Off the Crossbar

by David Skuy

  “Terrence Falls could win three golds,” Charlie said. “It’s not four, but enough to make Karl Schneider happy, I’m sure.”

  “Guess what else?” Nick said. “Schneider is the leading scorer in the senior tournament. And our friend here, Mr. Charlie Joyce, is in third place for the junior division, behind J.C. Savard and Burnett. We just need to pump the rubber past that chump of a Chelsea goalie and we’ll have three gold medals and two leading scorers.”

  “Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch,” Hilton interrupted. “Terrence Falls has some serious teams to beat before claiming all that gold.”

  He rapped a spoon on the table. “Everyone listen up, please. It looks like you pigs have finally finished stuffing yourselves. And for those of you still eating, that’s enough. You’re playing in three hours, so give your stomachs a chance to digest. Coach Tremblay and I would appreciate it greatly if you would make your way over to the private dining room in the back. We would like to go over a few things before the game, and Bruno needs to clear this table.”

  Charlie got up with the others, but Hilton motioned for him to stay behind.

  “I just need a quick word with Charlie,” he said, as the players left.

  “I’m sorry about asking you about your hockey career. I was just wondering — that’s all.”

  Hilton waved it off. “You don’t have to apologize. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it in a long time — it brought back some great memories. But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. I need you to do something for me, and it relates to what Nick was saying about the scoring lead,” Hilton said. “First off, you’re ten points behind Savard, so catching him will be somewhat difficult. In any event, the team needs you to do something, which will make it impossible for you to catch either Savard or Burnett.”

  Charlie couldn’t imagine what it was.

  “I believe the key to beating Chelsea is to keep those two from scoring. We shut those two down, and we have a good shot. I think we can handle Burnett with the right forechecking strategy, which is what Coach Tremblay is going over right now. We’ll send two men on him whenever he touches the puck and force him to pass. In our end, the winger on his side will stay up high and keep the puck off his stick.”

  He placed his clipboard on the table, looking at Charlie intently.

  “That doesn’t really concern you, though.” He held up his hand in response to Charlie’s quizzical look. “Savard is much tougher to shut down,” he continued. “He’s too fast to control by forechecking. He roams all over, is very unpredictable and, to top it off, very smart with and without the puck. That’s why I don’t think the team approach will work. The trap, the left-wing lock, it doesn’t matter. We don’t do those things well enough anyway. And without Jake and Liam, we also don’t have two powerful forward lines to put out against him.”

  He stopped and placed his hand on the back of Charlie’s chair. “The only way we can stop Savard is to put someone on him, a shadow, a player who will follow him all over the ice, never let him free for a moment, not even in Chelsea’s end. This player has to forget about scoring, about doing anything other than keeping the puck off Savard’s stick. And that player is you, Charlie,” he stated bluntly. “You’re the only one with the skills to match him. But it also means you won’t be scoring many goals.”

  “I don’t care about that, Coach,” he said. “I’d be happy to do it, if you think that’s the best way to win.”

  “I had a feeling you’d say that.” Hilton paused for a moment. “Before we join the others, I wanted to tell you that I think you’ve done a terrific job as captain. I really mean that. I know it hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s been the opposite of easy. So I’m very proud of how you’ve handled yourself. You’ve earned the title.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” Charlie said, uncomfortable with the praise.

  “One more thing,” Hilton said, rising from the table. “Since Jake and Thomas quit the team, I don’t feel an obligation to keep this from you. Jake got only three first place votes for captain. Thomas didn’t get any. I thought you’d like to know how solidly the guys are behind you.”

  He left Charlie at the table and hurried to the back of the restaurant to join the strategy session. Charlie got up slowly, digesting what his coach had told him about the voting. Charlie had voted for Ethan. Presumably Liam and Thomas had voted for Jake. That accounted for three of the four votes. He’d always assumed Matt voted for Jake, which would make that three. But then there was Jake’s vote to consider. Jake didn’t vote for Thomas, because he hadn’t gotten any votes, and he certainly didn’t vote for Charlie Joyce! He must have voted for himself, which meant that Matt didn’t vote for Jake. He must have voted for Charlie, along with every player still on the team.

