by David Skuy
He decided otherwise, cutting across the red line and then turning back to his own end. The move caught all the Snow Birds by surprise. He eluded the left winger and passed the puck to Nick. When Nick felt pressure from the other winger, he rifled it across to Scott at the far boards. The big defenceman cocked his stick, ready to slap it down the ice when a forechecker got near.
Charlie was thrilled. The Snow Birds were running around, and Zachary’s penalty was almost over. He circled in his own end and called for it. Scott faked the shot and slid it over. Charlie sensed pressure coming from his left. He dipped his shoulder in that direction to force the player to commit, and then directed the puck the other way between his skates, spinning around at the same time. He heard Martin bang his stick on the ice to signal the end of the first penalty. He’d expended some energy and didn’t think he had the legs for another rush, so after a few more strides he blasted the puck in deep.
“Change ’em up,” he called.
Matt hopped the boards to take his place. On the bench, Charlie leaned his head against the boards, breathing heavily. He felt an arm across his back.
“Great positioning in our end,” Hilton said.
He sat up. “Thanks, Coach. It happened just like in practice.”
“But when you’re the last man back,” he continued, “could you please lay off the between-the-legs move. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry, Coach. I felt so confident. Maybe I got carried away.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. How about we agree not to do it again — at least for this game.”
“No problem.”
Hilton slapped the top of his helmet and turned his attention back to the game.
“Awesome kill,” Pudge said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a momentum change.”
“Me too. Remember, we tied these guys. They can be beaten.” He stood up. “This is our game to win,” he said to those on the bench. “They’re getting frustrated. The mistakes will happen, and we need to capitalize.”
A roar from the crowd interrupted him. Matt had picked off an errant pass and was storming down the right side. Zachary came to the bench for a change, and Jonathon leapt over the boards to kill off the last thirty-five seconds of Dylan’s penalty.
Charlie was too excited to sit and he cheered Matt and Jonathon on as they did a great job plugging the neutral zone. As Dylan jumped back on the ice, Charlie felt a hand on his shoulder.
“I want you three to be ready,” Hilton said. “Savard and Burnett played that entire power play. They’ll have to rest. Here’s your chance to get out there and score.”
“We’re on it, Coach,” Charlie said.
Charlie nudged Zachary’s arm.
“Cheap penalty, bro,” he said.
Zachary scowled. “Refs are blind. My stick hit the puck. He took a total dive.”
“No harm done,” Charlie said.
Matt was heading to the bench, his arm held high.
“Bombs away,” Charlie said to his linemates as he hopped the boards.
Pudge and Zachary shifted on soon after. Christopher forced a bad pass in the neutral zone with a solid hit against the boards. His brother swooped in and passed to Zachary in one motion. He cut inside, blowing by the centre who’d tried to hold him up with his stick. Zachary was still angry about the penalty, and no stick check was going to slow him down. Meanwhile, Charlie was tearing along the right wall.
Just before he crossed the blue line, Zachary flipped him a cross-ice pass. Charlie took it in full flight, beating the defender outside and cutting in sharply at the top of the circle. Alexi came out. He didn’t have much to shoot at and was about to fire away anyway when at the last moment he saw Pudge skating furiously to the far post. Charlie sent a saucer pass over the defenceman’s stick to a spot three feet from the post.
“Too far,” he cursed himself.
But he’d underestimated his friend’s determination. Pudge dove headlong at the puck and managed to slice at it with his stick, redirecting it over Alexi’s stacked pads, before sliding into the back boards.
Clank.
The puck hit the post and bounced out. Charlie groaned and smashed the ice with his stick.
Pudge didn’t give up, however. The puck lay a few feet to Alexi’s right. Before the goaltender could cover up Pudge dove from behind the net and swung his stick — and connected!
A massive roar swept across the arena — goal!
Charlie threw himself on top of Pudge. “Most incredible play I’ve ever seen,” he yelled in his ear.
