D2: The Mighty Ducks Novel

BOMBAY OUT

Gordon Bombay, age thirty, felt like he was ninety. He sat hunched over on the bench behind the boards of the Duluth, Minnesota, ice hockey rink, his chest heaving.

      He was gasping for breath. Alongside him sat his teammates. He looked at them. They were all half his age and barely out of high school. They were tired from the heavy action of the first two periods as well, but their breath came more steadily and easily than his.

     Gordon looked across the ice at the other team. They were a squad of eager nineteen year olds. 

     Was he one of them, he wondered? Did he have what they had the determination to make it to the pros?

     Gordon shook his head. He felt as if he could be their grandfather. 

     Coach Blake was furious "Bombay," he roared "if you don't pick up your game, you're out of here! I'll give the roster spot to someone with a future!"

     Gordon leaned his head back and sighed. He wondered if it hadn't been a mistake not going back to his old law firm to ask for his job back. What was he doing trying out with a minor league hockey team at his age? True, he hated the work at the law firm, but he was good at it. Playing professional hockey had been his only dream since he was a little kid. Gordon shook his head. He knew he couldn't go back to the law firm.

      The year before, he had taken over as coach of a ragtag bunch of peewee hockey players who were so awful they could hardly skate in a straight line. But with a lot of practice and hard work, they surprised everyone-themselves in- cluded-by going all the way and winning the state hockey championship.

     Gordon smiled. It was then that he had decided he had to take a shot at his dream, too. Win or lose.

     The buzzer sounded, and Gordon vaulted over the railing onto the ice.

Miles away, in the back room of a neighborhood skate shop in St. Paul, Minnesota, thirteen-year old Charlie Conway was listening to the Waves minor league hockey game on the radio. An older man sat at a work table, resharpening a pair of worn skates.

     "Blake sends out the Bombay line," the announcer's voice crackled over the radio. Charlie fiddled with the tuner until the voice came through clearly. "I'll tell ya, Bombay is really showing his age tonight. There's just no substitute for youth in this game. Great hands, but . . ."

     "Shut up and call the game," Charlie snapped. "I hate commentators," he told the older man "They don't know what they're talking about."

     "They don't know Gordon Bombay," Jan replied calmly.

Gordon leaned over and found himself nose to nose with a giant kid from the opposing team. It was the face-off. Gordon looked through his opponent's face guard and stared into the kid's face. He knew this guy. Norbert. Better known as the Wall.

     "You ain't getting around me, Grandpa," said Norbert.

     "I don't intend to . . . Son," Gordon replied with a curl of his upper lip.

     The ref dropped the puck.

     BAM! Gordon crashed into Norbert's chest. The surprise move worked. Norbert toppled. Gordon scraped the ice with his stick, slid the puck past Norbert, and raced toward the goal. Then it was one, two, three-the triple deke-and whack! Gordon rammed the puck past the goalie and into the back of the net.

     "That's his famous triple deke!" the announcer shouted over the radio in St. Paul. Charlie and Jan slapped their palms together in a victorious high five. "What a move! What heart! Don't count this Bombay out!"

     "That's right," Charlie shouted at the radio. "He's a Duck!"

     "Boy, he humiliated Norbert on the face-off," continued the announcer. "Norbert is steaming as Bombay pumps his fist and embraces his

teammates."

     Jan returned to his work. "Be careful, Gordon," Jan muttered softly to himself.

Seconds later Gordon Bombay was back on the ice. He had the puck and was sweeping it past Norbert. As he came up to the blue line, however, the puck wobbled and got caught between his skates.

     Then WHAM!

     Out of nowhere two defensemen hit him from both sides.

     Gordon struggled to remain standing. But just then Norbert smashed straight into him and slashed his stick across Gordon's knees. Gordon doubled over and crumpled to the ice. He could feel the cartilage tear in his left kneecap.

      A frightened hush came over the arena. Gordon tried to climb back onto his feet, but his leg gave way.

      He fell to the ice again. It was the last thing Gordon remembered before passing out.