Rebel Power Play

by David Skuy

  “Smokin’, baby. This is too easy,” he said.

  Liam threw an arm around Jake’s neck.

  “Wildcats’ championship — love the sound of that.”

  “Loser Rebels,” Jake said. “That sounds better.”

  “Three periods in hockey,” Charlie said. “Clock says we keep playing.”

  “You must like punishment, Joyce, ’cause this’ll only get worse,” Jake said.

  His teammates arrived to celebrate. Charlie had no desire to continue the trash talk. His heart wasn’t really in it. He was too worried about the score. He headed to the bench, where Hilton was already rallying the troops.

  “If they play wide open, we keep to our usual game and trade chances. My guess is that won’t be the case, and they’ll play defensively from here on in. That’s not their style, so we may get some breaks if we get pressure in their end. Two goals is nothing, so don’t get down on yourselves. You’ve battled through worse. Be patient, and the goals will come.”

  Hilton’s words proved prophetic. The Wildcats’ offensive-minded play of the first period gave way to a stifling defensive shell. Schultz had ordered his players to protect the lead. Led by Charlie’s relentless attacks, the Rebels slowly took over the game, but they couldn’t convert on their chances, and the second period ended without a goal.

  Charlie and Pudge were leaning against the boards while the goalies switched ends for the start of the third.

  “I didn’t think the Wildcats could play this type of game,” Pudge said.

  “They’ll make a mistake sometime. All we need is one break,” Charlie said.

  Matt came over. “This is painful. We gotta get one back. Then things’ll loosen up.”

  “They’re lining five guys across their blue line,” Scott said. “We gotta dump it in. We can’t carry it through that many defenders.

  “But keep it away from their goalie,” Zachary said. “He’s fairly good with the puck.

  “Lots of shots,” Dylan said from the bench. “We’re trying to make the perfect play. Shoot from anywhere.”

  “Dylan’s right,” Charlie said. “I’m the worst culprit. We have to shoot — this goalie’s no superstar.”

  “We’re making him look good,” Nick said.

  “Two dumb plays and it’s 2–0,” Charlie said. “Things have to start going our way.”

  He just prayed that wasn’t wishful thinking.

  28

  PENALTY BOX

  Charlie’s prayer seemed destined to go unanswered. The Wildcats had completely shut down the Rebels’ offence. They dumped the puck out of their zone at every opportunity, picked up their checks, took the body, and made smart passes. With the puck at his own blue line, he snuck a peek at the clock — eight minutes left. As usual, five Wildcats waited for him to make a move. Zachary and Pudge hovered near the Wildcats’ blue line, looking for a long pass. But it was impossible to carry it through, and equally tough to pass. Without much choice, Charlie decided to get over centre and fire it in — for what seemed the hundredth time.

  He cut sharply across the Rebels’ blue line towards the left boards to avoid one forechecker. Another Wildcat moved forward to stop him. He didn’t have much room to manoeuvre, and he still wasn’t over the red line. The last thing he wanted was an icing. He faked an inside move, flicked the puck off the boards, and tried to bull his way past. The player wasn’t fooled and he pushed him off the puck and into the boards. More out of frustration than anything, Charlie reached out with his right hand, grabbed the player’s shoulder, and pulled him backwards. The player fell to the ice. The Wildcats fans immediately cheered in expectation of a penalty.

  The puck lay against the boards. Charlie scooped it up half-heartedly. Stupid penalty, he berated himself — obvious holding. Players on both teams, expecting the referee to whistle the play down, stopped skating. Charlie carried it slowly up the boards, until suddenly it dawned on him that the whistle wasn’t going to come — the refs weren’t calling it. Before the Wildcats could react, Charlie took off and blew past the right defenceman. The left defenceman raced over to head him off. Charlie cut in at the hash marks and braced himself.

  Bang!

  The two players collided ten feet from the net and crashed to the ice, their momentum carrying them headlong into the goalie, who was knocked clear off his feet. All three players ended up in the net. Charlie struggled to free himself. He saw the referee behind the net, with one hand raised and the other pointing right at him.

