by David Skuy
“Joyce is in the house,” Scott proclaimed as he came in, “which must mean the Zamboni is on.”
Charlie dropped his bag next to Pudge. He and Pudge always sat in a corner together, one of their crazy superstitions that had started last playoffs when they won the championship, and it had become a hard-and-fast rule — and there was always a one-in-a-million chance it made a difference!
“To be honest, I didn’t expect you so early,” Pudge said.
“Mr. Late is done,” Charlie said. He unzipped his bag and pulled his pants out. “From now on I’ll be opening the dressing room door for you when you get here.”
Nick hopped over on his crutches. The big cast was scheduled to come off in a couple of days. “What’s this absurd thing I hear about Charlie coming on time?” he said.
“Ridiculous,” Scott said.
“The earth would cease to spin on its axis,” Nick said.
“The sea would turn to Jell-O,” Scott said.
“Oreo cookies would lose their creamy filling,” Nick said.
Scott gasped. “Not that. Anything but that. Charlie, please — don’t change.”
“You guys need to get healthy,” Charlie said. “You’ve got too much time to think.”
“Totally untrue. I haven’t had a thought since grade three,” Scott said.
“And that wasn’t really a thought,” Nick said. “It was a burp.”
“There’s a difference?” Scott said. He forced out a burp. “I guess you’re right.”
“Stop distracting the players,” Zachary said. He leaned his cane against the wall. He was also recuperating, from knee surgery.
“But if I do that, what’s my purpose in life?” Scott said.
“You don’t have one,” Nick said. “That’s why you should be spending your free time in a cardboard box.”
“Let’s get dressed, guys,” Spencer Wicken said. “We gotta get focused on this game. The Wildcats ain’t gonna be fooling around.”
Charlie felt himself flush deeply. Spencer shot him an intense look from across the room, and then went back to taping his socks.
Spencer was one of the new players who had joined the Rebels at the start of the season. He was proving to be a formidable D-man, and his defence partner, Philip, was a solid, stay-at-home type like Scott. The Rebels had also acquired a new goalie, Andrew, and now he and Martin represented the best 1–2 goaltending tandem in the league. Three other players, Nazem, Brandon and Will, formed a complete forward line, and their scoring was going to be needed until Zachary and Matt got back.
When the season started, Charlie had been too preoccupied with the campaign to save his high school to really get to know his new teammates, and now he sensed a rift forming. He suspected that was why Hilton was on him for being late. It obviously bothered Spencer, and maybe the other new Rebels also. At the same time, Spencer could cut him some slack. Sure he was late, but dissing him was not going to make it better.
His buddies all exchanged glances. Charlie shook his head slightly as a sign to let it pass. He reached into his bag and pulled out his shin pads.
Scott wandered over to the door leading to the washroom, a mischievous smile crossing his face, and picked up a cardboard sign. It had become an old friend and constant companion — Hilton’s Five Golden Rules of Hockey. Their coach made sure it was displayed before every game and practice.
THE FIVE GOLDEN RULES OF HOCKEY
1. Keep it simple.
2. Forecheck, backcheck, paycheque — outwork the opposition.
3. Never stop moving your feet.
4. The puck travels faster than you — pass.
5. Support your teammates.
“Hey, Nick. I’m thinking that Rule Five is dumb,” he said.
Spencer’s face darkened.
“I’d go with ‘Eat more bacon,’” Scott said.
“I really don’t understand why Hilton doesn’t let you do more coaching,” Nick said.
“It is puzzling …” Scott said. “Of course, he wants me to focus on rehabbing my shoulder so I can come back and save the team — as usual.”
“Team doesn’t need to be saved,” Spencer said. “The team needs to worry about Rule Two.”
Spencer was most definitely not going along with the joke. The dressing room had gone quiet.
“Anyone got some sock tape?” Charlie said. “I’m out.”
The twins, Robert and Christopher, a stalwart defence pair, each tossed a roll his way.