Zachary launched himself on top, the twins arriving next. Somehow Charlie ended up on the bottom of the pile and couldn’t move. He also couldn’t have cared less. They’d actually taken the lead. He never really imagined that they’d still be in the game in the third period. For the first time he really believed they could beat the Snow Birds.
The referee blew his whistle. “Line it up,” he said. “Game’s not over.”
They reluctantly ended their celebration. Charlie knew the ref was right. Still eight minutes on the clock — lots of time. The Snow Birds were too good to quit.
He saw Hilton look at them and cup his hands around his mouth. He couldn’t hear a word, though. The Rebels fans were going crazy, clapping wildly and chanting the team name. Hilton waved them to the bench. “Play it safe,” he said when they got there. “We need to take some time off the clock. Dump it in deep. One man in. Wingers pick up their checks.”
Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!
“Line up, Rebels, or it’s a delay-of-game penalty,” the referee said.
Charlie lined up quickly. Savard tried to draw it back, but Charlie went in hard, knocking his stick aside and pushing him backwards. He was able to kick the puck to Robert. A short pass to Pudge and a step across the red line, and the puck was in deep, just as Hilton instructed.
“One man in,” Hilton called from the bench. “Cover your man.”
Over the next few minutes Hilton proved what a good coach does for a team. In the Rebels’ first game against the Snow Birds, Dale had adjusted their breakout for the second period. The goals followed soon after. This was not the same Rebels team, however. Hilton had drilled them relentlessly. Rather than mechanically sending one man in deep, they varied the pressure, sometimes sending two, or sending in two and then backing one off. The key was shifting rapidly to close down the passing lanes.
The Rebels continually turned the Snow Birds back and, unaccustomed to being behind, the Snow Birds made uncharacteristic mistakes, forcing bad passes or shooting wide. With a minute to go, Zachary deflected a shot into the crowd. The referee pointed to the faceoff circle to Martin’s left. Dale called a time out. The Rebels crowded around their coach.
“We’d better be ready for some real pressure,” Hilton said. “I expect they’ll pull their goalie for an extra man, especially with the faceoff in our zone. All efforts go into getting the puck out. Avoid icing if possible. I’d rather have you dump it into the neutral zone than have an icing because you tried to score from your own end.”
He turned to Charlie. “Winning the faceoff is critical. Draw it back to Scott if you can. If not, tie Savard up. Pudge, you come off the wing and fire it out.” He took a deep breath. “We’re close to a major upset. Play smart — play safe. Off the boards and out. Let’s do this, boys.”
The Rebels headed to their end. Dale was still explaining a play. This time the referee threatened the Snow Birds with a delay-of-game penalty. When they came out for the faceoff, Charlie saw that the net was empty and the extra man was setting up in the slot. He adopted a reverse grip and lined up quickly. Savard had barely come off since Pudge’s goal. He didn’t want to give him any more time to rest. Savard put his stick down.
The puck dropped and both centremen swept their sticks through the circle to pull it back. But Charlie was a touch faster. The puck dribbled to Scott, and the Rebels fans cheered. The right winger was on him like a cat, however. He lowered
the boom, crushing Scott into the boards. Scott hung tough and held the puck in his skates as the winger poked at it furiously. Then Savard charged in to help — Charlie right next to him. No way he was letting him get free. Charlie spotted Zachary guarding the far side, which gave him an idea.
“Scott! Scott! Kick it behind the net,” he said.
Scott did just that, and Charlie one-timed it blindly around the boards. Zachary got there in time to trap the puck with his body. Unfortunately, the defenceman pinched and Zachary couldn’t get the puck out. Charlie and Savard raced over. As before, the Snow Birds dug at the puck, while the Rebels made sure it stayed against the boards, out of harm’s way. Finally, Savard managed to slip his stick in between Zachary’s skates and knock the puck to the corner. Charlie was about to give chase until he saw Nick would get it.
Burnett was cheating into the slot. The left winger and the extra attacker were in front of the net. Zachary and the defenceman, exhausted by their fight for the puck, were still against the boards. That gave Charlie another idea — this time a crazy one. Hilton had told them to play it safe, but instinct took over. A goal would put it away. Instead of staying with Savard, he took off up ice, skating backwards into the gap left by Burnett and his defence partner.
