Blaire's POV:
Randy has decided to start me in the first round of the playoffs, since I have been pretty good lately. In the playoffs, there is no messing around, and switching goalies every game. In the playoffs, you need a solid starting goalie, not three goalies who play all the time. So in the playoffs, Randy has listed me as the starting goalie, Jonas as the 2nd stringer, and Ben as the 3rd stringer, because he isn't feeling well.
We are against the New York Rangers in the first round of the playoffs. Our first game is tonight, in NY.
We are just hanging out in the dressing room, getting dressed, when we hear Randy screaming in the other room. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE SAID TELL THE GIRL TO WATCH OUT???" Oh shoot. Randy barges in. "Blaire, assistant coach just told me that Ryane Clowe told him 'You tell that girl to watch her back.' Keep an eye out for Clowe." He tells me. "Sure thing coach. I'll be careful.'' I say.
Ooh. Tis the season to get violent. This sets me on edge. We walk down the tunnel, and the fans are booing us, except for the lone Leaf fans who are getting heckled pretty bad. We get on with our warmup, and I go to centre ice, to stretch. Henrik Lundqvist is already there. I kneel down next to him, and begin stretching. "Watch out for Clowe, eh?" Henrik says. "Yeah. Coach told me." I reply. "Good luck" He says. "You too" I say, and then skate off.
Playoff hockey is WAY more violent than regular season hockey. Orr has already been ejected from the game, along with Brian Boyle. Coach was right. I do have to watch out for Clowe. He obviously doesn't like the fact that I am allowed in the NHL. He's been hacking and spearing at me the whole period, and the referees "haven't seen" any of that garbage.
It's the second period already, and we are already about halfway through. Clowe's line is on, and they are on a rush. We are winning 2-1 so far. Clowe passes to his center, and he takes a shot. Easy pad save, and I cover up the rebound. I am lifting my mask to take a drink, when Clowe skates by, lifts up his stick, nonchalantly, and sticks me in the face. "Hey!" I call to the ref. I skate after Clowe, and shove him. He does a wussy move, and dives, making it look like I hit him hard.
"Jasper! Penalty, for interference after the whistle, and leaving your crease!" The head ref calls. I can't believe it. Randy is complaining from the bench. "You're kidding, right? You saw him stick me in the face! That's garbage!'' I yell at the ref. Fraser McLaren goes to serve the penalty. I touch my cheek, and I'm bleeding. "Come on ref! I'm bleeding! He stuck me in the face!" I yell.
I go over to the bench, and my trainer patches up the cut on my cheek. It's actually pretty bad.
Clowe gives me a sneer from the bench. "I'll wipe that grin off your face in a heartbeat, you big baby! Maybe they should call you 'Cloward' instead of Clowe!" I shout at him. He mocks me. I skate back to the crease, and try to clear my mind. The play starts again, with a faceoff in our zone. Dion dumps the puck, and the guys go for a dump n' chase.
Anything that keeps the puck out of our zone. Stupid Clowe. That faker has it coming to him. Once the penalty is over, Fraser gets out of the box, and Clowe is off. Thank God. I want to remind him he isn't a soccer player next time he's out. Lupul is out, and he is leading a rush, with Kadri not far behind. He sends a slick backpass to Kadri, and Naz rips a snipe into the top right corner. Yes.
With Clowe messing me up, we need as many goals as we can get. Clowe's line is out, and I prepare for any crap I have to deal with. Clowe himself takes a shot, and I make a quick pad save, someone goes after the rebound, but Kostka sweeps the puck away, and the buzzer goes. We head into the dressing room, where I immediately start yelling.
"Are the referees blind? Clowe stuck me plain in the face! Then I get the penalty? That's bull! I'm gonna clean his clock!" I yell. I take a swig of Gatorade, and sit down in my stall. The team agrees that it was a terrible call, and start discussing game plans, while I sit and stew in my anger.
