Chapter Twelve The Championship Run
The Jagr Bombs waited outside the rink doors, the pre-game chatter more subdued than usual.
The ice glistened as the Zamboni disappeared into its little corner of the rink.
The few times he’d gone skating as a kid, Nick had always tried to be the first out after the Zamboni cleaned the ice.
When it was this wet, he could get a running start and slide headfirst through center ice.
It got him in trouble with the rink staff.
Hurt, too, because he’d been a terrible skater and had usually fallen right out of the doors.
Now the impulse niggled at the back of his mind, but his focus was on the game.
Hockey nerves weren’t uncommon for him. His first month, he’d had butterflies in his stomach from the time his car entered the parking lot until midway through his first shift.
He’d managed to fool himself into thinking he was over pre-game jitters.
But today, he felt that same energy buzzing beneath his skin; it kind of made him want to throw up.
There weren’t a whole lot of big games, not for rec-league adult hockey, so maybe that’s why he’d thought he was past this.
This was, unfortunately, a big game. The biggest game he’d ever played in. Of course, his dad always said, “the most important game is the one you’re about to play,” but there were actual stakes to this one beyond season rankings.
If they won today’s game, they were still alive. If they lost, they were once again kicked out. Bye bye, championship. Maybe next time, tournament.
No one was talking about that, though, so Nick refused to think about it.
They were going to win, Nick was going to contribute, and that stupid coffee cup would be theirs.
There were still a couple minutes on the timer for warm-ups, but most of the team was at the benches.
Apparently Nick wasn’t the only one who felt nervous, and he figured that’s why everyone jumped when Young Greg started talking.
“Welcome to the Wheaton Cup Semi-Finals. I’m Young Greg, here with Young Greg, to give you guys the full game commentary,” Young Greg said into his water bottle.
“Thanks, Young Greg,” he said to himself with a nod. “And, by the way, may I say you look stunning today?”
He paused, scooting down the bench to play the role of his other self. “Thanks, bro. You too.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” GG muttered. He was smiling, though, which was better than the ornery mess he’d been before, snapping at everyone in the locker room.
Young Greg ignored him. “Today’s match-up is the Slashing Pumpkins, who score 11/10 for their look because damn it’s sick to have a pumpkin as your jersey logo, versus the Jagr Bombs, who only score 7/10 on their jerseys because boo Pittsburgh.”
“I hate you,” Brady said. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes shone with amusement.
Young Greg winked at him. “Predictions are evenly split for who’s gonna win. Both teams have an impressive line-up and have similar stats on the season. Or so I assume, because I sure as hell don’t check the league website.”
“There’s a league website? They post stats!?” Lexi looked appalled. Nick was well aware and did check on occasion, but it was usually so out of date that it wasn’t useful. Besides, Benns got all the relevant data and sent it out to the team as needed.
And yes, Nick was enough of a math nerd that he’d spend a good hour perusing the spreadsheets and save them onto his computer for later comparison when they got updated numbers.
“Bro, don’t interrupt,” Young Greg scolded Lexi.
“I’m doing the intro commentary to get us pumped for the game.
” He shook himself like he was getting back into character, and continued, “The real question is, who’s gonna be the difference-maker today and send their team to the Finals tomorrow night?
Will it be Guy in net, building a wall to keep the Pumpkins out?
Will it be Gail, scaring the other team shitless?
Will it be the handsomest member of the team, Young Greg, scoring a hatty and crushing his enemies beneath his skates? ”
“I’d like to see where you got that ranking for handsomest,” Donno muttered. “Not even sure you break the top five.”
“Don’t be jealous, bro. I got you ranked up there, no worries.”
“And what exactly is your team hotness ranking?” Gail asked skeptically.
“We’ll compare notes after the game. Don’t want anyone getting a big head pre-game. Now, let’s talk obvious weaknesses on the Pumpkins…”
By the time the buzzer went off, the Jagr Bombs were significantly looser. It didn’t feel like they were about to walk the plank to their doom; it felt like another game, and a completely winnable game at that.
Nick squared up for the opening faceoff.
He and Brady had practiced on their own a few times to brush up on some skills and hopefully make up for their lost game time, and faceoffs had been a huge part of that.
Nick had only played one game since his concussion, but he was confident he was going to win this draw.
He was good at faceoffs.