“Nick, up the middle!” he screamed.
Nick barely looked up. He whirled around and fired a blistering pass up the middle. Charlie knew passing up the middle from deep in your own end is dangerous at the best of times; to do it with a one-goal lead, in the semifinals, with thirty seconds left, was verging on suicidal.
But it worked! Over-committed in the slot, Burnett dove for the puck. Snow Birds fans groaned and Rebels fans cheered as the puck squirted past the star defenceman, and onto Charlie’s stick. He carried the puck right to the goal line — for some reason he was convinced he’d miss if he shot — and, from a foot away, he slammed the puck into the netting.
He circled the goal and leaned against the boards. He wanted to enjoy the moment. His teammates were tearing down the ice. Pudge had his stick high over his head. Zachary was gliding on one foot, an arm raised in triumph. Scott banged the ice with his stick, Nick right behind pumping his fist. Charlie couldn’t believe it. They’d beaten the Snow Birds, and were into the finals.
His teammates mobbed him.
“Re-bels! Re-bels! Re-bels!” they chanted over and over.
27
WILD STYLE
Charlie and Jake stood at centre waiting for the referee and the timekeeper to fix the clock. Charlie shifted his weight from foot to foot. It was taking forever for the game to start, and hanging out with Jake wasn’t doing much to settle his nerves.
Jake broke the silence. “How’s your head? I felt really bad when you got hurt,” he said sarcastically.
“How was the suspension?”
“No big deal. It was worth punching your lights out.”
Charlie turned his back on him and drifted towards his own end. The entire season had come down to this one game. They’d played to a 2–2 draw in the first game of the finals. The winner would be the league champions: it was sudden death. Charlie wanted to win more than anything. To do that, he knew he’d have to keep a level head. He turned around.
“Do you ever get tired of being like that — even for a second?”
“You won’t last the game, Joyce. That’s a promise.”
The referee’s whistle interrupted.
“Clock’s ready. Line ’em up, boys,” he said.
Charlie turned to face his own goal for a moment to calm himself. At least he’d shown Jake that he wasn’t going to back down. Charlie lined up. The referee waved at both goalies and then dropped the puck. The game was on! Charlie won the draw, and pulled the puck back to Scott.
“Too slow, Jake,” he said.
Jake growled and pressed forward. Scott drifted wide to his left, and bounced the puck off the boards. Pudge trapped it, kicked it up to his stick, and fired it deep into the right corner.
Charlie was after it like a jackrabbit. The defenceman barely touched it before Charlie flattened him into the boards. The glass rattled with the impact, and he crumpled to the ice. Charlie dug the puck out of the corner.
The referee whistled the play down and pointed at Charlie, and then pressed his fist into his palm and skated over to the penalty box — a penalty for boarding!
“It’s a contact sport,” he heard a spectator yell. “Call it fair.”
“If you’re just gonna let the Wildcats win, then why bother playing?”
The Rebels fans were really giving it to the referee. Charlie wished they would stop. A hostile referee wouldn’t help. But the catcalls and jeering continued.
Charlie was too agitated to sit. “Pudge, watch Jake in the slot,” he yelled. “Don’t give him any time. Scott, just fire it out — nothing fancy. You too, Nick — nothing fancy.”
He forced himself to be quiet. Yelling instructions from the penalty box wasn’t going to help — they couldn’t hear him with all the noise, anyway. The faceoff was outside the Wildcats’ zone. Jake won the draw against Zachary. The right defenceman hesitated, and then passed it to Roscoe. The powerful right winger skated hard at Scott. Jake was roaring up the middle. Scott had to back up, and Roscoe gained the blue line.
Pudge came over to force him. Scott and Nick settled down low, and Zachary drifted into the slot.
“Good positioning,” Charlie said. Then his heart sank. He had forgotten about Liam. Both defencemen were preoccupied with Jake. That left a clear passing lane through the centre of the box to Liam at the inside hash marks.
