by Dave Belisle
"Awright. You're out. I want another guy in here."
Starsikov skated over to Farquharson's left wing position. Farquharson skated to the face-off dot, but Hutchny was already there. Farquharson shrugged and took his position on Hutchny's vacated right wing. From the face-off dot, Hutchny grinned at Starsikov, who fumed in return.
"The referee finally drops the puck and it's swept back to Hilliard at the point," said Able. "Hilliard passes across to Gobelthorpe. There's a lot of traffic beside the Serpent cage."
Starsikov and Hutchny stood face-to-face beside DeChance. Stapleman stood guard behind them, his eyes ping-ponging between Starsikov and Hutchny, following the conversation and waiting for one of them to make a move. DeChance also paid slightly more than passing interest, picking up the Russians' dialogue as he tried maintaining sight of the puck. The referee knew he shouldn't be paying attention to them, but it was like rubber-necking a car wreck. The two Russian teammates had cast the gloves aside and were poking home hard opinions with harder fingers to the chest.
"Your mother wears red army boots!" Starsikov said, poking Hutchny's chest on every second syllable.
"Your cossack father shovels salt in Siberia!" said Hutchny. He shoved Starsikov hard against the corner boards.
"Play continues as the two Leafs are engaged in a heated debate," said Able. "Other players appear distracted by it. The referee raises his hand ... and he lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Confusion reigns. Hilliard winds up from the point. HE SCORES! Well, m-i-i-i-i-i-l-l-l-l-k my cow and take a bow!"
The scoreboard changed to read SERPENTS 5, LEAFS 4. 28 seconds remained in the third period. The two teams lined up at center ice. Erskine's heart was now pumping blood only to his face. It was a beet-red, blustery mess.
"Will somebody puh-LEEZ tell me what's going on?!?," he shouted at his two defensemen on the ice. Their focus remained rigid on the referee holding the puck at center ice.
"The Leafs are looking for the equalizer ..." said Able. "Off the face-off, the puck is shot into the Serpents end."
Leaf players forechecked vigorously. The four Serpent players set up in the four-corner, penalty killing formation. Boswell backed into the goal crease. He went to step forward but couldn't. He was stuck with DeChance between the goal posts. Like two men in a doorway, neither could move.
"Boswell and DeChance appear to be stuck between the goal posts," said Able. "Hicks drops his stick and is trying to yank his defensive partner free."
Gobelthorpe fired a shot, hitting Boswell in the mid section. The defenseman frantically grabbed for the puck in his bulky equipment. He pulled the puck out with his hand. He tried throwing it, but couldn't move his shoulder because it was jammed against the post. He didn't want to drop the puck to his feet because he couldn't fall on it. He looked both ways. Leafs were everywhere. The referee blew his whistle.
"Boswell is called for closing his hand on the puck in the crease," said Able. "The Leafs are awarded a penalty shot with twelve seconds left."
Derek leaned over the board at Tuckapuk.
"Okay, Nap. Tuck it somewhere, anywhere."
At the signal from the referee, the Raven Lake native spun in his own zone and picked up speed.
"Tuckapuk takes the puck at the center dot," said Able. "He crosses the blue line, measuring DeChance. Tuckapuk has yet to look at the puck on his stick. DeChance doesn't bother coming out to meet him. The big goalie takes a deep breath ..."
"He's trying to fill as much net as possible," said Kane.
In an elaborate deking sequence, Tuckapuk appeared to move his head in three directions at once. Nausea crept into DeChance's stomach. Tuckapuk swooped in front, cutting across to his left. DeChance moved with him across the crease, then realized too late he'd been fooled. Tuckapuk was in front of him ... but where was the puck? Tuckapuk's last deke had left the puck behind the Leaf player. In a drag bunt-like maneuver -- with his trailing right hand holding the end of his stick -- Tuckapuk gently guided the puck through the gaping right side of the net inside the goalpost.
"HE SCORES!" said Able. "Well, snap my cap, they've closed the gap! The Leafs and Serpents are tied at five."
A sickened DeChance fell to the ice, clutching his stomach with his glove hand.
The players in front of Marcotte went wild. Erskine stood with his hands on hips ... shaking his head. 12.2 seconds remained in the third period.
"We're tied at five," said Able, "with sudden death overtime creeping closer."
