by David Skuy
The defenceman did a good job preventing Burnett from curling into the slot. That forced him back towards the boards. Jake moved in to begin the cycle. No sense watching, Charlie figured. The Cobras had probably won the game. He just wanted one more chance to score — for Simon’s and Gabriel’s sake as much as for his own.
He left his man in front and ducked in between Jake and Burnett, praying that the defenceman wouldn’t anticipate his wild gamble — and it worked. Charlie intercepted the puck off the boards. He was in a difficult spot, though, sandwiched between Burnett and Jake, and no one breaking clear. The safe play would be to fire the puck off the glass and out. For the second time, he threw caution to the wind and cut sharply up the middle of the ice right beside the goalpost, banking on Burnett and Jake being tired after a long shift. He heard Jake groan and the other Cobras winger made a token effort to stop him. The Cobras defenders had both played it safe and were already back near the red line.
With nothing but open ice before him, Charlie remembered his linemates still on the bench. Instead of continuing the attack he curled at his own blue line and took it back to the Sharks’ end, passing to a defenceman behind the net. The Cobras players ignored him and hurried to change lines, although he noticed one of them gave him an odd look. He didn’t care. At least it gave Simon and Gabriel the chance to get on.
Gabriel swung across the top of the circle and took a well-timed pass from the defenceman without breaking stride. Charlie swerved behind him and Gabriel dropped the puck back. Charlie took two steps with it and sent it cross ice to Simon, who in turn one-timed it to Gabriel breaking in. The quick passing took the Cobras forwards by surprise. Out of position, they could only look on as a three-on-two developed.
About four feet from the blue line, Gabriel left the puck and drove to his left. At the same time, Simon cut across to pick it up. Charlie sensed the defenders’ confusion and drifted to the middle. Simon saw it too and left the puck again. The right defenceman foolishly lunged for it, only to have Charlie snatch it first. Now it was a three-on-one.
The play was over in seconds. The puck went from Charlie to Simon, back to Gabriel, and again to Charlie. The lone defenceman dropped to his knees, believing Charlie would shoot. Instead Charlie backhanded it to Gabriel, who drove to the near post forcing the goalie to drop to his butterfly. Charlie put on the breaks to give Gabriel a passing angle, while Simon set up at the far post.
Gabriel passed it across the crease to Simon. Unlike Corey, he showed patience. The goalie flung himself to that post, only to have Simon calmly flick it to Charlie, who guided it to Gabriel. Almost laughing, Gabriel one-timed it into the wide-open net.
Charlie looked at his linemates in disbelief. You could play an entire season and not see a goal like that. They’d gone the length of the ice to score. A miracle goal he’d never forget. All the frustration of this game, of the camp, simply disappeared. This was hockey magic, and from Simon and Gabriel’s reaction he knew they felt the same.
Corey had jumped on the ice.
“Don’t even think about it,” Simon yelled. “We can handle the last thirty seconds.”
“But you scored,” Corey whined.
“That’s the point,” Gabriel shot back.
Binns had a foot on the boards. “Corey, for the last time, change when I tell you.” Corey hung his head and returned to the bench.
“Nice goal to watch,” Savard said, when they lined up for the draw.
Charlie grinned and put his stick down. Not a nice goal — the perfect goal, and the perfect way to end this camp. Charlie won the draw and a Sharks defenceman chopped it off the boards where Simon was able to dump it in. Burnett won the race to the puck and wired it around the wall. His winger knifed the puck to Savard and he broke over the blue line and lifted a soft backhand down the ice. A Sharks defenceman corralled the spinning puck, but time had run out. He blasted a long shot from his own blue line, easily gloved by the goalie. The buzzer sounded and he flipped the puck high in the air. The Cobras descended on their goalie to congratulate him on the win.
Gabriel come up to Charlie from behind and slapped his shin pads. “They can’t take that last one from us,” he said.
Charlie slapped his shin pads back.
He was absolutely right.
23
STANDING “O”
The three linemates picked up their equipment and walked down the hall.
