by Glenn Parker
Don intercepted a pass at his own blue line and started up the ice. When he got to the opposing blue line, he fired a blistering slap shot. Just as he let it go, Ackerman jumped in front of him and caught the full impact of the shot on his leg. He dropped to the ice. Lew blew his whistle.
When Ackerman had recovered, he looked up at Don. “You did that on purpose, wise guy.”
Don bent over him. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you until it was too late.”
“Next time you try that, I’ll wrap my stick around your head,” he snarled.
“You all right, Garry?” Tom Halverson asked.
“Yeah, but he won’t be for long,” Ackerman said, looking at Don. He picked up his stick and started skating away. “Let’s play hockey,” he said.
Lew changed the lines and the third line came out to replace the second. Don went to the player’s box and sat down.
Ole Johannson moved over and said, “Don’t let Ackerman get to you. He’s a sorehead.”
“He sure seems to have it in for me,” Don said, responding to the friendly gesture.
“Ah, it’s not you. He doesn’t like anybody these days. He’s got a grudge against the world. But he’ll come around.”
Lew blew the whistle again and beckoned for the second line to return to the ice. “Take a breather, Don,” he said. “We’re going to practice our power play.”
Don watched as the first line set up a box situation in the offensive zone. It was a skilful display of puck control. The puck travelled from point man to point man then into the corner, back to the point and so on while the shorthanded line did their best to keep them well out of the shooting area around the net. It was a clever drill that they could make use of in a game situation.
Don wondered whether the drill was Lew’s way of keeping Ackerman and him apart.
The practice ended with stops and starts and some backward skating drills. The situation between Ackerman and him had been rescued — at least temporarily. Don knew he was going to have trouble with him no matter what he did.
“You looked great out there for your first practice,” Lew said, as Don made his way into the dressing room. “Just don’t overdo it. I don’t want any pulled muscles or groin injuries — we need you too much.”
When Don had taken a shower and finished dressing, Lew said, “I’ll give you a lift back to the hotel.”
Ackerman had remained strangely silent in the dressing room, his anger having run its course. Don glanced at him, hoping to catch his eye and perhaps break the tension between them, but Ackerman kept his head down. He had waited until Don had finished his shower before taking his.
Lew made no mention of the incident on the ice as they drove back to the hotel. “I saw you at the game on Saturday,” he said. “What did you think of it?”
Don wanted to be diplomatic but at the same time offer something constructive. He chose his words carefully. “I enjoyed the game — it was fast and hard hitting. I thought the team was a little listless and lacked fire. That first goal seemed to throw them off balance.”
“That’s what happens to an inexperienced team,” Lew said. “They lose their poise when the going gets tough. I thought I had enough veterans on the team to balance things up a bit but it looks like they’re going to have to carry the team. Luckily we’ve got one of the best goalies around or else the score would have been a lot worse.”
As Don waved goodnight, he wondered why he hadn’t mentioned some of the specific errors he had observed on Saturday night. Perhaps it was reluctance on his part to assume a critical role so soon. He didn’t want to appear as though he had all the answers, which indeed he didn’t. He had also sensed that Lew didn’t really want a detailed analysis.
On Thursday night, Don played on the first line with Ackerman. Tom Halverson went to the second line. Another diplomatic move on Lew’s part? Don wondered. At least now the tension between him and Ackerman would be moderated.
In that, however, he proved to be wrong. Ackerman, playing his usual aggressive game, at first refused to pass to Don. When this fact became apparent to Lew, he stopped the scrimmage.
“Okay Ackerman, you’ve got a right winger there, and a good one. Let’s try to use him, eh? You could have set him up several times.”
Ackerman scowled and skated away, flashing Don a look of pure hatred. Don shook his head, feeling nothing but pity for him. He found it incredible that anyone could hate another person so completely after such brief contact. Where did that come from?
The passes began to come, but they were always too crisp to handle or behind him or too far ahead. Don began to lose his temper.
“Come on Ackerman, grow up,” he finally said. “Pass the puck like you mean it.”
Ackerman came at him with both fists flying before Don knew what had happened. He took two blows to the head before he landed one of his own.
“Break it up you guys,” Lew yelled, as the players attempted to part them.
“I’m warning you loud mouth,” Ackerman said, flanked on both sides by players attempting to restrain him. “Watch your mouth. I don’t take that from anybody.”
“Hit the showers, Garry,” Lew said. Ackerman picked up his gloves and stick and skated off the ice.
“Don’t let it bother you, Don. He’s a hothead but he’ll get over it.”
“He might,” Don said, “but I’m not sure I will. I’m getting a little tired of his tactics.”
“He’s a good player. That’s why I put up with his tantrums. I was hoping to get you two working together. I think you would make a great combination.”
Don laughed. “What? As sparring partners?” When Lew didn’t smile, Don threw up his arms. “Look, I’m sorry but it doesn’t seem to be working out, does it?”
“If we’re going to win any games this year, we’re going to have to play as a team. We’ve got a game coming up on the weekend. I want to win it.”