“Thanks, dudes,” Charlie said. “I’ll use one roll for socks, and the other to tape Scott’s mouth shut.”
“Not a problem.” Scott shrugged. “I’m studying to be a mime.” He pretended to be trapped inside a box.
Charlie figured he should keep talking to lighten the mood. “Matt told me he might be able to play in the next couple of weeks. That’ll give us a bit more jump up front.” Matt had been out with a concussion for over a month.
“It’ll throw off the lines, again,” Brandon said. “We’ll have eight forwards.”
Matt was a total energizer on the ice, and he had a sweet touch around the net. Why would Brandon care about the lines compared to that?
“You haven’t seen him play much,” Charlie said. “We gotta get him back. He’ll be our third centre, and create another scoring threat. Then when Zachary, Scott and Nick get back, we’ll be ready to roll again.”
“One scoring threat ain’t enough, I guess,” Brandon muttered. He leaned forward and began to retie his skates.
“Yeah — it’ll be awesome when our best players come back,” Spencer added. He also began to retie his skates.
These guys were so sensitive; they always took things the wrong way. But Charlie let it go.
“May I have your attention?” Scott declared dramatically. Charlie prayed he wasn’t going to respond to Brandon and Spencer’s comments. “Dalton, our beloved manager, has an announcement. Everyone, please, please, please, be quiet and let the poor boy speak.”
Charlie relaxed and pulled his socks over his shin pads.
Dalton turned red. “You really do add humour to the dressing room atmosphere,” he said.
“Scott’s definitely a big joke,” Nick said.
“Yes. Well, I do have a brief announcement,” Dalton said.
Charlie had recently invited Dalton to be the team manager, and he was perfect for it. He might be a bit fussy over details, and he had a funny way of talking, but he was a good guy and had thrown himself into the job. The team had never been better organized.
“Steve Roberts, who runs our league, has some news he would like to share. Come in, Mr. Roberts.” A short man with large, black-rimmed glasses and intense eyes walked into the room. Hilton followed him in.
“Boys, as you know, everyone is concerned about concussions. You can’t open a newspaper without a sports reporter writing about it, and look at what’s been happening in the NHL. Superstars missing dozens of games; some of them even retiring because of it. Anyway, my mom did some research and some doctors believe a concussion at an early age could be even more serious.”
Charlie listened closely. He had suffered a concussion last season, and had a Jake Wilkenson crosscheck to thank for that. He had missed more than a month of hockey.
“We’re instituting a new rule from here on in. Absolutely no hits to the head will be tolerated. Any head shot gets you an automatic game misconduct. You get two misconducts for head shots and you’ll be suspended for five games. Get another, and you’re gone for the season. So we’re serious about it. Okay?”
The boys nodded. Charlie thought it was a good idea. Hilton held a piece of paper up. “I’ll review these rules with everyone. Thanks. It’s a good idea in my view. Hockey’s a physical game, and that’s why we love it. At the same time, there’s no place for head shots.”
Roberts shook Hilton’s hand and waved to the team. “Good luck, Rebels.”
“He should have this talk with the Wildcats, not us,” Charlie whispered
to Pudge.
“I see some suspensions in their futures,” he said.
“Let’s finish dressing,” Hilton said, “and while you do, can you all listen up.”
Charlie flushed and began to tie his skates. He was the only one not fully dressed.
“We’ve struggled recently with some of the new ideas I’ve introduced, but be prepared to keep struggling. We’ll make mistakes, give up goals, and even lose some games. But the important thing is to get better every game, to commit to improvement. Our biggest problem right now is Rule One. We’re overcomplicating the game, and that’s what I want to talk about.” He took the whiteboard from Jeffrey. “Here’s the new break-out.” He quickly sketched the play.
“When there’s no pressure on the D behind the net, take it up the side. Centre and right wing cross, and the D can hit either player with the puck. The left winger cuts deep behind the opponent’s defence, or goes underneath if a passing lane is not available.”
“What if they forecheck us hard?” Spencer said.
