Making the Cut

by David Skuy

  “Precisely why are you standing here when there’s a practice, Mr. Joyce?”

  “I can’t find my equipment.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know,” he said miserably. “Me and Trevor looked all over. I … I …”

  “I bet the ring is in your stupid bag,” Jen cut in.

  “I didn’t take the ring,” he said breathlessly.

  “I didn’t say you did. Sorry. I’m just annoyed.” She rolled her neck around once. “Fine. Where did you look?”

  Charlie told her, and she closed her eyes and shook her head slowly from side to side. “Well, there’s nowhere else. It must be in one of the other rinks. Maybe someone carried it over by mistake.”

  “Why would someone take my stuff?” he said.

  “Do you have a better idea, Mr. Joyce?”

  Charlie gulped and said, “No,” following Jen outside.

  Head down, and feeling as self-conscious as he ever had in his life, Charlie glided across the ice to join the group of forwards at the far end. Practice was half over. He was still unnerved by the whole thing. Jen had found his equipment in an empty dressing room in Rink 3. It certainly didn’t help his nerves when Coach Clark called him over the second he fell into line. He hadn’t realized Clark would be running the practice.

  “Charlie Joyce, come over here please, and the rest of you, form a semicircle behind me. I want to show you something.”

  Charlie dutifully skated to the front of the net, dreading what was going to come next.

  “I’ve been told you lost your equipment?” Clark said.

  “Somehow it got put in the other rink — sorry,” Charlie managed.

  The corners of Clark’s eyes hardened. “That is very odd,” he said slowly.

  By this time the other players had gathered around. Much to Charlie’s relief, Clark didn’t dwell on his misplaced equipment. “I’m sure coach Miller has spoken to you about net presence — although in my day we called it standing in front of the net or screening the goalie. Anyway, I’ve noticed most of you forwards are remaining stationary, which is allowing the defenceman to establish position.

  “Charlie, I want you to be the forward, and I’ll be the defenceman.” He banged the tip of his stick on the ice about seven feet from the top of the crease. “Stand here and see if you can score. Trevor, you fire a few passes from the corner.”

  Why did Clark have to pick him? He felt even more self-conscious, not to mention a little awed, actually playing against Clark, a former NHL player. He’d been retired for years, but Charlie had seen him skating around and shooting and the man could definitely still play.

  “Let’s go, Trevor,” Clark said.

  Each pass was perfect. Right on Charlie’s stick, and not too hard. But each time, Clark knocked his stick, bumped him slightly or poked the puck away. He wasn’t even taking advantage of his size. Soon the guys started laughing, which only added to Charlie’s embarrassment.

  “Okay, Trevor. Hold up,” Clark said finally. “You’re all laughing — but you all do the same thing. You race to the front of the net because that’s what you’ve been taught, and then you’re static. That allows the D to keep the puck away. When I played I loved guys who stood in front like statues. Now this time, Charlie, I want you to move around, and when you feel you have an opening, power hard to a spot, make yourself available for a pass, bend low, and get strong.”

  Clark said to go, and Charlie faked to his right and charged down low to his left about four feet from the post. Trevor anticipated the move and the puck arrived the second he put on the brakes. Clark extended his stick and push him with his left arm, but Charlie was able to get a shot on net to the short side.

  Clark tapped Charlie on the helmet. “Well done. That was perfect. Did you see that, boys? Movement, position, shot. It’s that simple. Very difficult to defend without taking a penalty. Let’s try once more.”

  Trevor was to his left, so Clark would expect him to go to that side. Counting on Trevor’s skills, and he’d seen plenty of them at work since camp started, Charlie spun to his right, dancing past Clark and took two steps to the far post. The puck saucered onto his stick, and he knifed at it with his forehand. It was one of those miracle shots, when the puck rockets off your stick and you wonder how you did it. The puck nicked the bottom of the crossbar and ricocheted into the net.

  Several of the onlookers let out a cheer. Charlie forced himself not to smile too broadly. It would look like he was dissing the coach. Coach Clark didn’t seem to mind, however, and slapped his stick several times and held out his glove to Charlie for a high-five.

