D2: The Mighty Ducks Novel

OPENING CEREMONIES

     The Ducks may have been exhausted after their first day in Los Angeles, but they were also ex hilarated. All the attention-the reporters, the cameras, the fans-had made them feel impor tant. They were being treated like royalty. Now they looked forward to a luxurious night's sleep in a four-star hotel, complete with pool, sauna, TV, VCR, and room service.

     But their happy expressions dropped as they were led to their accommodations by a represent ative of Hendrix Apparel. It was a dormitory building in an isolated section of a local college campus. The building was low and rectangular and looked something like a gray shoe box with windows. Inside, it wasn't any more luxurious. The rooms were dark, with thick cement walls andbunk beds with mattresses that sagged in the middle. So much for the royal treatment, the kids thought

     Meanwhile, miles away on Malibu Beach, Gordon Bombay followed Don Tibbles into the ultra modern two-story beach house that would be his accommodations. Gordon had only seen this kind of a place on "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous." but now he was in one. And he was being treated like he was rich and famous, too. Still, he wondered if he shouldn't be spending the night with the team, wherever they were.

     Then Tibbles flung open the drapes. Gordon had never seen so much ocean. Or any ocean, for that matter. He opened the sliding glass door on the porch, and a wave of cool sea air brushed over Gordon's face. Minutes later Gordon found him self facedown on a massage table, the gentle hands of a professional masseuse kneading out the knots in his back. Tibbles- and Hendrix- had arranged for it all.

     Gordon smiled. "Well," he told himself, "it's not like the team needs me twenty-four hours a day."

     When Tibbles barged into Gordon's room late the next morning, he woke him from the most peaceful night of his life. If they didn't hurry, Tibbles warned him, they'd be late for the opening ceremonies.

"Where's our coach?" Luis asked that morning. All the teams were assembled, and the introductory ceremonies had already begun.

     "Must be doing business stuff," scowled Charlie. He adjusted himself in his new Team USA uniform. It was tight and uncomfortable. He wished he could be wearing his old Ducks uniform.

     Just then Gordon and Tibbles arrived, Gordon was still adjusting his tie when a tall, fair-haired woman approached him.

     "I can help tie you," she said. She spoke with a Scandinavian accent.

     Gordon was too stunned by the woman's beauty to object. He let her tie his tie.

     "I'm Gordon," he said.

     "I am Marria," she said.

     A wide shadow fell over them. Gordon looked up. The huge form of Coach Wolf Stansson blocked the staging area's overhead light.

     "Get back to the team this instant," Stansson ordered the woman. Marria nodded and obediently left Team USA's area.

     Gordon glared at Coach Stansson. The two men stared at each other.

     "We haven't formally met," said Gordon withmock politeness. "I'm Gordon Bombay, coach, Team USA."

     "I know who you are," said Stansson. Even his voice was flat and lifeless. "I know the competition. I study them. I know their weaknesses."

     Then he turned and left.
     
     Gordon grimaced to himself. "Nice meeting you, too," he said, half-aloud.

     "WELCOME TEAM USA, COACHED BY GORDON BOMBAY!"

     Gordon was startled by the announcement over the loudspeaker. The teams were being introduced.

     "It's show time," said Tibbles. "Move it out." With that, Gordon led Team USA through the doors of the staging area and into the arena. The audience cheered. After the opening ceremonies ended, the first in the series of showdowns began. Team USA would play Team Trinidad/Tobago, the Islanders.

     Team USA scored a series of easy goals against the Islanders. By the middle of the third period it was Team USA 7, Trinidad 1. Team USA knew it had the advantage. After all, how much practice could a team get in a country where the temperature rarely dips below eighty degrees?

     Dwayne, Connie, and Ken passed the puck in and around their Trinidadian counterparts withease. The Trinidad players were tired. They slipped and fell as they tried to keep up. The puck slid toward a Trinidad player, but Ken spun around him and swiped it away. Then Charlie swooped in and shot the puck into the net.

     Team USA cheered and high-fived each other.

     In the stands behind the Team USA bench sat the kid who had laughed when Portman tried to give him an autograph the day before. He had been watching the game with a cynical smirk on his face. It was clear he didn't think much of Team USA's victory over Trinidad.

     "Yo, yo, yo," shouted the kid as the team assem bled on the bench. "My little brother could score on those guys."

     "Why don't you go bother him, then?" replied Jesse irritably.

     The kid sneered. "I ain't even got a brother."

     "Jesse," called Gordon. "Quit gabbin' and get out there. Show me you want it."

     Jesse slipped on his face guard and skated onto the ice. He would show this kid. He went straight for the puck, then raced toward the net. Just then a Team Trinidad player swooped in from the side and stole the puck. To everyone's surprise, the Trinidad player skated all the way past the blue
line and netted an easy goal past Goldberg.

     Jesse was furious. He raced over to the player who had stolen the puck from him and pushedhim from behind. The player went down. The ref skated over and immediately sent Jesse off the ice. Penalty.

     Jesse lumbered over to the penalty box and sat down.

     "He dissed you bad!"

     Jesse turned. It was that same kid. Jesse made a move to leap toward the kid, but the spectator ambled away through the stands, laughing as he went.

     At the other end of the bench, Charlie noticed that Banks had been looking anxiously up toward the stand ever since the game began.

     "Don't tell me your dad's here," said Charlie. Charlie knew what winning meant to Banks's father.

     "Worse," said Banks without taking his eyes off the stands. "Scouts, man. Look at them."

     Charlie looked up. Two men were sitting a few rows up watching the game. They wore dark suits and were scribbling into small notebooks.

     Banks skated onto the ice for a line change. He sliced the puck away after it dropped and began maneuvering it toward the goal. But his moves were too fast, too desperate. A Trinidad player stripped the puck from Banks and scored a goal.

     Banks skated back to the bench, his eyes darting up at the scouts and their little notebooks.

     "Don't worry about the scouts," Charlie told him. "Just play your best-"

     But just then Gordon yanked Banks away from the bench.

     "What're you doing out there, Banks?" yelled Gordon. "That was embarrassing. I want that goal back. Now! Fulton, Portman, Ken. Line change!"

     The three players jumped out on the ice and grooved right into play. Ken got the puck after the drop and chipped it to Fulton, who then passed it to Portman. Fulton followed Portman down the center of the ice, both boys barreling ahead a couple of bulldozers. The Trinidad line scattered out of their way.

     Portman swatted the puck across the front of the net, but the Islanders goalie made a glove save. Portman then took a swat at the goalie's glove with his stick. The glove, with the puck still in it, flew into the net.

     The buzzer sounded. The game was over. It was 9-3, Team USA.

     The crowd jumped to its feet and cheered.

     Team USA took a bow.