  He walked over to join his teammates. Matt was sitting at the back, off to the side. Charlie sat down quietly next to him. Tremblay was explaining the forechecking strategy. Charlie looked over at Matt. Obviously the rift between Jake and him was deeper, and had existed a lot longer, than he’d previously suspected.

  Matt caught his eye. He leaned over, and asked, “What did the coach want?”

  Charlie lowered his voice. “I’m going to shadow Savard for the whole game.”

  “Good idea. You’ll shut him down.”

  “I’m going to need a lot of help. He’s a serious hockey player.”

  Matt didn’t reply, and Charlie turned his attention to Tremblay. He felt a tug on his shirt.

  “Hey, I want to apologize for some of the stuff I did, with Jake and those guys,” Matt said. “We were just being jerks, and I feel bad about it. They’ve been jerks for a while, if you ask me, but I didn’t have the guts to walk away. We were friends since kindergarten, and …” Matt didn’t finish. He looked down at the floor and shook his head.

  Charlie considered his words carefully before answering. “Forget about it. I’m glad you’re on the team — and I appreciate what you did in the dressing room.”

  Matt was about to reply when Hilton interrupted. “Guys, would you listen up, please? I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

  Every so often someone would raise his hand to ask a question, but for the most part the players were content to listen. The nerves were beginning to kick in. The chalk talk made the game seem imminent — and it was a game few people gave them a chance of winning. Chelsea had destroyed every team it played, while Terrence Falls had struggled just to make the final.

  Matt leaned over to Charlie and whispered, “This game’s going to come down to which team wants it more.”

  Charlie looked at his teammates. Scott, the jokester, was all business. Nick was jotting down some notes. Zachary, who rarely showed any emotion, was bolt upright in his chair, focused intently on what was being said. The dependable Pudge was gingerly testing his foot, grimacing a little, but still paying close attention.

  He whispered back to Matt, “If it comes down to that, we’ll win.”

  18

  DEADLOCK

  “Ter-rence Falls, Ter-rence Falls!”

  “Chel-sea, Chel-sea, Chel-sea!”

  Supporters for both teams waved signs and chanted their school names while they waited for the game to start. On the ice, the players were finishing their warm-up. Shots were being fired in on the goalies. A few players sat down on the ice to stretch. Charlie stood near the bench, next to Pudge and Scott. They were all breathing heavily, having just sprinted around the rink several times.

  Charlie felt those familiar butterflies in his stomach. He was glad they were there, because he knew it meant he was ready. He always felt uneasy before a big game. Scott handled the stress as only he could — talking a mile a minute.

  “We’ve got to come out hard. They think they’ve already won the game. Look at them prancing around the ice like little princes.”

  Scott tapped Pudge on the shin pads.

  “Is the foot okay?”

  “Hurts a little, but no worries.”


  “Good. You need to introduce some of them Chelsea babies to the bodycheck. If we get physical early, without taking stupid penalties, it’ll set the tone. If they dictate the play to us, we’re dead. Got to play our game, right Charlie?”

  Charlie half-laughed, amused by Scott’s compulsion to chatter away. Only the referee’s whistle silenced him. The Terrence Falls players crowded around Alexi, whacking his pads and rubbing his head for good luck. Chelsea’s coach decided not to start J.C. Savard, perhaps hoping Terrence Falls would start its best players and Savard could go out against a lesser line. Hilton didn’t fall for that. He told Charlie to come to the bench and wait for Savard.

  Charlie was relieved not to start. It gave him a chance to calm down. He took a sip of water and yelled a few words of encouragement to Matt, who was starting at centre. The referee waved to the goalies, and both waved back that they were ready. He then held the puck over his head, brought it down slowly, and dropped it to start the game.