  “Well done — and done to perfection. Did you see that? Movement. Aggression. Purpose. Put the defender under pressure and you’ll get your scoring chances. Remember that eighty percent of all goals are scored within ten feet of the net. So ask yourselves all the time: Am I in position to score? Am I in position to screen the goalie? Am I in a position to receive a pass? If you’re not, move.

  “Trevor, you’ll feed the forwards. We’ll take turns, forwards trying to get free, defencemen working to stop them.”

  Charlie was about to join the forwards when Clark called him over.

  “That was good effort, Charlie,” he said. “I’d like to see more of that. Play with confidence — that’s something for you to focus on. You’ve got the ability, and the jam too, to be a great player. It’s lack of confidence that holds you back, and maybe a lack of attention sometimes. I know you’ve been late to some things and have had some problems with some of the activities. Are you enjoying the camp, Charlie?”

  The kindness of the question took him by surprise. He was half expecting to get demoted, especially after speaking with Jen before practice.

  He hesitated. “Yeah. Of course. It’s been great. I’ve learned a ton of stuff already. Coach Miller is awesome. And you’re right about me standing still. My coach back at Terrence Falls tells me the same thing. Never stop skating in hockey.”

  Clark seemed to approve. “I like the sound of this coach of yours. Good advice.”

  Charlie figured he was done. “Thanks,” he said, and was about to join the line when Clark added, “Let’s keep track of that equipment of yours.”

  Before Charlie could answer, Clark blew his whistle. “I need a forward and D in front, please,” he ordered.

  Charlie fell in behind Simon and Gabriel. He’d gotten to know them a little bit since that first practice, although they tended to hang out together and not socialize much with others. They were very, very serious players, and rarely joked around — the complete opposite of Scott and Nick.

  Savard and Zane were the first pair up. The shifty centre used his tremendous quickness and soft hands to convert a pass into a goal, and narrowly missed a second. Zane slammed his stick on the ice as two more players took their position.

  “What did Clark have to say about you being so late for practice?” Gabriel asked him.

  “Where were you?” Simon followed up. “We thought you’d gotten hurt and had gone back to the dorm.”

  He figured he might as well tell them the truth. “You won’t believe, it but I found my equipment at Rink 3. Jen was gonna kill me, I swear. It didn’t help that she was beyond mad about Miller’s ring.”

  Simon scowled. “You’re having your share of bad luck. That rope thing was crazy.”

  “Jen’s okay, but I don’t think she was fair to you,” Gabriel said.

  Charlie didn’t want to rehash that. He had a feeling most of the guys were still mad at him. But it was cool that at least these two guys were giving him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Next pair,” Clark yelled.

  “You’re up,” Gabriel said, pushing Simon forward.

  Charlie considered Clark’s advice as he waited for his turn. Confidence. That was a good idea. He’d known the competition would be intense. But he’d done okay — maybe even better than okay. He was still on Team 1, although Jen had made it clear that
could change.

  He readied himself. From now on Charlie Joyce was going to take it to a higher level — starting with this drill.

  “Next.”

  Charlie took his place in the slot and waited for the whistle.

  12

  PICKPOCKET

  “… and I want Charlie, Simon and Gabriel as the other line. We only have about ten minutes for a scrimmage — but too much drilling dulls the senses. We need to put some of this stuff into action.” Clark blasted his whistle. “Line ’em up, boys.”

  Simon tapped Charlie on the shin pads. “Let’s wheel and have some fun.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Charlie said. He could tell Simon loved to play, and that he was never happier than when a coach announced a scrimmage, even a short one. He knew because he was the same way.

  “This is our puck,” Gabriel said, joining them as they skated to centre for the faceoff. “Careful of neutral zone turnovers — and we go hard on the forecheck.”

  Savard’s line was out against them. Richard was on the left, and a kid named Tan was the right winger. The two lines were evenly matched. He knew all about Savard, and Charlie vowed to watch him all over the ice. Richard was a tough-minded player, kind of like Simon, although maybe not quite as skillful. Tan was a bit on the small side, but his speed was a killer, easily a match for Gabriel.

