by Glenn Parker
As Don drove to Bradford he thought of his mother. It was so like her to drop everything and get on the train when she thought he was in trouble. She had always considered others first. He wondered how he could have suspected Jess when he saw how he and his mother reacted to one another when they met. They were like two kids again, embracing each other and talking over old times. Don had to smile as he thought of them. It was as though his father were alive again, seeing them standing there together.
She had liked Fairmore. It had changed a lot since she had lived here of course. But she still knew a lot of the older people and spent the morning visiting old friends. At one point Don thought she was going to cancel her train ticket until after the weekend, but she insisted that it was important that she be back that night so Don had rushed her to the station just in time.
“I’ll see you at Christmas, Don,” she said, throwing him a kiss. “Take it easy and don’t get hurt on the ice.”
He watched until the train was out of sight and then went back to the hotel. His car needed snow tires and he had taken it into the garage. He spent most of the afternoon standing around talking hockey with the mechanics, reluctant somehow to go back to his room at the hotel.
* * *
Bradford was a small town of about three thousand people. However, it was a hockey town and drew fans from a large surrounding district. Their arena held over a thousand and it was regularly sold out.
It was almost eight o’clock when Don walked into the dressing room. Most of the players were already dressed. Lew was giving a chalk talk. He stopped talking when Don entered.
“’Bout time,” he said. “You of all people should be listening to this. Most of the rest pretty well know this team by now.”
“Sorry,” Don said, throwing his equipment down. He was about to offer an excuse then thought better of it. He sat down and began to change.
“We’ve got to out-skate these guys,” Lew said. “We’re a younger, faster team — that’s our big advantage. If we play their style of hockey, we’re beat before we start. You’re going to have to hang onto your checks, especially you guys checking the Ferrins. They know all the tricks in the book so don’t get sucked in. Just hang with them all the way.”
He paused and then shot a glance at Don. “Their big weak spot is their goalie. As far as I know, they’ve got the same guy this year. He’s really weak on the stick side. He’s got a fair glove hand though so keep your shots low.”
He read the lineup then came over and sat down beside Don. “Something bothering you?” he asked. “You haven’t been yourself the last few days. What’s up?”
Don looked down at his skates. “I’m sorry, Lew. I’ve had a few problems to work out. Everything’s okay now though.”
Lew slapped him on the back. “Good boy. Give’er everything you’ve got tonight eh? We need this game.”
Don got his first look at the Ferrin brothers when he skated onto the ice for their pre-game warm-up. They were big men and strong, deliberate skaters. He imagined they would be hard to knock off their skates. He smiled to himself at his negative thinking. After all, they were human just like anyone else. To think otherwise was inviting defeat.
The Bradford team wore brown, black and white uniforms with a large B on the front similar to Boston and like Boston, were known as the Bruins. Don hoped that was as far as the similarity went.
As they lined up for the face off, Don skated over to Ackerman and tapped him on the shin-guards. “Let’s really give it to them, Garry,” he said.
Ackerman looked up, surprised and then scowled. “You just do your job,” he said, “and I’ll do mine.”
The first line faced off against the Ferrins. They reminded Don of three angry bulldogs as they waited, tensed, for the puck to drop.
Don was opposite the youngest Ferrin, Hank, who eyed him fiercely. “Rookie eh?” he said. “Well, you’ll get your initiation tonight fella.”
Before two minutes had elapsed, Don realized just what the young Ferrin had meant. In that time he had been butt-ended, tripped, slashed, clung onto and cross-checked without even a penalty called. He began to wonder whether he was in a hockey game or a Roman arena.
When he skated off the ice after his first shift, he walked up to Lew. “Are these refs blind or something? You saw what was going on out there.”
Lew held up his hand. “Take it easy, Don,” he said. “One thing you learn fast in this league is that the refereeing isn’t the best. But don’t let that worry you. The Ferrins know you’re a rookie in this league and they’ll do everything to try to get you off your game. But don’t be fooled. Things will settle down.” He gave Don a reassuring look that did not accomplish its purpose. Don was getting angry and he knew he would have trouble controlling his temper if this went on much longer. There was only so much a guy could take.
On his second shift, Don got a pass from Tom Halverson at their blue line. He got by his check and flipped the puck into the corner. By the time he got to it, the Bradford defenseman was there also. Don gave the puck a quick poke and jammed on the brakes. The defenseman missed him with a wicked body check and hit the boards hard. Don picked up the puck and skated behind the net, looking for a loose man. Not seeing one, he cut around to the front of the net and fired a backhand. The goalie made a desperate lunge at the puck but it beat him on his glove side. Just as Don raised his stick to celebrate the goal, he felt a tremendous body check that threw him off his feet and into the pipes of the goal.
For a second, he was too stunned to know what had happened. Then he saw Hank Ferrin grinning at him: “Had your head down, Rook. Thought I would give you a gentle reminder.”
Don lunged at him, his fist flying. His first blow struck Hank on the nose and blood spurted over his face. He held up his arm to ward off the hail of blows thrown by Don.
