Rebel Power Play

by David Skuy

  “That was a cheesie,” Nick said.

  “At least it was orange,” Scott said. “Close enough.”

  “The sweaters are in the house!” Charlie announced. “Sorry I’m late. Got stuck in traffic.”

  “What do they look like?” Pudge asked.

  “Don’t know. We didn’t have time to see.”

  Charlie opened the bag and pulled one out. He stared at it in horror. The logo was beyond ugly. An ogre wearing hockey equipment, his eyes shut tight, was winding up to take a slapshot, all against the background of a purple puck. REBELS was spelled out in bold green letters below the logo and on the ogre’s sweater. The colour of the sweater was even worse. The store name on the back was about the only thing he could handle. Charlie braced himself for everyone’s reaction.

  Pudge grimaced as if he’d eaten something bitter. “Is that pink?”

  “Closer to light red,” Charlie suggested, but he wasn’t so sure.

  “I’d rather not wear a sweater,” Zachary put in.

  “I tend to wash out in pastels,” Scott said.

  Nick nodded. “Maybe garbage bags would look better.”

  The avalanche of insults that followed was difficult for Charlie to handle. He wasn’t crazy about the colour either, but no one seemed to appreciate Brent’s generosity, or his hard work in getting the sweaters ready for the game. And speaking of the game, it was starting soon and they had more important things to deal with.

  He handed out the sweaters, gritting his teeth as the sarcasm continued. His grandfather came to his rescue. He opened the door and, pointing to his watch, said, “Boys, I think you should all finish getting ready for the game. The Zamboni is just going on.”

  “We can complain about this later,” Charlie told the others. “I gotta get dressed. Then we’ll do lines.” He raced to an open spot and hurriedly began to put on his equipment. As he was tying his skates he heard a few of the guys laughing.

  “It’s a nice look, Joyce,” Scott said.

  Charlie shot him a puzzled glance. Scott pointed at his legs. Charlie felt like punching the wall. He’d been in such a rush he had tied his skates before putting on his hockey pants.

  He and Pudge had worked out the lines that morning, so at least that was ready. “Defence is set,” he announced. “Scott and Nick, and Christopher and Robert.”

  “Do I have to play with him?” Scott said. “He can barely skate.” He threw a glove at Nick, who caught it deftly and threw it back in one motion. Scott raised his arm to toss it again.

  “Cut it out, guys,” Charlie barked. “No fooling around right now, okay?”

  Scott raised his eyebrows in surprise. Nick shrugged and looked down at the floor. Charlie felt bad yelling at his friends; but someone needed to organize the team, and if he didn’t, who would?

  “Matt and I will take centre. Zachary and Dylan go with Matt, and Pudge and Jonathon will play with me. Quick changes today, guys. We only have two lines and we’ll get tired. Thirty second shifts and come off. Defence, you’re on your own. Change when you like. We’ll deal with penalties when they happen.”

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  The referee opened the door.

  “You guys playing? The game’s about to start.”

  Charlie’s head was spinning. He’d lost track of time. He needed a watch. “Let’s get going, boys.” They all looked at him.

  “Captain should lead us out,” Pudge said.

  Charlie noticed that every player was looking at him. He’d been behind this team from the start, and they would take their cues from him. Time to show some leadership.

  “We’ll be out in a second, ref,” he said, and the door closed.

  He stood up. “If anyone needs some motivation, just picture Dunn’s face when he hears we won our first game. Maximum effort, play smart, no penalties, and we’ll handle the Hornets easy. This is our team. We win together and we lose together. I’d rather do the first!”

  He wondered how they’d react to his pep talk — especially Scott and Nick, after he’d just yelled at them.

  “Charlie’s right, boys,” Scott said. “We play as a team and no one can touch us.”

  “These guys ain’t nothing,” Nick growled.

  “Full speed,” Zachary said. “Game should be over after the first period.”

  As usual, his friends were proving to be team players. He took a deep breath. Joyce, you’d better play the game of your life, he said to himself.

  “Let’s do this,” he said, and led them out the door. They began chanting, “Re-bels! Re-bels! Re-bels!”