  The crowd roared its approval. They were ready for some action, and Chelsea gave it to them. They controlled the puck off the faceoff and quickly dumped it into Terrence Falls’ end. Scott retrieved it in the corner. A forechecker steamed in on him. He took a look up ice and then passed the puck behind the net, believing Nick would be there. Unfortunately, Nick had decided to stay in front of the net and cover the centre. Craig was late getting to the boards and the puck got by him completely.

  The puck caromed around the boards and out to the blue line to Burnett. He corralled the puck and pushed forward at the net. Craig charged at him — exactly what Hilton told them not to do. Burnett was a magnificent stickhandler, and he slipped the puck between Craig’s legs, carving sharply around him. That left only Nick between him and the goal. Burnett raised his stick for a slapshot. Nick flung himself on the ice to block it. Burnett had faked the shot, however. He stepped around Nick, and went in alone on Alexi. He came out to challenge the shooter, which left Chelsea’s centre, whom Nick had been covering, alone in front. Once Alexi had committed to the shot, Burnett slid the puck across. Scott came roaring over from the corner, but he was too late. Chelsea’s centre redirected the pass into the gaping net. Twenty seconds into the game, and Chelsea had already drawn first blood.

  The Chelsea fans clapped and chanted the school name. It looked like the rout was on, and a few of the more boisterous ones taunted the Terrence Falls fans.

  “At this rate, the score will be a hundred to nothing by the end of the first,” one of them boasted.

  “We should have played a grade six team. This just isn’t fair.”

  “Hey, I think Hilton is crying. Just wait until we score our tenth goal — in this period!”

  Hilton was far from crying. He was busy rallying his troops after the disastrous start.

  “No big deal, guys. It was a bad goal. The game starts now. Who’s going to get that one back?”

  “We’ll take care of it,” Charlie said, nodding to his linemates. He’d seen J.C. Savard step onto the ice, and knew his line was up.

  He headed to centre. The butterflies were still there. Usually they were gone once the game started, but not this time. He was as nervous as ever. Savard had choked up on his stick with a reverse grip, and was hunched over the faceoff spot. Charlie guessed that meant he would try to draw the puck back to his defenceman. He decided to tie him up and let Zachary swing by and pick it up. He gave Zachary the signal and moved in.

  The puck was dropped, but instead of pulling it back, Savard pushed the puck between Charlie’s legs. The move took him completely by surprise. Savard slipped around him and broke in on the defence. He faked a move outside, and then sliced in between the defenceman with lightning speed. Both defencemen tried vainly to head him off, but his move had left them flat-footed, and he burst past them and roared in alone on a breakaway.

  Charlie hustled gamely after him, furious that he’d fallen for one of his own favourite moves. Alexi drifted far out of his net, almost recklessly. Savard saw that, and deked to his backhand. Alexi anticipated the move and flung his left pad tight against the post in a butterfly. Savard tried to backhand it over Alexi’s shoulder, but Alexi was there, thrusting his big blocker out and knocking the puck harmlessly to the corner.

  Savard swerved to retrieve the puck, with Charlie close behind. Savard scooped the puck onto his backhand, looking over his shoulder for a teammate. Charlie veered the same way, cutting off the passing lane to the front of the net. He played the body completely — no more trying to outguess this superstar. Savard tried to double back behind the net and Charlie rode him into the boards, holding him there until Nick retrieved the puck and rattled it off the boards and out of their end.

  Savard skated away, shaking his head and slapping his stick on the ice, angry at missing the breakaway. Charlie followed behind closely, shaking his head also, disgusted with himself for messing up on his first shift. From now on, he’d stick to the basics — Savard was too good and, as he’d just shown, one mistake could prove costly.

  To the surprise of the Chelsea fans, and most likely the Terrence Falls fans as well, the rest of the period passed by without another goal. The early goal did not dishearten the Terrence Falls squad. If anything, it hardened their resolve to play tough and not give an inch. Some monumental battles for the puck took place in all four corners, and more often than not, a Terrence Falls player came away with it.