It was the first time Don had seen Lew display anything but quiet control. His dedication to the game and the team was obvious.
“I’ll try, Lew,” he said. “But if Ackerman keeps this up, what can I do? One of us will have to go.”
“I’ll have a talk with Garry and find out what’s bugging him. Maybe I can straighten things out.”
Lew skated away. “That’s it for tonight, guys,” he said to the rest of the team who were standing along the boards watching.
As Don skated to the dressing room, he knew he had his work cut out for him. But then, he thought, he hadn’t expected it to be easy, had he? It was important that he not let his temper get the best of him. It had been his undoing while playing junior. It was time now to show that he wasn’t a hothead with a hairpin temper despite how much provocation he received.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The situation that had developed since he had joined the team bothered Don for the next few days. His instincts told him he should quit before something happened that he would regret. He was amazed at his self-control, however. He had shown a lot of tolerance toward Ackerman and had kept his head. For that he was grateful. If he had shown half this restraint while playing junior, maybe he would still be playing.
The next night he saw Ackerman outside the local bar talking to a girl. Don couldn’t help feeling sorry for him as he watched him stagger about. He obviously had problems, drinking problems for one and anger problems for another. Don wondered, as he watched him from the café, whether it had anything to do with his abbreviated hockey career.
The thought of playing on a line with him the next night did not fill Don with delight. It struck him as perverse to see a hockey player, especially one as talented as Ackerman, staggering around the night before a game. If this was the way Ackerman conducted himself while playing junior, no wonder he had failed at it. There was little tolerance for drinking at the junior level where it was important to play at your peak at all times.
The next night in the dressing room, Ackerman looked away as Don walked past him and sa
t down at the end of the bench. He looked like he needed a cold shower and a whole lot of coffee rather than a hockey game. Was this how Ackerman appeared at every game? If so, Don wanted even less to do with him.
The dressing room was quiet. The players went about the business of dressing as though they were preparing for a funeral rather than a hockey game. There was none of the pre-game pranks and good-natured repartee that Don was so used to. He knew that the difference between two teams was more often a matter of team spirit than actual ability. Team cohesion and attitude was everything. Otherwise, they were beat before they even got on the ice. Even Lew seemed caught up in the gloom as he sat in the corner looking at the players.
The visiting team was from Lennox, a town about the size of Fairmore. They had escaped the basement last year by virtue of one more win than Fairmore. However, they were always a tough team and what they lacked in finesse they made up for in size. Man for man, they had the Blades beaten at every position for size and weight, a fact that bothered Don not in the least.
Don noticed that there was a larger crowd here than at the first exhibition game as they went out for their pre-game warm up. A burst of cheering met them as they skated onto the ice. The loudspeaker announced the lineups as they took their shots on the goalkeeper. Then the team filed back into the dressing room.
Lew made an admirable attempt to fire up the team, but his words seemed to lack the punch, the authority, that was needed. Don felt like yelling at the team, going around the room giving them a shove, goading them, anything to get them going. They needed a lift, and a whole lot of confidence if they hoped to win this game.
“We can beat these guys,” Lew said. “But we’re going to have to play heads up hockey. I want to see every man back checking. If I see anybody dogging it, he’ll be sitting on the bench. Get those shots away and when we lose possession, pick up your man and stay with him. He can’t do much damage if you’re draped all over him. Okay, let’s go out there and win this one. We can do it.”
There was a somewhat muted burst of enthusiasm as the players made their way onto the ice. Lew slapped Don on the back as he passed him.
“Give it all you’ve got, Don. If anybody can fire up this bunch of pessimists, it’s you.”
Don played right wing on the first line with Ackerman centering and Bud Graham on left wing. He felt at odds playing with Ackerman and wondered if Lew had talked to him. If he hadn’t, this could be one of the strangest games he would ever play. Ackerman gave no sign of a change in attitude as they lined up for the faceoff.
The puck was dropped. Ackerman got the draw and slid the puck back to the defenseman, Arnie Lockhart. Lockhart passed it over to Bill Buller who began moving up on Don’s wing. When he got over the red line, he shot the puck into the corner. Don raced after it and beat the Lennox defenseman to the puck. He sidestepped a body check, took a look and threw the puck out to Ackerman in the slot. Ackerman picked it up and fired at the goal. It was a good shot, low to the stick side and it beat the goalie. The score was one to nothing and the game was only seconds old.
The hometown fans had had few occasions to cheer about in the last few years and it seemed they were making up for it now.
Ackerman skated back to centre ice, a look of satisfaction on his face.
“Nice goal, Ackerman. How about a couple more?” a fan shouted. “Come on, Blades, keep it up. We’re behind you all the way,” another called.
Don could feel himself getting caught up in the excitement. He knew how important that first goal was — it gave the team who scored it an enormous advantage.
The game settled down, however, as Lennox began playing their usual defensive game. They concentrated on puck control and played for the breaks. And their break came late in the first period when Fairmore was short a man. Benny Jukes had been sent off for hooking. At the faceoff, Lennox got the puck back to their pointman and a screened slapshot got by Jake Cuthbert, Fairmore’s goalie.