  He lowered his head. Must be a penalty for goaltender interference — that would kill their chances. Then he saw something black and round nestled in the far corner of the net — the puck!

  He pointed feverishly at it. “Ref, it’s in — the puck’s in. Right there!”

  Charlie felt an arm across his chest. A Wildcats player dragged him roughly out of the net and dumped him unceremoniously to the side.

  “He ran the goalie,” he said. “No goal.”

  The referee continued to point at the puck.

  “Your own player forced him into your goalie. It’s a goal.”

  The referee skated towards the scorekeeper, and moments later the scorekeeper announced to the crowd, “Goal scored by number 8, Charlie Joyce; assist number 3, Scott Slatsky.”

  The Wildcats fans lost it. A few began banging on the glass with their hands, screeching insults at the top of their lungs.

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Get a life, ref!”

  On the ice, the Wildcats players surrounded the beleaguered referee. The goalie was front and centre. He was absolutely livid.

  “He ran me down,” he said, whacking his pads with his stick. “Are you freakin’ kidding me? What game are you watching?”

  “Your own man sent him into you,” the referee said.

  “But I had the puck. He can’t knock me into my own net. Where’s your bloody whistle? Saving it for Christmas?”

  Jake pushed in front of the goalie. He’d come off the bench to argue. “Total goaltender interference,” he said.

  “Discussion’s over. Line up.”

  “That was the worst call ever. Did you drop your glasses? Joyce throws a guy to the ice, and then runs the goalie. He deserved two penalties, and you’re too stupid to even call one.”

  The referee was skating backwards, Jake following, trailed by his teammates. Schultz stood up on the bench, one foot on the boards.

  “Get over here!” he said to the referee. “No way I’m putting up with that.” The referee glared at the coach. “How’d you miss that penalty on number 8? Were you sleepin’ or what?”

  “You all need to calm down,” the ref said, “or you’ll be the ones getting a penalty.”

  “Oh, that makes sense,” Jake said. “What planet are you from, Mars or Jupiter?”

  “You’d better watch it.”

  “You’re a joke — a bad joke.”

  The referee held up two fingers and skated to the penalty box.

  “Penalty to number 9, Jake Wilkenson,” the scorekeeper announced. “Two minutes for unsportsmanlike conduct.”

  Boom.

  Jake smashed his stick against the boards. The sound reverberated around the rink. “You’re the most bogus ref ever. You’re such a loser you make losers feel cool.”

  Charlie, who had been watching the drama unfold from centre, saw the ref’s face go white. Then the ref slowly touched his hands to his hips.

  “Gotta be a misconduct,” he said to Pudge.

  Jake looked over at Schultz. His coach threw his hands over his head and stepped down from the boards. Jake whacked the boards with his stick again and went into the penalty box, slamming the door so hard it bounced open. Charlie returned to his bench in time to hear the referee explain the call to Hilton.

  “He’s got a ten-minute misconduct,” the referee said, “plus a two-minute penalty. He can come back if the game goes into overtime.”

  He pushed off to the Wildcats’ bench to speak to
Schultz.

  “Listen up, gentlemen,” Hilton said. “I’m making a slight change. I want Charlie’s line out — but Scott, if you don’t mind, perhaps Matt can take your place at the left point. That’ll give us four forwards and a bit more firepower.”

  “Go for it, Matt,” Scott said, giving him a high-five.

  “Their best player is in the penalty box,” Hilton continued. “We have to take advantage. Dump and chase. When we get control, I want Charlie behind the net. Get it to him. Then Nick, you charge the net. Charlie, he’s your first option. Matt, if he’s covered, that’s your cue to go next. Pudge, peel off and swing around to cover the point. Zachary, you hunt for a rebound.”

  The referee blasted his whistle, his arms pinned across his chest.

  “Line up, boys,” Hilton said. He pointed to the faceoff circle. “One more, and we’re back in it.”

  Liam and Roscoe were out to kill Jake’s penalty.

  “Garbage goal,” Liam said, lining up to take the draw. “Here’s where we take over.”

  Charlie knew Liam had a temper. He wondered if he could keep it in check.

