skating, crossovers, being shot at in the soccer goal, playing Risk till he conquered the world or collecting all the Monopoly money, he kept at the task. Most kids got bored and quit. I guess Ian figured blocking shots over and over would make him better at it than anyone else. Hence, you play more."
She paused.
"Ian is very logical and methodical."
He's appreciated, too. If not by too many on the outside of the Penguins' world, then without question on the inside.
"He's there for us night in, night out," Fleury said. "We can count on him. The game is so offensive nowadays, and he's a guy we know we can trust. He gets mad when there are goals against. He's got pride in his defense."
Cole didn't feel that everywhere he's been, in the NHL or even rising through the U.S. developmental ranks. But now, as mom puts it, he plays in "his own Penguin Heaven."
To hear him tell it, the only cheers he needs are the ones he can make out easily during road games, emanating from the visitors' bench.
"Our team is very supportive of each other," Cole said. "When Sid scores, Flower makes a big save like today ... that's part of the culture in here. We let guys know when they're doing good things. When Geno blocked that shot in Calgary ... wow, the whole bench was on their feet yelling 'Geeeee-no!' Guys feed off that. They embrace that."
Him, too, when he blocks one?
The funny guy finally turned a bit serious.
"Yeah, it's good. I do hear it. And it means everything."