The two teams lined up for the face-off, five players a side. The Serpents won the draw and fired the puck into the Leafs zone. All three Serpent forwards raced in to forecheck. At the Serpents bench, Erskine had one foot atop the boards.
"Kill!! Maim!! Decapitate!!"
"Both teams jostle for the puck along the boards," said Able. "The clock's winding down. Five seconds left. Sunhite falls on the puck and there's a stoppage in play ..."
The scoreboard showed 00:03.6 seconds remaining in the third period.
"What have we here?" asked Able. "Erskine is motioning for Pa DeChance to come over to the Serpents bench. They're pulling their goalie for the extra attacker with the face-off deep in the Leafs zone."
Erskine pointed a finger at Corcoran.
"You lose this face-off and you'll never take another one. Who will want a center without any thumbs?"
To the left of Arrette, the referee dropped the puck between Corcoran and Short Hand. Corcoran took a swipe at it and missed the puck. Short Hand almost succeeded in drawing the puck back to his own defenseman but Corcoran lifted Short Hand's stick with another swipe. Corcoran gained possession of the puck but couldn't shoot with Short Hand in his face. Looking to dish off a quick pass, Corcoran heard Erskine hollering above the buzzing fans.
"The point! The point!"
"Corcoran snaps a pass back to Dillabough at the blue line," said Able. "The puck skips over his stick! Down the ice it goes! Going ... going ... IT'S IN!! Corcoran scores on his own net! Leafs win 6-5! Kiss my keester, it must be Easter!"
The crowd roared. The puck crossed the line with two-tenths of a second left. The players piled on Cal Arrette. Marcotte and Hammond exchanged high fives and raised both arms in the goal scorer's salute. Derek turned to find Sylvie standing close by. She jumped into his arms. Artie grabbed Derek's sleeve to keep them from tumbling into the stick rack. Derek and Sylvie locked in a passionate embrace. Artie grabbed a water bottle and sprayed the celebrating couple.
At the Serpents bench, Erskine's shoulders sagged. This couldn't be happening. This hadn't happened. He was sure he would promptly wake up and find his freshly squeezed papaya juice and Daily Inside Trader in front of him. He had to wake himself up. His silver spoon upbringing suddenly had all the prestige of a stir stick.
He grabbed the goalie stick from a dazed Pa DeChance beside him. With a short, sharp smack of the heavy stick, Erskine hit himself in the head. There was a ringing in his ears. A few seconds passed before the stars overhead gave way to the arena's lighting grid. He groaned.
Ray Marcotte punched the fan in front of him in the shoulder, spilling the fan's beer all over him. Dino Tortellini grabbed the beer out of Donnie's hands and doused him with it. Muldowney smiled broadly, taking it all in.
... 6 ...
Brilliant sunshine splashed off a Yonge Street skyscraper, home of the new May-Ja-Look headquarters.
Inside, Derek, Artie and Sylvie unpacked boxes in their plush new offices. Derek pulled the Leroy Niemann-like print of the Maple Leafs out of a box.
"Where should we hang this one, Artie?"
"Now that you've got the contract," Sylvie interrupted, "I thought you'd want to go with a new look. Something that expresses the new you. You know, a clean break from the past."
Derek eyed Sylvie squarely. His hard look softened.
"You know, you're right," said Derek. "We've got a corporate image to maintain. We have the passion. What's a few Maple Leafs in Toronto? We're national now. Artie, cal
l Schubert's Gallery and see how much they want for that Team Canada print."
"Right-o," said Artie.
Sylvie smiled an slowly shook her head as Artie left the room. She turned her attention to another box. Derek watched her, unsure of the effect of his remark. She opened a small box in front of her.
"And where do you want this?" asked Sylvie.
She handed Derek the box. He peered inside and saw the plastic-encased, grinning mug of his Terry Sawchuk rookie card. Surprise smacked him a near-knockout blow between the eyes.
"I was too late to buy it at Swanson's," said Sylvie. "So I made my own deal with Erskine ... before he stole LaBonneglace."
It all came together for Derek.
"We win," he said, " ... and Terry comes home."
Sylvie nodded with a smile.
"And if we'd lost?"
"Y'know," said Sylvie. "People who treasure Toronto hockey cards shouldn't question a Montrealer's motives."
Sylvie leaned over and pulled Derek into the nearby boxes, stacked two and three-high. The boxes tipped over, spilling styrofoam packing popcorn everywhere. The two lovers wrestled and came up laughing, the popcorn bubbling over.