As quickly as it had started, it was over. The referees parted the two combatants and doled out five minute penalties for fighting. Don got an extra two minutes for drawing blood. The crowd screamed as the Ferrins came ever closer to scoring a goal.
“That’s quite a temper you’ve got, Rook,” Hank said coolly as they skated toward the penalty box. “Gonna get you into a peck of trouble.” Someone passed him a cloth for his nose. He wiped the blood away and kicked at the penalty box door. He sat down on the bench and leaned his head back.
Don ignored him and watched the game. He was angry with himself for being drawn into a fight, but he knew it was unavoidable. Once a player backed off from a fight and showed he could be kicked around, he might as well pack his gear and take up another sport. Don had no intentions of gaining that kind of reputation. And he had the additional satisfaction of having scored the first goal, not to mention having bloodied the local hero’s nose.
The game became wide open with two men off and there were some good scoring opportunities on both sides. However, when Don skated onto the ice again, his goal still held up.
Almost immediately, Hank began hacking away at Don again —
this time with even more determination. Don could feel his anger rising again and decided to do some of his own badgering. As Hank picked up the puck at centre ice, Don skated toward him. Hank looked up and saw him coming. He left the puck and dove at him. Don ducked, felt Hank fall on him then jerked up quickly. His sudden movement caught Hank off guard and threw him into the air. Don watched as Hank hit the ice with a thud.
The referee blew his whistle. Hank writhed on the ice for several minutes, the wind knocked out of him. When he recovered, he stood up white-faced and glared at Don.
“Okay Rook. So you want to play rough.”
“Let’s play hockey and forget the dirty stuff,” Don said, but he knew his words were wasted.
Hank continued to harass Don for the rest of the period but with less determination. He concentrated on slashing and holding which Don found annoying but tolerable. He was used to this kind of “chippy” hockey from the rookies in junior — and some veterans who never
grew out of it.
Lew slapped Don on the shoulder in the dressing room between periods. “Nice goal, Don. You handled yourself well out there. Ferrin won’t give you any more trouble. He knows when he’s overmatched.”
Somehow Don didn’t believe it. Hank Ferrin was not the kind to give up easily once he found a worthy opponent. He was the type of person who enjoyed fighting for fighting’s sake. The game was secondary. Also, he had to keep up his image as being a tough guy amongst the fans.
The second period was a penalty filled free-for-all with no less than nine penalties being called. Don, however, managed to stay out of the penalty box. He liked the extra space on the ice left by penalized players.
When Bradford was short two men and Fairmore one, Don picked up a pass from Ackerman, the first of the game, and streaked down the right wing. He cut into centre at Bradford’s blue line and shot a glance to see if there was an opportunity for a drop pass. There wasn’t. His split second hesitation threw the defenseman off balance and Don went around him. The goalie came out in an effort to play the puck which had momentarily got away from Don. A quick flick of the wrist and Don had the puck. The goalie made an awkward effort to recover, but he was too late. Don shot the puck into the open net.
A storm of boos arose from the fans. Don wasn’t sure whether they were for him or the goalie. He wasn’t long in finding out.
“Hey rookie,” a fan yelled. “You’ve got four other players on your team. Why don’t you use them once in a while?”
“One man army,” another yelled. “Put him out of commission, Ferrin. He’s getting too big for his boots.”
Don skated to the bench and felt a paper cup hit him on the head. Lew winked at him. “You’re doing just great kid. Keep it up.”
“If I can survive this crowd,” Don said. He leaned over and tapped Ackerman on the shoulder. “Nice pass, Garry.”
Ackerman nodded without looking at him.
In the third period, the Ferrin brothers settled down to play hockey and scored two unanswered goals. Lew paced up and down like a caged animal. Once again victory was being snatched from his grasp.
The team however, did not fall apart. In fact, the two goals seemed to spur them on and they pressed hard in the dying minutes.
Lew jumped three feet in the air when a screened slap shot from the point by Arnie Lockhart eluded several players and found a corner of the net.
Less than a minute later the bell sounded to end the game. Lew was ecstatic as the players mobbed him on the way to the dressing room.
“Nice going guys,” he yelled. “We’re on our way now.”
Even Ackerman showed signs of excitement as he and Benny Jukes picked up the goalie, Jake Cuthbert and paraded him around the room.
Don sat in the corner watching the players. This was more like it, he thought. Now they were truly a team pulling together.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Don was the last one out of the dressing room. He walked slowly along the boards savoring their victory. Victory was always sweet no matter under what circumstances. The only thing that marred it was the fact that Jennifer hadn’t been there. He had looked forward to seeing her after the game and perhaps giving her a ride back to Fairmore. Then he would have a chance to explain his bizarre behavior of the last few days.
The arena was now empty except for the rink rats that were cleaning the ice. There was something eerie about an empty arena after a big game. It was like a sleeping animal waiting to be roused to action. The air was still charged with the excitement and the roar of the crowd.
He walked the fifty yards to his car and put his equipment down to find his keys. It was a dark night and he had to hold his key chain up in the air to find the right one.