  Charlie worked especially hard to kept Savard from touching the puck. Savard had been shadowed his entire life. That was nothing new for him, but it looked like he wasn’t used to being shadowed by someone as good as Charlie. The only drawback for Terrence Falls was that Charlie couldn’t contribute on offense. They barely mounted an attack. The most action the Chelsea goalie saw was passing the puck to the referee after an icing. Chelsea continued to have some good chances, but the acrobatic Alexi kept them off the score sheet.

  Chelsea got lucky at the start of the second period. Pudge was in Chelsea’s end pressuring a defenceman who was trying to skate the puck out of the zone. Pudge swung his stick at the puck, but inadvertently clipped the defender’s skates, sending him tumbling to the ice. He didn’t mean to do it, but the referee had no choice — his arm went up to signal a penalty.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Charlie said to Pudge, as he went to the penalty box. “Just another bad break. We’ll kill this off.”

  Charlie and Zachary stayed on, and Scott and Nick came out on defence. Charlie had been holding his own against Savard in the faceoff department, after he’d been beaten so badly on the first shift. He went in hard, hoping to get the puck back to Scott so he could fire it deep into Chelsea’s end. Savard had his own idea, however, and once more showed Charlie just how clever he could be. Savard didn’t try to win the draw, but rather tied Charlie’s stick up and pushed into him, controlling the puck with his feet. His left winger swept by and passed it back to Burnett at the blue line, who skated off to the right, looking for an opening.

  So much for getting it into their end, he thought, following Savard to the boards near the red line. Savard wanted to give his smooth-skating teammate some room to operate, and so he stayed to the outside. Zachary hovered at centre waiting to see what Burnett would do. Charlie drifted into the neutral zone to give Zachary some support, all the while keeping a close eye on Savard.

  Chelsea’s right winger drifted up the boards, and Burnett snapped the puck to him. Zachary moved over to force the winger, who quickly dropped it back to Burnett.

  The other Chelsea players took off, including Savard who took a few strides towards the Terrence Falls’ end. Burnett took the pass from the winger, and made to fire it across to his defence partner who was up against the far boards. At the last second, however, he changed his mind, faked to his left, and swept to the middle. Zachary came charging off the boards to head him off, lowering his shoulder when he got close, and then, to the surprise of everyone in the arena, knocked Burnett clear off his feet.

  The puck sat on
the blue line in the middle of the ice. Zachary had fallen, so he couldn’t get to it, and neither could Chelsea’s right defenceman, who had been camped out at the far boards. Burnett swung his stick wildly as he lay sprawled on the ice, but the puck was out of his reach. That left Charlie and Savard, with Charlie a few feet ahead. Charlie took off like a rocket, gathered up the puck, and moved in for a breakaway. The crowd rose to its feet, oddly quiet, waiting for the drama to unfold before reacting to the sudden turn of events.

  Terrence Falls had barely managed a few weak shots the entire first period, so Charlie figured the goalie might be a bit cold. At the hash marks he faked a shot, which froze the goalie for a moment. That was all Charlie needed. The goalie was too far out of his net, and all Charlie had to do was deke to one side and slip the puck in. The goalie realized his mistake quickly, though. Rather than try to get back to his net, he dove forward with a poke check. Charlie moved the puck to his forehand, evading the goalie’s stick, but to do that he had to swing wider to his left. That let Savard get close enough to make a play for the puck. Savard swung his stick hard, but instead of hitting Charlie’s stick or the puck, he clipped Charlie’s left forearm just above the glove. Charlie felt a wave of pain spread up his entire arm to his shoulder. Still, he was able to shovel the puck into the open net before crumpling to his knees, holding his arm with his right hand.

  The crowd roared at first, but then quieted quickly when they saw that Charlie was hurt. Charlie felt an arm on his back. To his surprise, it was J.C. Savard, and he looked extremely upset.

  “I didn’t mean to hit your arm,” he said. “I just wanted to knock your stick.”

  “I think I’m okay,” Charlie managed.

  That wasn’t really true. He was certain his arm was broken. Charlie didn’t have a chance to say anything else, because Scott crashed into Savard and sent him flying into his own net. A Chelsea player charged at Scott, and soon a scrum formed.