“We needed one more shift to tie it up,” Gabriel said.
“We needed two more to win it,” Simon said.
“And of course, one more shift for the insurance marker,” Charlie said, and they all laughed.
“Amazing how quick this camp goes by. Feels like we just got here, and we’re leaving in a few hours,” Gabriel said seriously.
“It’s been a long season, I tell ya,” Simon said. “My team had a mini-camp at the end of August, and if you count tryouts in April, and then we had a tournament in May, it feels like I played all year. I get a break this summer for six weeks or so, and I’m right back at it.”
“What are you doing this summer?” Charlie asked.
He grinned. “Going to hockey camp.”
“Gotta play the game,” Gabriel laughed. “I’m doing a one-week skills camp too.”
Charlie understood, because he was cut from the same cloth. The game made up for it all — even when you didn’t feel like hauling yourself out of bed for a seven a.m. practice.
He dropped his equipment to the ground when they got outside and held out his fist. “Let’s keep in touch and tell me how your teams shape up once the season starts up again. Maybe we’ll run into each other at a tournament or something.”
“You’d better hope not,” Simon said. “I know all your moves.”
“I’ve kept my best ones back,” Charlie said. Gabriel and Simon punched his fist and they said goodbye. He picked up his bag and began walking to the dorm. Scott, Nick and Slogger were standing together in the field.
“You boys represented with pride,” Charlie said to Nick and Slogger.
“Thanks, dude,” Slogger said. “I liked that last goal.”
“Excuse me, Slogger. I think Charles was talking to me,” Scott said. “Yes, I did cheer well. Got a bit tired by the end of the second period and had to dig deep, but I felt I brought it big time in the third.”
“The pom-poms were a nice touch,” Nick said.
“And so was the skirt,” Slogger added.
“I dominated — what can I say,” Scott said.
They talked about the game as they made their way back. The buses were parked outside the dorm. The sight of them made Charlie a bit sad. Now that it was over, he didn’t want to go. Jen was waiting for them by the doors.
“We have a tight schedule to keep, gentlemen,” she began.
“As opposed to the loose schedule we usually keep,” Scott said.
“You forgot about the twelve seconds she gave us to relax yesterday,” Nick said.
Scott slapped his forehead. “I’m such a forgetter.”
Jen laughed. “We’re leaving in about two hours,” she said. “Pack up and leave your bags by the buses. Coach Clark is going to address the players in Rink 1 before you depart. This is the last time you’ll hear this from me — don’t be late.”
“You guys go ahead,” Charlie said. “I just want to check out the University Store for a sec.”
“Get me something nice,” Scott cried, as he ran off.
Charlie zipped his bag closed and placed it on the floor. Corey had done the same, and their eyes met momentarily. Corey turned away first.
“Good game,” Charlie said cautiously.
“It felt too short,” Corey said. “I barely worked up a sweat. We were beginning to take over in the third. I figured out their goalie. You have to fake low and take it upstairs. My fault. I should’ve done that earlier. Could’ve bagged a couple of quick ones to keep us in it.”
Charlie spotted his sweatshirt under his bed and reop
ened his bag.
“Did you see all the scouts watching the game? I bet there were at least seven of them,” Corey said.
Charlie stuffed his sweatshirt in and zipped his bag shut.
“Just for the record,” Corey continued, “I’m glad you got to play, and you had a good game. I’m not sure you did the right thing. I get the fact you wanted to protect Jake because he’s from your hometown. The guy stole the ring, though. I don’t think he should’ve been allowed to play.”
That was going too far. “You’ve got to be joking, Corey. You and I know who …”
A knock stopped him. Before he could say anything the door flung open. A man walked into the middle of the room. Well-dressed, with a fancy brown leather jacket and highly polished shoes, he looked around the room, grimacing when he noticed Charlie. Corey flushed and lowered his eyes.
“Dad, this is Charlie … He was my roommate,” Corey said softly.