The score was tied, one all.
As they skated to the dressing room, Don felt his anger rising. On several occasions he had been in a position to score, but had not received a pass. Was it his imagination or was Ackerman still playing at the same game?
The team lost its momentum when Lennox scored the tying goal. Benny Jukes especially felt bad and sat looking down at his loosened skates. The dressing room was quiet as Lew paced back and forth without saying anything.
Don glanced at Ackerman who seemed less depressed than usual. He was talking to Bud Graham about something as they shared an orange. The goal he had scored seemed to have raised his spirits, but Don simmered as he thought of the opportunities that had been missed because of him.
“It looks like we’re going to have to play for the breaks,” Lew said, before they returned to the ice. “I want one man to stay around the blue line in our end and wait for a break. That means the rest of the line is going to have to do some close checking. Don’t be afraid to hit these guys. They might be bigger than we are but they put their uniforms on the same way we do.”
The bell rang to signal the players back on the ice. “Let’s go and get them,” Lew yelled.
The pattern of the game was much the same as the first period with both teams checking closely. It didn’t make for sparkling hockey and the fans began to respond by yelling at the players. Don couldn’t blame them. There was nothing worse than defensive hockey which meant few scoring opportunities. The fans wanted to see a more wide open game with some thoughtful plays and dazzling goals.
Midway through the period, Don picked up the puck at centre ice and roared down the right wing. The Lennox defenseman moved to cut him off and force him into the boards. At the last second, Don swerved toward centre, putting the defenseman out of position. There was only one man to beat. Don drew back his stick for his slap shot and the defenseman dropped to his knees to block it. But it never came. A quick move and Don was around him with nobody to beat but the goalie. He faked to one side, saw the goalie make his move and tucked the puck in the opposite corner.
The crowd went wild. Debris was thrown on the ice and the game was held up while the rink rats came out to clean it off.
The goal seemed to bring the team alive as the fans began to chant: “Go Blades Go” and Lew Simons grinned for the first time that night.
The period ended with Fairmore ahead by one goal. It was a different team that clumped into the dressing room. Some of the players congratulated Don on his unassisted effort. Ackerman did not look in his direction.
“We need more than a one goal cushion,” Lew said, “so let’s not get complacent. Let’s go out there and get a couple more.”
The bell rang and the team went through the door with the kind of fire that wins games. This was more like it, Don thought. They would be hard to beat with this kind of momentum. He couldn’t help thinking that they could be ahead by two or three goals if Ackerman had just passed to him a few times.
Early in the third period, Don hit the goal post and narrowly missed the net on two other occasions. He began to feel frustrated. Ackerman was still not passing the puck to him and had chosen to shoot when Don was in the clear and in a good scoring position. He knew that if he was going to help the team, it would be done on his own, without any assistance from Ackerman.
The team lost some of its momentum half way through the third period. Lost opportunities combined with some bad breaks began to take its toll. The team was tiring as Lennox began to use its size and weight advantage. Don found himself looking up at the clock, watching the seconds ticking off with agonizing slowness, something he rarely did while playing junior.
Six minutes before the end of the game, a Lennox player poke-checked the puck away from Ackerman, went around the defense and beat the goalie with a low shot in the corner of the net.
There was a hush as the fans saw the game slipping away. “Come on, Lew, let’s have another goal,” they pleaded. But there was a desperation about it that was all too familiar. These fa
ns had been disappointed too often to expect miracles from their team and this was reflected in their faces.
With just seconds left in the game, a Lennox player got a breakaway. The Blades had hemmed the Lennox team in their own end and were pressing hard, taking shot after shot, each one punctuated by a roar from the crowd. Suddenly, the puck jumped over the stick of Larry Domico and a cruising wingman picked it up. He had nobody between him and the goalie. Domico, however, was not to be denied and just as the Lennox player was about to shoot, Domico’s stick flashed out and pulled him down.
The referee blew his whistle and there was a brief consultation before they awarded a penalty shot. Lew signaled to Jake and the goalie skated to the player’s box. Lew put his arm around Jake’s shoulder. “Stand well out from the net,” he explained, “to cut off his angle. When he’s getting close, back up slowly. Don’t give him anything to shoot at. I know you know how to play this, but it doesn’t hurt to be reminded.” He slapped him on the back as the big goalie skated back to his position.
The referee put the puck at centre ice and blew his whistle. The Lennox winger moved slowly toward the goalie with the puck. Jake began to move back. There was a hush in the arena. All you could hear was the sound of the Lennox shooter’s skates as he closed in on the goal tender.
Suddenly, when he was about twenty feet out, he drew back his stick and slapped the puck. It broke the netting high in the corner on Jake’s stick side. The score was Lennox three, Fairmore two.
A groan of disappointment went through the crowd as some made for the exits. There was just enough time remaining to drop the puck and the game was over.
Lew shook his head as he paced up and down in the dressing room. “That was a tough one to lose,” he said. “We should have had it in our hip pocket.”