  Trevor dropped the puck hard and it bounced off the ice. Their sticks clashed and on the rebound Savard was able to swipe it to the boards with his forehand. Richard and Simon were on it, but Simon got there a touch faster and he flipped it back to his D, who rifled a pass across to the right defenceman. Charlie anticipated the play and curled deeply in the neutral zone and cut up just as the defenceman took the pass. The puck barely touched his stick before it was on Charlie’s — a perfect pass. Savard reached in to head him off just as Simon came off the wall at a 45-degree angle. Charlie took a step and snapped a pass. He had to put it slightly behind him to avoid Savard’s stick, but Simon kicked it up to his stick easily.

  The right defenceman stepped up to force him, and Simon flipped the puck up high into the near corner. Gabriel let Simon continue on to force the play, and he glided in behind to add pressure. Charlie hovered up high, worried about leaving Savard alone. Simon went in hard and jarred the puck loose. Gabriel jumped on it and went behind the net. With the puck in his possession Charlie switched into offence mode and moved into the slot. Miller had told him to be confident, so …

  The left defenceman charged at Gabriel in the corner. The left winger backhanded the puck along the boards. Charlie swept in to retrieve it, and immediately felt Savard’s presence. With not much choice, Charlie moved it back towards the blue line slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Simon creep in behind the net. They were set up for the cycle. Charlie didn’t hesitate. He backhanded it to Simon, who took it to the other side, where Gabriel moved in to help out. Three times Charlie had the puck behind the net or along the boards, and each time he chopped it down low to a waiting linemate. It was grinding hockey, and all three forwards took some punishment, but it was also satisfying to keep the puck for so long. Finally, Charlie spotted his right defenceman open at the point and he snapped a carom pass to him along the wall.

  Simon immediately crashed the net. Charlie remembered Clark’s advice and the drill they’d done. Keep those feet moving, Joyce, he said to himself, and so rather than wait for the shot he charged to the slot. The defenceman faked the shot and passed it across to his partner, who let it rip from about five feet inside the blue line. Simon offered himself as a screen, so Charlie decided to camp out at the top of the crease to the goalie’s left. The goalie ducked low and dropped into his butterfly. The puck bounced off his left pad and ricocheted off Charlie’s skate. For a second he thought he had the short side open, until Savard lifted his stick momentarily and the left defenceman swept the puck out of danger into the corner.

  Richard swooped in neatly and drove up ice. Exhausted after a hard shift, the right winger dumped it in and changed up, as did all the players on Charlie’s side. On the bench, Charlie took several deep sips of water, and passed the bottle to his linemates.

  “Good effort,” he said. “We had the puck the entire shift. We’ll put one in next time.”

  Simon sent a small stream of water onto the ice in a high arc. “I should’ve tipped that shot. Just missed it.”

  “The D got his stick between my legs and got me off to the perimeter before the shot. I was useless. As least Charlie got close to the puck,” Gabriel said.

  Charlie thought all three of them had played great. Simon and Gabriel had worked like monsters on the boards, cycling the puck, and the shot was right on. If Savard had been half a second slower, Charlie would have scored. They were so hard on themselves, but it was in a good way. It fired him up to work even harder. He turned his attention to the game. The play raged back and forth at a tremendous pace. He found himself getting antsy watching — he had to get back out there!

  Soon enough the centre signalled a change and Charlie hurled himself over the boards. Jake had the puck in his own end, curling in front of his net, moving slowly. Charlie went straight at him, figuring he’d be tired at the end of a long shift. Jake saw him and looked to his right to pass to his winger, so Charlie held his stick out to intercept. That changed Jake’s mind and he swerved back to his left, one hand on the stick, driving hard for open ice.

  Charlie had the advantage of being well rested, and he was able to double back and swing his stick as Jake crossed the blue line. He caught a piece of the puck, and it hopped over Jake’s stick. The two defencemen had spread out wide to give Jake an outlet, which meant Charlie had an unobstructed lane to the net. Charlie kicked it forward with his right foot and brought the bouncing puck under control by tapping the top of the puck with the bottom of his blade.