Charlie said, “Hello,” but he had to force himself not to laugh out loud. Corey’s dad was tiny, shorter than Charlie. He looked more like the son than the father.
Mr. Sanderson glared back. “Um … hi … Charlie.” He looked back at his son. “Quite a game this morning.”
Corey sat on his bed. “I was just telling Charlie that it felt way too short and we were coming back. I just got going and the buzzer went.”
“You call that going?” he said harshly. “Two shots on net all game, and you were on the ice for three of their goals. I thought Savard outplayed you, and that Wilkenson kid gave you all you could handle.” He paused and looked closer at his son. “Didn’t that Wilkenson get kicked out?”
“The coaches let him stay,” Corey explained.
His dad waved him off. “Doesn’t matter. Not a great way to end it; and not a great game to watch, at least from where I was sitting.”
“I can do way better,” Corey said weakly. “I was hurt at the beginning of camp — ask Charlie — and then I got sick, and maybe I’m still getting back …”
His dad shrugged. “Okay. Maybe. I know you were sick. Still …”
Charlie was taken aback. Corey was obviously unhappy about the way he played. His dad certainly wasn’t making him feel any better.
“There were at least five Major Junior scouts in the stands, and another five college scouts. Do you think they were impressed? Does Corey Sanderson look like a prospect? Are they going to use a draft pick on you, or offer a scholarship?”
Corey was slumped over.
“I found it hard to get used to the lines,” Charlie offered, trying to stall long enough to give Corey a chance to control himself in front of his dad. “Corey was just telling me that he only got going in the third period. I was sort of the same.”
His dad stared at him until Charlie began to feel uncomfortable. Finally, he broke away and looked over at Corey. “Get your stuff packed and meet me downstairs in five minutes. I have back-to-back meetings at the office after we get home.”
He whirled around and left. Corey didn’t move. He sat on his bed, lost in thought. Charlie let him be, no longer wanting to confront him about the ring — or anything else. He felt so sorry for Corey that the other stuff didn’t seem to matter.
Charlie had trouble thinking about his dad without getting sad or angry, but after seeing how Corey’s dad treated him, the memory of his father was a little less painful. He put more pressure on himself than his father ever had. His dad had always been encouraging, teaching him stuff, taking care of him. He’d told him to play hockey because he loved the game. Maybe that was why hockey had become so important. He couldn’t imagine life with a dad like Corey’s.
Corey suddenly jumped to his feet, a determined look on his face. “Dad’s totally right. I stunk the rink out. Shouldn’t make excuses. That’s for losers. I’ve been making too many excuses. I gotta work harder — put more effort into my training. I slacked off too much. You can do anything if you put your mind to it. That’s what dad says; and he’s right. Look at him. He built his business from scratch — all by himself. You gotta want it more than the other guy.
“This is my wake-up call. I gotta keep working on my game, and the next time I run into Savard or Wilkenson it’ll be different. I promise you.”
Charlie felt even worse than before. The poor guy would keep training himself to death in the hope that he’d get drafted or get a scholarship. Corey was wasting his life trying to impress his dad.
“You sure that’s what you want to do? I mean, is it worth it?”
Corey suddenly looked desperate. “What else am I gonna do?” He shook his head several times. “That’s not what I meant to say. The point is, you’ll never make it with that attitude.”
“Make what?”
“Make Junior … college … the NHL … Make it!” Corey’s eyes blazed. He snatched his phone from the side table and stuffed it in his pocket. “Forget it. Not your worry. Gotta go.” He picked up his bag. “Goodbye,” he said.
Charlie didn’t want things to end like this. “Hey, Corey. I didn’t mean anything by it. I know you’ll make it. And you did get hurt … and sick. Your dad didn’t really see that. You’ve got what it takes. No question.”
Corey lowered his bag slowly to the floor. “Thanks, Charlie. I appreciate that. Nice meeting you. Too bad we didn’t get a chance to play together more.” He grinned. “Maybe we’ll play together in the NHL.”
Charlie couldn’t stay mad at him. “That would be awesome, Corey.”