Charlie jumped to his feet — then sat back down. Nothing he could do. He didn’t bother watching. He knew how it would turn out. The roar of the crowd told him that the Wildcats had scored. He opened the door and skated slowly to his bench. Liam had his stick in the air. He and Roscoe punched gloves. Jake was skating back to centre, both arms overhead, nodding to the crowd. Charlie gave the boards a kick as he sat down. Totally his fault — a stupid penalty. Now it was 1–0, with barely thirty seconds off the clock.
“Sorry, guys,” he said to no one in particular.
“Bogus call,” Zachary said. “We’ll get it back.”
Hilton put his hand on his shoulder. “Put it behind you,” he said softly. “That’s their gift. Be patient and we’ll get our chances.”
Charlie had to wait until five minutes into the second period. Matt attempted to split the defence, and as one defender rode him off to the boards, his stick got tangled up in Matt’s skates.
“Tripping,” the ref said, sweeping his right hand across his knee.
Hilton leaned over Charlie’s shoulder. “That call was almost as bad as the one they called on you,” he said. “Perhaps we should take advantage of his generosity. Let’s change it up.”
Now it was the Wildcats fans’ turn to heap abuse on the referee.
“The guy tripped over the blue line.”
“Total even-up call. He barely touched him.”
“You want my glasses, ref? You need ’em more than me.”
Charlie was pumped. This was just what the Rebels needed.
“I’m going to fire it in deep,” he told Pudge and Zachary as they skated to the faceoff to the right of the Wildcats’ goal. “Let’s pressure their D right off the bat.”
Jake and Liam came out for the penalty-kill. He’d expected a few insults from Jake, but this time he was all business. Charlie didn’t try to win the draw, preferring to push the puck between Jake’s legs and into the corner. The Wildcats defenceman got there first.
He must have wished he hadn’t, because Pudge was on him and laid a massive hit. The puck squirted free, and Zachary scooped it up, skating to the corner. The Wildcats set up their box. Charlie was at the hash marks near the boards and Zachary slid it to him.
He nodded to Zachary. Perfect set-up for their favourite power-play move — the give-and-go. He passed it down low to Zachary. Charlie skated hard into the seam b
etween the forward and the defenceman and took the return pass. Pudge anticipated the play and occupied the other defenceman in front. Charlie continued across the slot. The goalie flopped to the ice, straining to see him through the legs of the players in front.
He held onto the puck, using Pudge as a screen. The goalie fell to his side, stacking his pads. The top half of the net was wide open. Charlie let the puck fly ten feet from the top of the crease.
He raised his stick, only to see the puck nick the goalie’s left arm and flutter end over end over the crossbar, landing on top of the netting. The goalie was still on his back. Charlie put his stick under the netting and flipped the puck back in front.
The crowd was screaming, and a mad scramble ensued. Charlie got two more shots, one that hit the goalie’s mask, and another that grazed the outside of the post. The puck went behind the net. Zachary was on it quickly, and feathered a pass to Nick, who was breaking into the slot from the point, his stick held high over his head for a slapshot.
Charlie drove to the net from the left side, slamming into a Wildcats defenceman, which opened up that side for Nick.
“Fire it, Nick,” Charlie said.
The goalie was down again, totally screened. A sure goal, Charlie thought. Again, he was wrong. At the last second, the puck hit a rut and skipped over Nick’s stick as he was about to shoot.
Jake was first to the puck and he took off like a jackrabbit. Scott was the last man back, but he was no match for Jake in terms of foot speed. Jake pulled away at the red line. Martin crouched deeply and drifted out.
Charlie was the fastest man on the ice, and he flew past the others. But Jake had too much of a head start. Charlie watched as his nemesis faked a forehand, waited for Martin to commit to a butterfly, and then backhanded it up over his shoulder under the crossbar.
If Charlie didn’t detest Jake he would have admired the goal. As it was, he felt sick to his stomach. Down two goals already!
Jake jumped up and down, his arms raised in triumph. He looked at Charlie, his mouth curled into a mocking smile.