“Who can answer that?” Hilton said.
Scott put up his hand. A twitter arose among the guys.
“You need to make a quick decision before the pressure gets you,” Scott said. “Pass to the right winger or centre, but if you’re in trouble, ice it or lift it in between the two defenceman and the left winger can fight for it.”
It was not the wisecrack his teammates expected. Charlie was not surprised, however. Scott was serious about two things: hockey and the not-so-secret love of his life, Rebecca.
“Easy to say when you’re in the stands watching,” Spencer said.
Scott and he locked eyes for a second.
“You’re right,” Hilton said. “It looks easy, but I know it’s hard. Quick decisions are the key, along with Rule Three: Keep the feet moving. Remember, the puck carrier is not the only one making quick decisions. The forwards have to anticipate and get to open space, at pace. And now that I think of it, Rule Four comes into play. Pass the puck rather than carry it yourself. We need to think of every breakout involving all five players; it’s not about one guy making the right pass or stickhandling past five opponents.”
“The Zamboni has finished, Coach,” Dalton announced.
Charlie reached for his gloves. They were beginning to look a bit sad. The Rebels’ sponsor, Brent, who owned a great hockey store in town, had given them to him last season. Charlie had played a lot of hockey since then. Two fingers had split and were being held together by tape, and the stitching on the side of the other glove was unravelling. He probably needed new ones, but even though his mom never said anything he could tell money was tight. He quickly added a little more tape.
“Give me Brandon’s line to start, with Spencer and Philip on D. Andrew is in goal today,” Hilton said.
Charlie knew his friends were looking at him. This was not the routine; he usually started. But it was his own fault. He would have to show Hilton that he was worthy of being captain.
“I disagree with one thing, Coach,” he said. “We might give up some goals, and we will make mistakes, but we ain’t gonna lose any games!”
The boys let out a roar and rose to their feet.
“Re-bels! Re-bels! Re-bels!”
“Rock ’n’ roll time, dudes,” Zachary said.
“Fast feet — no slowing down,” Spencer said.
“Play hard every shift,” Brandon said.
“Rule Two, dudes. We win every shift,” Charlie said. He slapped his tattered gloves together.
“Re-bels! Re-bels! Re-bels!” they chanted, and followed Andrew out to the ice.
Charlie and Pudge held back. It was part of their pre-game ritual. After everyone had gone, Charlie tapped Pudge’s shin pads twice with his stick, and Pudge did the same.
“Gotta win this game,” Charlie said.
“Only reason to play,” Pudge said.
“Then let’s do this,” Charlie said.
They punched gloves and together they headed out. Brandon and Spencer could think what they wanted. Until his friends got healthy the Rebels would have trouble winning games, especially against the league’s two powerhouses, the Snowbirds and the Wildcats. Charlie jumped through the door and took off the instant his skates hit the ice, carving deeply as he stormed across the blue line and curled down the boards toward the Rebels’ net.
3
DROP OF THE PUCK
The puck deflected off the outstretched blocker of the Wildcats goalie. Nazem got to it first and chopped it behind the net to Brandon. Their right defenceman cut off the passing lane in front, so Brandon continued past the net to the corner. The normally ultra-conservative Christopher broke down low from the right point. Brandon hesitated slightly and then passed. From two metres inside the top of the circle, Christopher fired a powerful slapshot on net.
The goalie’s left pad shot out. The puck nicked the top edge just enough to send it into the corner. The Wildcats supporters let out a huge cheer. On the bench, Charlie banged the top of the boards. “Talk about luck. He didn’t even see it.” He sat back down. “We’ve been all over these guys, and we can’t buy another goal.”
“We’re in their end,” Pudge said. “It’s all good.”
Charlie continued to fret. It was an ironclad law of hockey: if one team dominates and does not score, the other team will. The Rebels had gone up 1–0 early in the first period when Pudge scored off a feed from Charlie; and they continued to pour in on for the rest of the period, but could not add an insurance marker.