  “Your goalie makes a nice pillow,” Charlie said.

  “So will your head.”

  “Did Jake give you permission to say that?”

  “Funny, Joyce.”

  Anticipating the drop, Charlie swept Liam’s stick aside.

  “Wait for the puck,” the referee said.

  Charlie did it again.

  “You’re out of the circle,” the referee shouted.

  Thwack.

  Liam slashed Charlie on the hip.

  “Get a life, Joyce,” he said.

  The referee grabbed Liam by the arm and fairly catapulted him towards the penalty box.

  “What about him?” Liam said.

  The referee chopped his right arm with his left hand indicating a slashing penalty.

  “Are you some kind of idiot?” Liam screamed.

  The referee touched his hips with his hands.

  “Two minutes for slashing and a misconduct,” the scorekeeper announced.

  Stay cool, Joyce, Charlie told himself, and the Rebels have got this game.

  Liam screamed at the referee from the boards. The Wildcats parents heaped even more abuse. Schultz was apoplectic.

  Hilton waved Charlie over.

  “Same strategy as before,” he said. “Dump it in. Get control behind the net. First look is Nick, and then to Matt in the slot.”

  Charlie nodded and skated to his blue line. “Come here, guys,” he said. His teammates huddled around him. “We’ve got a five-on-three for two minutes. This is our chance to tie it up. I get it behind the net, and the two defencemen charge the net. I’ll hit whoever’s open.”

  Roscoe took the faceoff, but was content to let Charlie win. The puck came back to Nick. Roscoe hovered at centre. Nick snapped a pass to Zachary on the open wing. He wasted no time firing it into the Wildcats’ zone. The puck flew around the boards to a waiting Pudge, who stopped it at the hash marks. The Wildcats immediately formed their triangle.

  Charlie set up behind the net as Hilton instructed. The Rebels passed the puck around to tire the defence a bit, and then Pudge passed it to him along the wall. He trapped the puck with his skate and bounced it onto his stick. Right on cue, Zachary stormed the net and Nick pinched into the slot to the left of the hash marks. Nick was open momentarily, but Roscoe stretched his stick across to take away the passing lane. That left the left side of the ice wide open. Matt timed his rush perfectly. Charlie swung to the right, and flipped Matt a backhand pass. He let a blistering one-timer go from fifteen feet. Charlie had a perfect view as the puck sailed over the goalie’s glove and into the top corner.

  “Scores!”

  The Rebels fans rose as one and cheered. Charlie threw his arms around Matt.

  “How sweet is this!” Matt said.

  “Goal of the century,” Charlie said.

  “Gentlemen, start your engines,” Zachary said, banging their helmets with his glove.

  “We’ve still got a one-man advantage,” Pudge said. “We can break this tie.”

  “They’re falling apart,” Charlie said. “Let’s line up fast and get right to work.”

  Jake’s minor penalty was over because they’d scored. Liam still had a minute and a half to go in his, so the Rebels would enjoy a lengthy five-on-four. Roscoe took the draw again. He wasn’t a natural centre, however. Charlie took advantage of his lack of experience. Rather than draw the puck back, he pushed it towards the Wildcats’ end and continued forward in one motion. Roscoe was still hunched over for the faceoff, stick on the ice, while Charlie was motoring in on the defence. He slid the puck to Zachary. The right winger bore down on the left defenceman. Zachary gained the zone and cut hard to his left, where he dropped the puck for Charlie. He then charged sharply up ice towards the net.

  Charlie picked up the puck in full flight. At the top of the circle, he raised his stick high above his head for a slapshot. The left defenceman dropped to his knees — prematurely. Charlie faked the shot, leaving the Wildcats defender flailing his stick at him as he swept by. The right defenceman had Zachary covered by the post. But when Charlie closed in on the net, he left Zachary and dropped to block the shot. Charlie promptly fired a hard pass to Zachary. The goalie had also overplayed Charlie. The net was wide open. Zachary had time to stop the puck and carefully fire it in.

  “Only up by one,” Charlie said, after he and his teammates congratulated each other. “We need the insurance goal. Keep up the pressure.”

