“Yeah, the gear.Lots of rookie mistakes with people who can’t handle their gear.”He nodded to Evan.“I’m coming in hot.We’re about to fight.Drop your gloves.”
“Oh.”Evan shook off his left glove, switched his stick to his left hand, and did the same with his right glove.He looked up to see Barczyk’s bewildered expression, like Evan had grown a second head.
“What the fuck was that?Why do you still have your stick?Like, holy fuck, Abs.I’d have knocked you out cold by now!”
Evan blushed.Right.In a fight, people wouldn’t wait for you to take off your gloves and gingerly put down your stick.He reached down for his gloves.“Can I try that again?”
Barczyk crossed his arms across his chest.“Please.”
The second time, Evan did better.He dropped his stick first, wincing slightly as it hit the ice, then shook off both gloves at the same time.One got stuck, but still, overall he did way better.He thought it was good enough to move on, but Barczyk looked as unimpressed as before.
“You are in greater need of my services than I thought.You've gotta be faster, and you've gotta get it out of the blast radius.Look where you left your stick.It’s right in front of you!You’re gonna trip over it or break it.”
Evan looked down.Barczyk had a point.There was more to this fighting thing than he thought, and they hadn’t done any actual fighting yet.
“Okay, let’s try something different.”He backed away from Evan.“Time me.”
“Time you?”
“Yeah, time me.Do a ready, set, go.You don’t need a stopwatch.One-Mississippi it.”
“One-Mississippi—?Oh.”As a kid, Evan had seen people on TV and in movies count seconds that way, but he’d never done it himself.“Okay, yeah.”He waited for Barczyk to give him a nod of approval before starting: “Ready…set…go!”
As soon as he said go, Barczyk tossed aside his gloves and sticks and had his fists up.Evan hadn’t even gotten through one full Mississippi.He gulped, both impressed and a little concerned.Maybe he was lucky Barczyk had checked him and not fought him.It seemed like that was the better option.
“Wow,” Evan said as Barczyk went to retrieve his gear.
“That’s how long you've got until a guy like me is going for your face, so you've gotta be that fast too.”
They spent fifteen minutes just dropping and picking up their gear.Evan would never have thought to practice this, so it was a relief he could at least have one takeaway.
“All right,” Barczyk said when he deemed Evan could drop everything at an acceptable speed.“You’ve got the hang of it.Hard to do it in the heat of the moment, but you shouldn’t embarrass yourself.”
“Wow,” he deadpanned.“I’m glad you’re proud.”He was ready to call the lesson a success and go home, but Barczyk cut him off before he got the chance.
“Now time for the most complex part of hockey fights.”
Evan froze, mouth dry.“I thought you said we weren’t going punching today.”
“We won’t.God, you’re not ready for that.We've gotta get you swinging on solid ground before we put you on ice.”
If Barczyk had said that to him in August, Evan would’ve thought it was super condescending—Evan had been skating since he was four and was perfectly capable of staying on his feet, thank you very much.Only two months later, he wasn’t even annoyed.He’d had all of one fight, made a fool of himself, and had to concede that it wasn’t as easy as it looked.Barczyk was the expert here.
“So what are we doing instead?What’s the most important part of fighting?”
“Jerseys,” Barczyk said grimly, almost apologetic.“We've gotta work on your jersey-pulling game.”
“Jerseys?”he asked, but it clicked as he said it.He knew players often grabbed each other’s jerseys during a fight.You could use them to hold the other person in place while you punched them, or to keep them at arm’s length to avoid getting punched yourself.Some more ambitious players tried to take off the other person’s jersey, pulling it up over their head, effectively blinding and trapping them.“Oh.Right.”
“Show me what you've got,” Barczyk said.He still had his mouthguard with him, chewing it as he made Evan drop his gloves and reach for his jersey.Once Evan had done it a few times, Barczyk nodded.“Good.You've got a lotta reach, so use that.Keep the people you don’t want to fight away from you and then pull them in when you’re ready to punch.You could also shake ‘em a bit, try to throw them off balance.”
“I can handle that,” Evan said, mostly because he liked the idea of ‘keeping away people you don’t want to fight.’
Barczyk chuckled—a deep, throaty sound that Evan unexpectedly felt in his gut.“Yeah, only because I’mlettingyou manhandle me.”
And again, the words hit Evan oddly, leaving him more unbalanced than if Barczyk had pushed him.He gulped.“So you gonna fight back?”
“I’m gonna try to grab your jersey, yeah.No punching.”He held out a finger sternly, but his eyes lit up in amusement.“I don’t need you giving me a shiner.”