A Wildcats defender beat Nazem to the puck and chipped it up the wall to his right winger. Robert did a nice job pinching and the puck rebounded off his leg back to the corner. The Wildcats centre then settled the matter by grabbing hold of the puck and lofting it high over everyone’s head to relieve the pressure.
“Charlie’s up, with Pudge and Jonathon,” Hilton announced.
Christopher collected the puck at the Rebels’ blue line while both teams raced to change lines.
“Time for you to stuff in another, Sergeant,” Charlie said to Pudge.
“Ready when you are, Major,” Pudge said.
Charlie hopped the boards eagerly and swung wide left. Christopher fed him a soft lead pass and headed off to change. Charlie took a couple of steps to cross the red line, and then, figuring his linemates would be near the Wildcats’ blue line, ringed the puck around the boards to the far side. Pudge charged across and met the defender head on as he tried to control the bouncing puck. The puck squirted free, and Jonathon got a stick on it and knocked it across the goal line. Charlie was tempted to chase after it. Hilton had been on them recently not to over-commit in the attacking zone and give up a fast break, so instead he hovered a metre above the top of the circle.
That decision proved wise, as the left defenceman came across and hit the Wildcats centre with a good pass. Charlie slid across, laying his stick along the ice to cut off the passing lane. About three metres from the blue line, the puck carrier cut right and banked the puck off the side wall for his right winger, who merely flicked it on into the Rebels’ end. Philip made him pay, though, driving him into the boards. The winger responded with a slash to Philip’s leg.
The refs kept their whistles in their pockets.
“You gotta call that,” Charlie yelled as he scooted past. “How’d you miss the slash?”
“Play hockey, number eight,” the ref growled.
Easy for him to say, Charlie thought. He hadn’t gotten a two-hander across the leg. Spencer picked up the puck on his forehand and swung toward the slot in front of Andrew. Charlie was first back. He curled at the blue line. The Wildcats left winger was hugging the boards. Pudge was wide left and Jonathon was covering the opposite winger. Charlie noticed the centre getting off and Jake coming over the boards. There was a seam up the middle he could exploit if Spencer got him the puck quickly.
The next instant the puck was on his stick. Grateful for the timely pass, Charlie wasted no time crossing into
Wildcats territory. Pudge had a good head of steam going along the left wall, and Jake was coming across to intercept him. Charlie did not want to risk a turnover in the neutral zone, so he hesitated a moment to freeze the left defenceman and allow Pudge to get close to the blue line, and fired it into the corner.
Pudge won the race for the puck and threw it in front. The goalie made a nice play, however, reaching across his body to catch the spinning puck. He pushed off to his left, looking to move it to his other defenceman. Charlie preferred a faceoff in their zone. He put on the afterburners and the goalie was forced to keep it. A defenceman took a threatening step toward Charlie. Figuring there was no sense in causing a scrum, Charlie veered off to join Pudge in the corner.
“I guess that counts as a shot on goal,” Charlie joked.
“I wanted to put it back around the net to you,” Pudge said, irritated with himself. “That was a waste of energy.”
“We got the faceoff,” Charlie said. “And we respected Rule Two — Outwork the opposition.”
Pudge pointed to the scoreboard. “It’s messed up again.”
It read 18–0 for the Rebels. Wishful thinking maybe, but obviously not right. “I don’t see a problem,” Charlie said. Both refs were at the scorer’s box.
“If only life were that easy,” Pudge said, tapping Charlie’s shin pads with his stick.
Charlie skated to the faceoff dot to the goalie’s right. As a left-handed shot, a backhand grip would pull the puck to Philip at the point near the boards. Spencer was in the middle and by far the more dangerous player, and he had a deadly shot. But Charlie did not think he would win a draw against Jake in the Wildcats end using a forehand sweep.
Jake was hunched over at the bottom of the circle, his stick across his knees. Charlie and he had played a few shifts against each other, but not much had happened. Jake, Liam and Roscoe all seemed focused on the game, and that suited Charlie.