  He fairly leapt through the door, his blades cutting deeply into the gleaming ice. He circled their end as fast as he could, trying to calm his nerves as much as anything. After a few laps he grabbed a puck and began peppering Martin with shots from in close, rifling a dozen wrist shots into Martin’s pads to let him get a feel for the puck and then working his glove hand. Once he saw Martin was ready, he backed up to the blue line and, joined by the rest of the team, fired slapshots from the point.

  Bhrrr!

  The horn blared to signal the end of the warm up. Charlie peeled off for a final lap around the net. A cowbell rang out.

  “Yeah, Charlie! Go, Charlie, go!”

  It was Danielle. Charlie waved to her. His mom and grandmother were there too, and they waved back. He coasted to the bench.

  “Who’s starting?” Zachary asked.

  He felt stupid. How could he have forgotten to announce that?

  “Matt’s line,” Charlie said, as if he’d known all the time. “Scott and Nick on D.”

  He figured it would be too much to start himself. He sat down on the bench, flanked by Pudge and Jonathon, and looked over at the Hornets bench. It was packed.

  “They have three lines,” he told Pudge.

  “We need to keep the shifts short,” Pudge said.

  Charlie’s grandfather tapped him on the shoulder pads. Jeffrey stood beside him.

  “Do you need us for anything?” he asked.

  “Grandpa, could you handle the door for the forwards?” Charlie said. “Jeffrey, can you take care of the defencemen?”

  “Will do,” Jeffrey said.

  The referee held up his hand to each goalie, and they signalled back that they were ready. He held the puck aloft for a second, and then dropped it. The game was on. Matt batted it forward and gave chase. The right defenceman tried to carry it outside to the left, but Matt was too quick. He lowered his shoulder and bowled him over.

  Charlie pounded the boards with his stick, leaping to his feet. “Awesome hit, Matt,” he yelled.

  Zachary swept in from the right wing to scoop up the puck, and headed towards the Hornets’ goal. The left defender shifted across to force him outside. As soon as he committed himself, Zachary flipped the puck softly across the blue line and crashed into him. Both defenders were out of the play, which left Dylan all alone when he met the puck perfectly and went in on a breakaway, the Hornets right winger in hot pursuit.

  The crowd roared, excited at the suddenness of the play. Dylan faked a backhand, firing a low wrist shot to the stick side. The goalie kicked out his right leg, just managing to get a piece of it. The rebound came straight out. The Hornets winger, so intent on catching Dylan, skated right over the puck, and his clumsy attempt to kick it away sent him tumbling to the ice. After delivering the check that started things off, Matt had followed the play. The puck bounced right to him. He took one step to settle the puck, and then let rip a hard, high shot. The goalie had dropped to his knees, and the puck eluded his outstretched glove hand, tucking under the crossbar for a goal.

  Cheers rained down as the Rebels pounded Matt on the helmet. He came over to the bench. “Welcome back to hockey,” Charlie said, whacking him on the back.

  Zachary came close to scoring on the same shift, taking a neat pass from Matt and firing a slapshot from just inside the top of the right circle. The puck nicked the goalie’s shoulder and deflected into the cro
wd.

  “Let’s change ’em up,” Charlie said.

  “Come on, boys,” his grandfather said, giving each boy a tap on the helmet as they filed out.

  The faceoff was to the goalie’s right. The opposing centre was already lined up — well balanced and in good position with his legs wide apart, bent over at the waist. He was small, though; time for Charlie’s favourite faceoff play. Charlie tapped his stick twice. Pudge and Jonathon tapped back once. The idea was for Charlie to ignore the puck and tie up his man. Pudge would come off his wing, dig the puck out from Charlie’s feet, and shoot. Jonathon’s responsibility was to charge the net and screen the goalie.

  The referee held the puck over the dot and dropped it. Charlie blocked the centre’s stick, then turned into him to shield the puck, pushing him backwards. Pudge gathered the puck as planned and Jonathon drove to the net. Charlie spun inside his man and took a step towards the inside post. Pudge hesitated with the puck, the left defenceman dropping to his knees to block the shot. Instead of shooting, Pudge slid a hard pass to Charlie, who, rather than try to stop it, simply angled his stick for a deflection.

