Aspiring

Speed, Physicality, and Skill: The NHL Scouts - The State Championship Game

The lead held well into the third and final period. The Eagle Swoop really took over then, taking the edge off the Fitters’ offensive game. Their passes went awry, the open man wasn’t so easy to find, as he was in the first period. Within their zone, Coach drew them into a defense designed to jam the front of their net and force the Fitters to take low-percentage shots from the perimeter.

The clock wound down – ten minutes to go, seven, five. The Fitters were gasping now, and growing frustrated. They seemed astonished that they could be the losing team. With three minutes and sixteen second to go, their astonishment turned to exasperation – one of them took a cross-checking penalty. Their coach nearly vaulted over the boards to assail the referee. Now the Fitters were playing stupid. The Eagles would have a one-man advantage for two minutes. In the stands, the fans began to celebrate. The state title was within reach. All they had to do was keep the puck out of the net.

I don’t know why Patrick Cleary chose that moment to sabotage my efforts and make Drouin be all alone. He chased the loose puck in the Fitter zone. Drouin was as tired as the rest of his teammates. He hadn’t had a clean shot on Andrew since that breakaway he’d barely been able to stop. He shoved Tyler away and took over, separating me from Drouin. Maybe he thought, with the one-man advantage, he could take a chance on scoring the goal that would put the game and the championship away. But when he abandoned Drouin in pursuit of the open puck, he left five strides between himself and his man.

Tyler heard Coach scream, “Patrick – no!” As Patrick reached the puck, Wallman snuck up on his blind side and flattened him. The Eagles fans howled for a penalty. Wallman whacked the puck off the glass and it slide to Drouin in full stride. “Patrick Cleary, get up!” Coach yelled. But Drouin was gone.

Patrick’s gamble left the rest of the Eagles flat-footed, Tyler gave a futile chase from the opposite side of the rink, as Drouin swooped in from his right. Andrew saw it too. He pushed out. The enemy wound up. Andrew never saw the puck. He heard three distinct sounds, barely a second apart. First was the thunderous thwack of wood on rubber. Then the sickening ting of the puck inside the juncture of the goalpost and the crossbar. Then the roar of the Fitter fans.

As Drouin whipped past him, his stick raised high over his head, he looked over and again winked his good eye. “Can’t see it, can’t stop it.”

Andrew skated over to Tyler, who felt a hand grab him by the back of his jersey. He was red-faced and furious. “Fucking Blackburn,” he sputtered, his spittle flecking the skin behind his mask. “I knew this would happening!”

“Forget it, Andrew. We’re going to win.”

“You don’t understand,” Patrick’s voice cried.

Past him, Tyler could see Blackburn and Fiyero calling out from the bench, Zilchy and Bryan skated over.

“Blackburn fucked us, Marchy,” Andrew snarled into his ear.

“Calm down, Carpie.”

“Like hell,” Patrick had said. He turned to skate away, back to his goal and then, as Zilchy and Bryan caught up to him; he wheeled around and yelled, “Watch. I’ll show these motherfuckers a fancy-ass fag move, all right.”

Tyler knew immediately what he meant. It was like back in Halifax. It was happening again, only this time Tyler wasn’t exactly playing the opposing, bastard role.  

When it happened, they were five minutes into sudden-death overtime. They had just dumped the puck into the Fitter zone. Number 25 slapped it high on the glass around the back of the net and up the opposite boards. Zack stopped it with his chest and shoveled it back across the ice into the corner left of the Fitter net, where Patrick, having snuck in from his defensive post, now appeared.