D2: The Mighty Ducks Novel

COACH VERSUS COACH

     The mood of the team on the night before game day was tense. The next day Team USA would face off against Team Iceland in the championship game of the Junior Goodwill Games. By then it would all be over.

     Gordon instructed his players to show up at the rink that evening for practice. But not in uniform, he told them. "In your street clothes," he said. The kids were confused.

     "Shouldn't we be in our hockey gear?" Luis asked Gordon later when the team had assembled at the rink.

     "It will be our last practice," replied Gordon. "And that means-"

     "The return of Captain Blood?" suggested Averman.

     "Nope," said Gordon, smiling. "It means let's have some fun."

      Gordon kicked a huge beach ball out onto the ice. The kids charged after it. They slipped and slid, trying to get control of it.

     Meanwhile, Gordon helped Michele lace on a pair of skates. It was her first time on skates, and Gordon guided her slowly across the ice, then let go. She skated unsteadily, lost her balance, and suddenly began to fall backward.

     Gordon rushed up and caught her before she hit the ice.

     "Nice catch," she said. Gordon smiled. Just then the beach ball bounced off Gordon's head, and he playfully pantomimed that he was falling.

     Everyone was having fun, even Tibbles. He was a terrible skater and couldn't control his direction. He'd keep falling, laugh, and try again.

     The players had organized a game of ice soccer with the beach ball. At one point, however, Julie kicked the ball too hard. It flew into the stands, and when a couple of kids went after it they bumped into Wolf Stansson. He had the ball clamped between his hands. Marria stood beside him, and behind her were the Team Iceland players.

     "Playtime is over," growled Stansson. "We have the ice now."

     With a loud POP! Stansson crushed the ball be tween his huge hands.

     Gordon skated over. "We have the ice," Stansson said. "You and your little rink rats must leave."

      "The only thing little was your career in the pros," sneered Gordon.

     Stansson returned Gordon's stare, and his expression became even more stern.

     "At least I had a shot," he said, taunting Gordon. "I was there."

     "You were a disgrace," concluded Gordon. He turned to address Marria. "Hey, Mata Hari, I never thanked you for the ride."

     "My pleasure," Marria said nastily.

     "Not for long," Gordon promised. He turned to his team. "Come on, Ducks. We're through here." The players hesitated.

     "I said off the ice," Gordon insisted. Reluctantly the players began skating off toward the runway.

     "You can still move on the ice?" called out Stansson to Gordon. "Well, please, play a little with me. Show me you're not the failure everyone says you are. Show me that famous triple deke your dear daddy taught you. Or was it your mommy?"

     Gordon froze, then turned. His mouth was set in a hard, thin line. Stansson reached behind a bench and produced two sticks and a puck. He tossed one of the sticks to Gordon.

     Jan moved up behind Gordon. "Gordon, no," he warned. "Your knee isn't strong enough."

     Gordon ignored Jan's warning. "Three bar," he told Stansson. "First one to hit both posts and the crossbar. Got to take it out past the blue line."

     "I know the game," said Stansson. "In Iceland it's called-"

     "I didn't ask," said Gordon curtly.

      Gordon skated out onto the ice and waited for Stansson behind the blue line. The puck was at his feet. Stansson skated out to meet him. Sud denly Stansson stole the puck! His quick move took Gordon by surprise. DING! Stansson smashed the puck against the right post.

     The Vikings cheered.

     Gordon retrieved the puck after it ricocheted off the goalpost and skated in a wide arc across the ice. Stansson trailed after him, stabbing at the puck with his stick. Gordon faked as if to lose the puck, and Stansson lunged for it. Just then Gordon pushed the puck around Stansson and slapped it against the left post. CLANG!

     Now it was the Ducks turn to cheer. It was 1-1.

     Gordon and Stansson met each other at the blue line. The puck lay between them. Stansson suddenly swiped at it, missed, and Gordon came away with it. Furious, Stansson leaned in and elbowed Gordon hard in the stomach. Gordon crumpled onto the ice.

     Smiling to himself, Stansson stole the puck and prepared to shoot. Suddenly Stansson's stick went flying out of his hands. Gordon had come charging up behind Stansson like a stampeding buffalo. As Stansson cursed Gordon in Icelandic, Gordon hustled to retrieve the puck. With a smooth flick of the wrist, Gordon knocked the puck into the right post.

     The Ducks exploded in cheers.

     Stansson was livid with rage. Never had he been so humiliated.

     "Bad news," Gordon explained to him matter of factly. "That wasn't even my triple deke." Stansson angrily picked up his stick.

     Gordon nonchalantly guided the puck behind the blue line and prepared for his next move. Stansson skated in front of him like a panther silently contemplating its next kill.

     "One more and it's over," Gordon reminded him politely. "Oh, and by the way, you owe me a beach ball."

     Gordon grinned and slowly moved in on the puck. Stansson had his eyes glued to Gordon's every move. He knew what was coming. He smiled meanly as Gordon pulled in the puck in prepa ration for his famous triple deke.

     ONE! Gordon deked left.

     TWO! He deked right.

     THREE!

     "No!" yelled the Ducks as Stansson deliberately slashed Gordon in the knee.

     Gordon screamed in pain and collapsed in a heap onto the ice. It was as if a hammer had come down on his bad knee. Jan and Ms. MacKay ran out to him on the ice.

     Meanwhile, the Ducks had moved in on the Vikings. They were ready for a fight.

      "No, Ducks!" Gordon called out, seeing what was happening. "Hold it! We're better than they are. We know it."

      The Ducks stopped. Gordon was right.

     Jan and Michele helped lift Gordon to his feet. He struggled to stand up on his good leg, then waved them off as he stood on both legs.

     "Tomorrow," he promised Stansson, "we prove it to the world."