  The goalie immediately came out, crouched low, his glove held out wide a little over waist level. His name was Theodore; lightning quick and fearless, he loved to challenge shooters on breakaways, and he was very difficult to beat on a deke. His only weakness was his height. Not the tallest kid, he could be beaten upstairs. Both defencemen were charging to close the gap, so he didn’t have too much time. Charlie dragged the puck behind his back foot, feinted to his backhand and then took a step to his left as if he wanted to deke stickside. The goalie backed up, ready to drop into the butterfly.

  “Perfect,” Charlie thought. He pulled the puck towards his skates with the tip of his stick and snapped a forehand to the top corner. The goalie had given him too much net, and the puck flew over his arm and in.

  Charlie curled back to his end, stick across his knees. It was only a scrimmage, so he wasn’t going to make a big deal over a goal, although it felt awesome to pick Jake’s pocket. In fact, he saw Clark speaking to Jake against the boards. Jake was looking at the ice, nodding occasionally. Maybe that would shut him up.

  Gabriel and Simon held out their hands and he high-fived them.

  “That’s the way to forecheck,” Gabriel said. “Let’s keep getting on them real quick.”

  Charlie rapped his shin pads with his stick and lined up for the draw. Savard came out for Jake.

  “That’s almost two goals in two shifts,” Savard said to Charlie. “Take it easy. You’re making us look bad.”

  That was typical J.C. He always made it seem like everyone else was amazing and he was just an average player. Charlie had played against him enough this past year to know he was capable of scoring two goals on any shift if the other team wasn’t careful.

  “This time Gabriel’s gonna score, so don’t worry about me,” Charlie said, to his right winger.

  “I thought I was gonna get two?” Gabriel said.

  “Can we play some hockey already?” Richard growled.

  Clark obliged, dropping the puck. Savard showed he was ready by winning the draw back to the right D. Charlie scolded himself for losing the draw so easily. He hadn’t been focused and Savard made him loo
k bush.

  He forechecked, one hand on his stick to take away the inside lane, waving it side to side slightly to make it harder to pass. The defenceman was smart and only faked the inside move, hitting Savard with a pass in the seam about six feet from the boards. Simon left his man to force Savard, who deftly flicked the puck over Simon’s stick to Richard. The burly winger took three powerful strides over centre and dumped it into the opposite corner for his left winger.

  Charlie hustled to cover Savard. But he wasn’t the easiest guy to keep in check. He took off without warning to the left side and before Charlie could get there the puck was on his stick, courtesy of a sharp pass from the winger who had outraced the defender to the corner. Savard threw on the brakes at the hash marks, with his back to Charlie, as his teammates streamed into the zone. Charlie felt good, however. He had Savard trapped against the wall, and there wasn’t much he could do.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong. Savard whirled towards the blue line with the puck on his forehand and snapped a pass down low to the left winger who had managed to sneak past the defenceman. The winger one-timed it across the crease to Richard, and the puck was in before Charlie or any of his teammates could move.

  Charlie slapped the ice with his stick. “We were supposed to score,” he said to Savard in admiration.

  “That wouldn’t be fair,” he replied good-naturedly, as he skated to the net to congratulate Richard.

  It was a different Charlie Joyce who lined up for the faceoff this time. Corey had said it all: You can’t take a shift off. This time he blocked Savard’s stick, and knocked the puck with his forehand to the boards close to his right defenceman.

  In a repeat of the previous play, Savard forechecked and Charlie took a short pass from his defencemen. He spun and headed up ice, crossing the red line before firing it into the corner for Simon. He corralled the rolling puck and ringed it around the wall to Gabriel. Charlie followed the play intently, looking for an open seam. Gabriel didn’t hesitate. He took the puck, drove hard back behind the net, and cut into the front of the net past a startled defencemen. The goalie dropped to his knees and pressed up against the post.