Corey slapped Charlie on the back and closed the door behind him. Seconds later, Slogger, Nick and Scott barged in. Charlie picked up his bag.
“Are you guys ready to go? Jen told us to hustle,” Charlie said.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Nick announced. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when Charlie Joyce of Terrence Falls would tell us to hurry up so we wouldn’t be late.”
“Way to nail the concept of time when camp is over,” Scott wisecracked.
“Maybe he wants to impress his new girlfriend,” Nick offered.
“Julia will be jealous,” Scott said.
“Who’s Julia?” Slogger asked.
“Charlie’s lady friend,” Scott said. “Shocking how quickly he forgot her.”
Charlie and Julia had become friends over the course of grade nine. Nick and Scott were forever teasing him about her.
“You guys are relentless,” Charlie said.
Nick put his arm around his shoulders. “That’s our job. We gotta keep you humble.”
“You’re good at it,” Charlie quipped.
As they walked to the rink, Charlie told them about Corey’s dad.
“I kinda thought he’d fess up,” Charlie said. “Obviously, I know the truth.”
“Probably too afraid to admit that he can’t live up to his dad’s expectations,” Nick said.
“Problem is that Corey’s maxed out as a player,” Charlie said. “I don’t think he’s got a real shot. He should throttle it back and play for fun.”
“Not likely.” Scott punched his arm. “Not many people are as smart as us.”
Most of the other players were already seated when they arrived.
Jen was at the top of the stairs. “Mr. Joyce, you’re nothing if not consistent. And I see you’ve made your friends late for the last meeting as well.”
“How can we be late?” Charlie said, exasperated with himself. “I thought we had lots of time.”
Jen laughed. “I’m kidding, Charlie. I can’t help giving you a hard time. You’re so serious.”
Charlie blushed. “Sorry. I guess I am.”
She laughed again. “No need to apologize.” She leaned closer. “You’re a great kid. I admire what you did — all the staff does — and you had a great game today.”
He felt himself blushing more. “Thanks … I just did what I thought was right.”
“Not everyone does,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Now take a seat before you really are late.”
“Julia�
�s gonna be absolutely furious,” Scott said.
“Joyce — the ladies’ man,” Nick added.
He tried to ignore them as they continued to kid him. Fortunately, Coach Clark and the rest of the coaching staff came in.
“It’s been an unusual year, I’ll give you that,” Clark stated, and laughter filled the cavernous arena. “It’s also been a very productive one. You all got a taste of a real hockey camp. I saw some hard work, and a great deal of skill development. Remember what you learned, keep practising and getting stronger, and I’m confident there are some future stars in this room.”
He took a sip from his coffee mug. “When we first started this camp we used to give out awards. Remember, Rick?”
Binns nodded.
“Then we decided we weren’t sending the right message. This camp isn’t about awards. It’s about working hard for yourself, doing your best, and — I’m going to say it — having fun.” A good-natured groan came from the players. “Too many kids are being treated like professional athletes already these days. Play because you want to, not because of big bucks in the NHL. There’s nothing wrong with trying to make it as a pro — but many players are called and very, very, very few are chosen. School must be your first priority, along with family and friends.
“I’m proud of you all. Great work, and I hope to see some of you again.”
He began clapping, and the rest of the coaching staff did too. The players joined in, and soon they were clapping in rhythm, as one cohesive unit — a team.
“I didn’t expect him to say that,” Charlie said in Slogger’s ear.
“I think at least one person needed to hear it,” Slogger said.
“I don’t think we do,” Charlie said.
He could take pride in that, and in how he hadn’t quit when the going got tough. Things had looked bad for a while — really bad. But like Coach Clark had said, hockey is about working hard and doing your best. He’d done that, and ended up learning more than he ever imagined. Best of all he’d met some of the best, and coolest, guys around — Slogger, Simon and Gabriel to name a few. Sure, you had to put up with the likes of Jake and Zane. But even they couldn’t ruin this experience.