  The goalie butterflied in anticipation, but Pudge’s pass fooled him. He could only look on helplessly as the puck fluttered end over end into the gaping net. Charlie pumped his fist in the air. Jonathon put his arm around his shoulders.

  “Perfect timing, man. That was sweet.”

  “Way to tie him up in front,” he said.

  Pudge punched Charlie’s glove.

  “Great pass.”

  “Great deflection.”

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Danielle stood on her seat, ringing the cowbell, holding a box of popcorn. He wanted to wave to her again, but thought it might look like he was showing off. No need to fire the Hornets up by acting too confident.

  The rest of the first and then the second period went equally well. Martin faced a few easy shots. Most of the play was in the Hornets’ end. Toward the end of the second, Zachary got behind the defence, taking a perfect pass from Scott. The lanky right winger made no mistake, deking to his backhand, faking to his forehand, then flipping a backhander over the confused goalie’s glove.

  The buzzer sounded shortly after Zachary’s goal. The Rebels crowded around Charlie at their bench.

  “Good work, boys,” he said. “Let’s keep being first to the puck. We have a foot speed advantage. Keep controlling the puck. Love the way we’re playing in their end. Forecheck hard. We just need to be careful about getting caught deep in their zone. One quick pass and it’s a three-on-two. We’re up 3–zip. Play good D and the game’s ours.”

  “Their defence is slow,” Scott said. “Forwards, get right on them. They’ll turn the puck over. Trust me.”

  “And make sure we keep the shifts short,” Pudge said.

  “Don’t get tired out there,” Nick said. “Up and down and switch it up.”

  “That’s huge for us,” Charlie said.

  He pulled Pudge aside.

  “I’m noticing Matt looks tired. He hasn’t played much lately. Maybe we should put you on his line, so you can help with the defence?”

  “Makes sense to me,” Pudge agreed.

  Charlie tapped his shin pads. “Is this not the coolest? Hawks never came close to winning.”

  “Game’s not over,” Pudge said quietly.

  “We keep bringing it hard, and it will be.”

  He raced over to the bench to tell Zachary to switch lines.

  18

  SWING AND A PRAYER

  The ref blew his whistle to start the third period. “Rebels, you’re looking at a delay-of-game penalty if you don’t line up,” the referee said. “I’m dropping the puck in five seconds whether you’re here or not.”

  “Coming,” Charlie said. “I think it’s my line, right Matt?”

  Matt was already sitting on the bench. Charlie raced to the circle. Before he could even set up, the ref dropped the puck, and the Hornets centre pulled it back to his defence.

  Zachary and Jonathon stayed with their wings, so Charlie went forward to pressure. The defenceman saw that he had to make a quick move, and he made the worse possible decision. Instead of a simple pass across to his defence partner, he tried to thread it past Charlie to his centreman. The puck nicked Charlie’s skate and bounced to the side. Charlie reined it in, cutting hard to the net. Neither defenceman was particularly fast. In two strides he had left them behind, and was in alone.

  At the hash marks he faked a shot, a move that almost made the goalie drop to his knees. He managed to stay up, but was off balance and now too far out of his net to guard against the deke. Charlie faked a backhand move, then swung to the outside on the forehand, sliding the puck in on the stick side.

  He raised his stick high, pumping his arms several times. He rarely celebrated too much after a goal, but at the moment he was too stoked to contain his emotions. The cowbell rang out. Danielle was standing on her seat, going crazy. Hockey was fun again.

  “I knew we’d score if we were on the same line,” Zachary said, tapping his helmet with his glove.

  “Awesome job,” Jonathon said. “That should take the fight out of them.”

  “We can’t let up,” Charlie said. “One more goal and the game is definitely ours.”

  The pace of the game began to pick up. Charlie noticed his teammates were changing very quickly, sometimes after twenty seconds. Worse, they were getting very little pressure on the forecheck, which allowed the Hornets to gain the neutral zone at top speed.

  About five minutes into the period, after a long shift, Charlie turned to the bench for a change. Matt hopped the boards, just in time to meet a Hornets forward with the puck. Charlie waited for Matt to make a big hit. Instead, he waved at him weakly with his stick. The Hornets forward ended up with a point-blank shot from the top of the circle. Only Martin’s quick glove save kept it out.

