Post Olympic

Tuuuurrrrrtllllleee

Oh, oh boy. 

hehe. 

watch for the P.O.V jump in there, and feel free to join me later in finishing off Kasta Stringer for Fen. What a jerk. 

alright, and stick with Nico here, she's being a dingdong, I know. 

MUSIC: 11 Blocks - Wrabel (it kinda doesn't fit, but it's a Fen mood right now and I can't find anything better) 

-rabid

EDIT: a match five is a match penalty. when there's a penalty that both players are equally at fault, they serve the same time, and are released after their time is up and then a whistle is blown. Five guys remain on the ice, so it's still full team, but the two players can't play for 5+ minutes after the call. 

******************

"Game day." Hadley hops up onto the bench beside me and the other coaches to watch the guys warm up.

"Game day," I agree. He smiles.

"I hope your salsa idea works."

"It will." I chuckle. "It has to."

And here's the doosey.

It does.

Again.

We score twice in the first period and they're clean goals. There's good tic-tac-toe going on through the whole team. Nice passes and good effort from everyone. They communicate and look like they're working as a cohesive unit.

"You guys look fantastic," I hop up on the table at the first break. "Like knock your socks off fantastic. Like you know what's going on. God, it kind of actually looks like you're playing to your level." I raise my eyebrows. "We just might win this thing."

There's a howl of a cheer, and I get down off the table.

Second period is just as clean, if not cleaner. I expect a bald dude wearing only white to bust down the door at any second. Mr. Clean.

Hadley is losing his mind. His guys are finally working together and scoring. We're three up by the end of the second.

I give yet another speech.

"Nico-" Sauerkraut catches me outside the door.

"Don't." I growl. He takes a step back. "You're not worth my time to talk to."

"Fine, Coach. I was going to thank you for the salsa." He retorts. I have a damn good feeling he wasn't going to actually do that. He slaps down his cage and lifts his hands to button it into position. I get back up onto the bench, standing on it, joining Hadley, Jorgen and the coaches.

Sauerkraut is chirping hard this period. Every time he skates past the bench, he's yelling at the guy on him. Specifically number 92, Stringer. Stringer isn't responding, much.

Yeah, much.

That is until Sauerkraut mocks him or something.

Stringer throws down his shit and grabs the front of Sauerkraut's shirt.

"Tuuuuuuuurrrttllllleeeeee." The whole bench sighs. It's a long drawl. I hold in a harsh laugh. They do this every time.

"Tuuuuuuuuurrrtlllleeeeee." The stands yell.

But Sauerkraut engages. He doesn't buckle like normal. He's holding.

"My god." Hadley whispers. I suck in a long breath. Stringer throws a nasty punch. It cracks across the ear of his cage. Their helmets get tossed across the ice, and Greenbean picks up Sauerkraut's. The refs skate forward to get between them, but Stringer is a big guy, Sauerkraut bigger. I see Sauerkraut punch Stringer's jaw. Repeatedly.