  That came a minute later when Jonathon snuck one in on a wraparound to the goalie’s stick side. Charlie leaned over the boards and smacked Jonathon’s glove as he came by to celebrate. Charlie felt happy for him. This was only his fifth goal all year.

  “Awesome play,” he said.

  “Let’s keep this party going,” Jonathon said.

  “One more goal, and this baby’s ours,” Charlie said, shifting on for Matt.

  Only a little over five minutes remained, and they had a two-goal lead, but he was still nervous. The Wildcats would be right back in it if they scored. He lined up for the faceoff. A water bottle skidded past him. He straightened up.

  “Where did that come from?” he said to no one in particular.

  Another water bottle skipped across the ice, and then a stick. Schultz was standing on the boards holding several sticks over his head. “Worst reffing I’ve seen in thirty years of coaching!” His face was purple with rage.

  Charlie had never seen an adult that angry.

  “You’re worse than blind — you’re dumb too. Read the rule book one day, or do hockey a favour and quit refereeing.”

  Charlie felt sorry for the referee. Maybe he’d missed a call or two. But this wasn’t the NHL. The referee skated to the Wildcats’ bench.

  “Get your players to pick up those water bottles and the stick. You just got yourself a bench minor. Disrupt the game again and you’ll have to leave.”

  Schultz threw the sticks he was still holding and the referee had to jump out of the way.

  “I’m more than happy to leave,” he said. “In fact, we’ll all leave. This game is totally fixed. Come on, boys. We don’t need this. Into the dressing room — now.”

  The Wildcats players were bewildered. No one moved, uncertain as to what was happening.

  “Are you listening? I said into the dressing room!” Schultz repeated. “Move it.”

  The players filed out the door and headed across the rink to the door leading to the dressing rooms. Charlie was almost as bewildered as the Wildcats. They’d been winning only a few minutes ago — and now they were quitting!

  “It’s like they’re little kids,” he said to Pudge.

  “That’s Schultz for you,” Pudge said. “He’s Mr. Happy when he’s winning — and a total jerk when he loses.”

  “Kind of takes the fun out of things,” Zachary said. “I mean … what happens now? There’s still 5:2
0 on the clock.”

  The scorekeeper answered the question.

  “The Wildcats have forfeited,” he announced. “The Rebels have won the championship. Final score is Rebels 4–Wildcats 2.”

  The crowd remained quiet. Everyone was in a state of shock.

  “This feels weird,” Charlie said. “Never won a championship without finishing the game.”

  “It’s like they cheated us out of our win,” Pudge said.

  “I’d feel kind of lame charging Martin,” Zachary said.

  He was still in his net, arms draped over the crossbar.

  “Forget that,” Charlie said. “After this season, we deserve to celebrate.” He turned to his teammates. “Don’t know about you guys, but here’s one guy who will take this win. Wildcats want to quit? That’s their problem.”

  He threw his gloves into the air and raced to Martin, jumping up and down.

  “You’re a champion, dude!” he said to the goalie.

  He spun him around in a bear hug. The next second, he and Martin were lying on the ice. Pudge and Zachary had bowled them over.

  “Who’re the champs?” Charlie shouted.

  “The Rebels!” his teammates chorused.

  Scott and Nick piled on next, and soon all the players formed a massive jumble of arms and legs. They got up and continued congratulating each other. Matt was too excited to speak. He traded head butts with each teammate. Zachary leaned against the crossbar and yelled, “Rebels is the champs — dig it.”

  Even Hilton joined the fun. He went around to each player, shaking hands and patting helmets. “You should be proud of yourself,” he said to Charlie. “You answered Jake in spades — by outplaying him when it counted. Pressure games bring out the best in people — or the worst. It brought out the best in you.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” he said. “And thanks for doing this — the coaching, I mean. Couldn’t have done it without you. When I think about what the team was like back in December …”

  Hilton laughed loudly, which was not something Charlie heard him do often. He looked genuinely happy.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” blared a voice from the loudspeakers. “Can we have your attention at centre ice for the medal ceremony.”