D2: The Mighty Ducks Novel

EVERYONE'S A DUCK

     In the locker room after the game, Team USA the Ducks-high-fived each other. They felt hope ful again. Victory was in the air.

     Everyone congratulated Banks on scoring the goal. They felt exhilarated. But the only thing Banks could feel was the stabbing pain in his wrist. He sat at his locker and began rewrapping his wrist in sports tape.

     "Nice game tonight, Adam," said Gordon, com ing up behind him. Banks twisted around, startled. He quickly lowered his bandaged wrist, trying to hide it from his coach.

     "Imagine how you'd do with two good wrists," said Gordon.

      "It's fine, Coach," insisted Banks. "Just a little sore."

      "I should have spotted this Right away," said Gordon. "I wasn't doing my job."

      "I'm fine, Coach," Banks insisted again. "Really. I can play tomorrow. I swear.”

     Gordon held out his hockey stick and told Banks to rotate it with his injured hand. Banks grimaced in pain. Gordon shook his head.

     "I have to bench you, Adam," he said. "You could injure yourself permanently."

      Banks began to panic. "No," he cried. "Coach, I gotta play. The scouts are all here watching me. This is my shot."

     "Adam," said Gordon. "You're young. You're going to have a lot of shots. Believe me."

     Banks was nearly in tears. "But, Coach," he pleaded. "My dad is counting on me."

      Gordon sat down next to Banks. "My dad worked a lot when I was a kid," he said. "So when he made it to a game, believe me, I wanted to score a hundred goals for him. He was proud of me because I was his son and I tried my best. I know your dad feels the same way."

     Banks sighed and slowly nodded his head.

      "Come on," said Gordon. "Let's go get that hand X-rayed." 

      "Okay," said Banks. "But I'm comin' back the second it's better."

       "Darn right you are," agreed Gordon. "We need you."

That evening Gordon moved out of the beach house and into the dorm so he could be closer to his players. He knew he had to win back their confidence. He had to show them that he would be there for them, whenever, wherever.

     At practice the next day the players smiled appreciatively when Gordon walked into the rink wearing his familiar old bomber jacket and chinos. He was carrying the full-size Bombay Hendrix cardboard cutout, the trading cards, and the USA Crunch cereal box with Team USA's picture on it. He walked out to center ice and dumped it all into a trash barrel.

     To the kids' nodding approval, he lit a match and dropped it in. The promotional props burst into flames.

     In chorus Team USA tapped their sticks against the ice to show their approval.

     "New attitude means new players," announced Gordon. Then he blew the duck call. A door opened and Russ emerged, suited up in a Team USA uniform.

     "With Banks out we have a roster spot open," explained Gordon. "Any objections?"

     The kids nodded in acceptance of Russ.

     "Thanks," said Russ. He wobbled unsteadily onto the ice. "But I'm not too good on these ice skates."

     "That's all right," said Gordon. "I got you a private tutor." He turned toward the bench. "Hey, Banks! Over here."

     "Me?" Banks walked over from the sidelines.

     "Yeah," said Gordon. "You just got a bad wing. You can still skate, can't you? Teach him to fly."

      Banks looked at Russ, then smiled. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "Okay."

      "All right," said Gordon. "We're coming together, Ducks." Gordon could feel the change in his team already. "Jan is here for us. The magic is back; I feel it. We just need one more thing."

      Once again Gordon blew the duck call. It was aimed at someone standing behind the team. They turned. It was Ms. MacKay.

     "We want you to be our assistant coach," Gordon told her. The Ducks enthusiastically tapped their sticks and cheered.

      "I don't know anything about hockey," she said, blushing.

     "We consider that a plus." Gordon smiled. "Give it a try."

     Gordon held out the duck decoy. Ms. MacKay shyly took it and put it to her lips. She took a deep breath and blew. The blast echoed throughout the stadium.

     It was drill time.

     First, Gordon led the team around the rink commando style on their stomachs-with himself in the lead.

     Meanwhile, Jan was working with Luis. He set up a row of soda cans as an obstacle course. Luis skated in and out, trying not to overturn the cans.

     Jan did a lot of restacking of soda cans that morning. After a while, however, Luis was skat ing better. Jan smiled and patted Luis on the back.

     The team drilled hard on their breakaways, passes, slap shots, and dekes. With each routine the kids got a bit better, smoother, Gordon couldn't help but notice that they seemed more confident and self-assured. Watching his players drill, Gordon felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: pride.

     Later Gordon noticed Tibbles sitting alone in the stands. He skated over.

     "Hendrix fired me," Tibbles told Gordon. He shook his head slowly. "Can you believe it?" He tried to smile. "I just came to say good-bye. And good luck. Sorry to put you through everything, but at least you still have your Ducks." He stood up to leave. "I'll see ya', Gordo."

     "Wait, Don," said Gordon. "I could always use one more in the flock. Let me hear you quack."

       "Quack?" Tibbles asked, confused. Gordon gave him a mischievous smirk.

     A little while later, a terrified Don Tibbles was on the ice, suited up in goalie pads in front of the net. One by one the Ducks gleefully took their positions at the blue line.

     "Ready?" Gordon asked his team.

     "QUAAAACK!" Tibbles screamed as he was pummeled with a shower of pucks. The kids burst into laugher. Even Tibbles joined in.

     Later, when the kids hit the showers, Gordon sat by himself on the bench. There were only two more days before the two top teams would be competing for the championship. Only two more days to get his team in top shape. He shook his head, cursing himself for neglecting them these past weeks.

     Would two days be enough time?