“Well, if it isn’t the rook himself,” a voice said.
Don turned to see two men approaching. He did not have to guess who one of them was.
“You want something?” Don asked, putting as much authority into his voice as he could.
Hank Ferrin laughed. “Do I want something? Did you hear that, Fred? The man wants to know if I want something.”
Don turned and inserted his key into the door lock and pulled the door open. He was suddenly gripped from behind and thrown into the snow.
“I haven’t finished, wise guy. Nobody makes a fool of me and gets away with it. Let’s see if you’re as willing to fight off the ice as you were on.”
Don stood up, trying to hold onto his temper. “You’re taking this a bit seriously, aren’t you?” Before he could say anything more a fist shot out and caught him on the side of the face. He reeled backwards and fell against his car.
“Come on! You were more than willing during the game,” Hank snarled.
Don lunged at him and caught him around the neck. He twisted and they fell to the snow. As they groveled around, Don felt a boot in his ribs. Then he was pinned from behind and lifted to his feet. He struggled to free himself but the other man had a firm hold on him.
“Let him go,” Hank yelled fiercely. “I can handle him.”
Suddenly Fred let out a cry of pain as somebody punched him hard in the ribs. He fell back and Don saw Garry Ackerman land a haymaker to Fred’s head. Hank lost no time in joining the fray. He landed a punch to Don’s midsection that caused him to double over with pain. Sparks flew before his eyes as he dropped to the ground. He heard the sound of running and then saw the red revolving light.
Garry helped him to his feet. “You all right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Don said, breathing hard. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”
“What’s going on here?” a voice said behind a torch.
Don and Garry walked over to the police car. “Just having a little difference of opinion with somebody, officer,” he said. “Nothing serious.”
The police officer looked at them closely. “This is no place for a brawl. Find somewhere else to do it.”
He drove off leaving Don and Garry standing there.
“Thanks Garry,” Don said as they began to walk back towards Don’s car. “It’s a lucky thing you happened along. There’s no telling what those two would have done.”
Don opened the door to his car. “Can I give you a ride back?” he asked.
“Thanks,” Garry said, going around to the other side. Don leaned over and opened the door.
“Let’s go and have a coffee,” Don said. “I think we need it.”
“Might be better if we wait until we get back to Fairmore. These Bradford types don’t take too kindly to losing — especially to us. They can get pretty nasty.”
Don drove along in silence for a few minutes, his head still aching from where Hank Ferrin had hit him.
“I guess you’re wondering how come I didn’t take the team bus back to Fairmore,” Garry said. “The truth is I wanted to talk to you.”
Don looked over at him. “Well, I’m sure glad you picked tonight to do it.”
“I want to apologize. I’ve treated you pretty rough since you arrived.” The words didn’t come easy. He paused. “I can’t offer any excuse. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Don said. “The important thing is that we’re on the same side now. Maybe we can really begin to work together for the team.”
“I was hoping you would say that. I think we could do some damage out there together.”
There was a pause before Don said. “I understand you and Jennifer Simons were engaged.”
Garry nodded. “Yeah, but it didn’t work out too well. She got fed up with my drinking. I can’t blame her really. She’s a great kid.”
Don stopped the car, got out and began walking around. “My head’s reeling,” he said. “That Ferrin must have hit me harder than I thought.”
Garry shifted over to the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive if you like. The sooner we get to Fairmore and get some coffee into you the better.”
Don got back into the car, leaned back and closed his eyes. He was only vaguely aw
are of the car moving along the road. By the time they reached Fairmore, he was feeling better.
Garry parked outside the café. “Come on in and have a coffee. I think the rest of the gang will be there.”
Most of the team occupied a large table at the rear of the café. When Don and Garry entered, the team yelled at them to come over. Lew was sitting in the midst of them like a father looking after his flock and enjoying every minute of it. Somehow he didn’t look out of place. He grinned when they approached.
“Have a chair you guys. We’ve been wondering what happened to you.”
Don and Garry sat down. “We ran into a little trouble called Hank Ferrin,” Don said. “He wanted to continue our little feud outside the arena. If it hadn’t been for Garry here, we might still be fighting.”
“You look like you ran into a freight truck,” Lew said with concern. “That’s a nasty bruise on your cheek.”
“I hope you got in a few of your own,” Benny said. “I wish I had been there. That guy needs a lesson in good manners.”
“Those Ferrins never give up,” Lew said. “They’re the scrappiest brothers since the Donnelleys. They should have been thrown out of the league years ago. Trouble is, there’s nobody around with the guts to do it. They’re practically an institution.”
The talk turned to the game as the players discussed plays that had taken place. Half of the enjoyment of playing hockey, Don knew, was reliving the game after it was over — analyzing the plays, agonizing over near-misses and hit goal posts. It was all part of the game — a kind of self-indulgence after a victory, a post-mortem after a loss.
The players hung around talking, arguing and rehashing for an hour before some began to drift away having drunk too much coffee and eaten too many pieces of pie.