The ref’s hand moved, Nick’s hands got into position, the puck dropped, and he timed his move perfectly for it hitting the ice—
“Nicki skates up the boards, yells for the puck, gets it! Goes one-handed on a breakaway! He’s got Young Greg to his left and Jensie coming in behind for that sick point shot. Nicki weaves around a defenseman and— Yikes, bad move, bro.”
Nick slammed the penalty box door. He wanted to shout at the refs, but it was a legitimate call. Like it or not, he’d tripped the dumbass… even if the guy’s own shitty skating had been the real reason he’d fallen.
The only consolation was that he’d shaken off the feeling of rust pretty early. Concussion or not, he was on fire.
“Jens is open on the backdoor! Risky move or smart play, Young Greg?”
“It’s a good hockey play, smart move there, but it’s a super dangerous one if he fucks up, ’cause Gail will smack him when the refs and Benns aren’t looking.”
“Wouldn’t wanna be on Gail’s bad side, that’s for sure.”
“Whoops. Looks like Jensie’s fucked it up after all. Missed the puck, and now the other team’s looking to keep him from getting it back.”
Brady hastily took off his glove while on the bench so he could give a player on the ice the middle finger.
Young Greg and Gail laughed, holding up their still-gloved hands and trying to comically give the middle finger as well.
It barely worked, but it did the job of getting Brady to laugh and calm down.
“Y’know,” Nick said as he nudged him on the bench. “If they know it’s that easy to get you worked up, they’re gonna keep doing it.”
Brady gave him a once over. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” he said like it was a challenge.
Not knowing how to interpret that, Nick went back to focusing on the game.
“A two-on-one develops! The Jagr Bomb bench erupts in screams loud enough to drown out Young Greg’s amazing commentary. Does he care? No! He has a duty to the game, and he’ll do it— SCORE!!! That’s it, boys! Let’s go!”
An oncoming player charged Nick. He had the barest trace of a flashback, could almost feel the pain of hitting the wall and ice, saw nothing but the bright lights on the ceiling.
For a fraction of a second, he froze. There was fear, a desire to avoid pain and another few weeks (or more) off the ice.
He powered through, though, forced himself to stay strong on the puck and keep moving.
He’d seen the guy coming, so he dodged the potential (illegal) check and sprinted forward.
The puck had gotten a little ahead of him, but he wrangled it back in, used the last few seconds before he ran out of ice to pull it in and shot…
“There are fifteen seconds left in the game with the Jagr Bombs up 3 to 2 thanks to a late goal from none other than resident concussee Nicki. The Pumpkins have pulled their goalie and are putting the pressure on now. Jensie has double shifted and blocked at least three shots. Bro’s gonna be sore tomorrow.
Nine seconds, then the Jagr Bombs move on.
Gail hacks at a guy’s shins, but he doesn’t lose the puck. Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One—”
*
“Great work tonight!” Benns said. His voice was raised over the ruckus in the locker room, all of them half dressed and loudly celebrating their win.
They settled down a little when Benns came to the center of the room.
He had a rare beer in hand and a goofy grin.
“I can’t emphasize enough how proud I am of the hard work we’ve put in all season, and today’s win was the natural conclusion of that.
Great goal from Gail, her first of the season. ”
There was a brief pause for cheers. Gail stood and took a bow.
“And great goal from Nicki, who we’re really happy to have back and healthy. Missed that offense when you were out.”
There were more cheers, though these were accompanied by a few salutes as well, a reference to the celly he’d promised Brady a while back. Nick stood and gave a mock curtsy.
“I also should thank Young Greg. His commentary, while not anything you’d expect to hear on NBCSN, went a long way toward helping us relax and have fun. A team that’s having fun can win games, and that’s exactly what we did.”
“It’s all right, bros,” Young Greg said with a dismissive wave. “Y’all don’t have to write me in for MVP or anything.”
“I think,” Benns said after an indulgent laugh, “we should be proud of ourselves for getting this far. We did good work, and we were rewarded with a win. But…”
There were some boos. Mags threw a wad of tape at Benns.
“But,” he said again, ignoring their heckling, “this is just one game. We’ve made it to the finals, but that’s a best-of-three series. I know we’re all excited about the possibility of playing in Toronto—”
“I’m gonna be in Toronto no matter what, boys,” Lexi said. “Booked me a flight up. Vacation or tourney, I don’t care.”