  Matt promptly headed to the bench, his stick across his knees. His face was pale and drawn. He looked as if he was about to faint.

  “You all right?” Charlie asked.

  Without answering, Matt sat on the bench, and bent deeply gasping for air.

  “Matt! What’s wrong? You get hurt?”

  Matt raised his head, elbows on his knees. “Just winded.” He was breathing heavily. “Out of shape. I’ll be good. Give me a minute. Take this shift.”

  Charlie returned to the ice. He could have used a rest.

  “Is Matt banged up?” Pudge asked.

  He shook his head. “He’s cool. Just needs a breather.” He didn’t have time to say more.

  The referee blew his whistle. “Number eight, I’m tired of waiting for your team to line up. Next time you’re going to get a penalty.”

  He hustled over for the draw, but he wasn’t focused and lost it cleanly. The Hornets defenceman slapped a low, hard shot on the net. Martin had come out to challenge and handled it easily, kicking his left pad out to deflect the puck to the corner. Scott got to it first. Charlie assumed he would carry the puck behind the net, so he circled deep in the slot to the right to be in position for a breakout pass up the middle. Scott didn’t move, however. He blasted the puck off the glass up the left side. The Hornets defenceman tried to block it with his body, but it nicked the boards and ricocheted down the ice.

  Charlie stopped at the blue line. He’d let someone else chase it down. His legs were dead, and he wanted a break. Unfortunately, not a single Rebel answered the call. Anticipating an icing, they remained in their own end, most bent over double. Apart from Charlie, they didn’t notice that the puck was on net, and the goalie had to play it. He fired the puck back all the way to the Rebels’ blue line, where an equally alert winger carried it in.

  “Wake up, guys,” Charlie yelled.

  They had congregated around the net, most resting their sticks across their knees. Charlie was closest, and he raced over to stop the Hornets attacker. He struggled valiantly, but his legs were burning and the player gained the a
ngle. From fifteen feet out, under virtually no pressure, he blasted a rising snap shot over Martin’s shoulder and into the net.

  Charlie felt like smashing his stick. Had everyone fallen asleep?

  “We can’t give him that shot. Where’s the hustle?” He looked at his teammates’ faces. They were exhausted, barely able to stand up straight. They’d played their hearts out — and there was nothing left in the tank. Screaming at them wouldn’t help.

  “Ref, we’ll take a time out,” Charlie said.

  He skated to the bench, followed by his worn out teammates. When he tried to talk, he found he was breathing too heavily and had to wait a few moments. He was more tired than he thought. The effort on the last play had drained what little energy he had left. What should they do? Maybe they’d gone out too fast, underestimating the Hornets’ manpower advantage. The Hornets coach had rolled his lines, gambling that the Rebels, while a more talented group, would eventually tire. That gamble looked good now.

  “Our energy level is at zero,” he said. “Forget the offence for a while. Get the puck to the red line and fire it in — icing is okay too. We need to kill the clock. One forechecker at the most; everyone else clogs the neutral zone. This is Operation Defend. We can’t afford to get caught up-ice. We can hold out if we play carefully in our own end.”

  “It’s gut-check time,” Scott said. “Let’s eat the pain and win this baby.”

  “We’re still up,” Zachary said. “No more easy goals against.”

  “Matt, take another breather. My line’ll start,” Charlie said.

  As they skated to the faceoff, Charlie told Zachary, “A coach would have helped. We needed to pace ourselves.”

  Zachary nodded. His face was flushed and his breathing was laboured. Zachary never seemed to get tired. If he was hurting, Charlie had serious doubts about whether they could hold onto the lead.

  The rest of the game was a nightmare. The puck rarely left the Rebels’ end. Matt tried gamely, but he was finished. Charlie double-shifted for most of the period. Even though they were at even strength, the Rebels played as if they were killing a penalty, icing the puck at every chance and giving little thought to offence. At the seven-minute mark, the Hornets scored to get within two. Two minutes later they counted another off a faceoff in the Rebels’ zone. Charlie had lost the draw cleanly, and the winger blasted a laser-like slapshot between Martin’s pads.