I finished applying some more orange tape to my stick (not that it helped the last time) just before Coach made his final speech.
“Time for a comeback, kids! Vermont has a strong team, so you’re going to have to work for this. But you can do it. You have the chops! And you’re coming off a rough couple of games, so you want this. Go take it! Grab it with both hands, and bite its head off. Let’s go!”
Bella hauled open the ice door, and we ran down the chute in our skates, jumping the lip and hitting the ice. The visiting team was allowed exactly ninety seconds of warm up, which we were all smart enough to use to the fullest. That’s why it took me more than a few strokes down the rink before I noticed that there was something odd about the crowd.
In the first place, they let out a whoop of excitement when we skated onto the ice. If this were a home game, that would be perfectly normal. But how many fans could we have this far from home? And the cheers and hollers did not let up. The clapping and stomping actually escalated as we skated, as if The Rolling Stones were due to follow us out for a command performance.
Raising my head, I tried to make sense of it. The first thing I saw was a sea of color. Some of it was on the people. Quite a few of the fans were wearing… were thoserainbowhockey jerseys? What the fuck? I whizzed past the student section, which was full of Vermont’s green and gold. No surprises there. But elsewhere, especially behind the visitors’ net, spectators were holding giant rainbow banners. “EVERYONE CAN PLAY,” read one banner. “BIGOTRY IS FOR SISSY MEN,” read another one. And “WELCOME BACK TO VERMONT.”
Distracted, I stumbled and almost fell.
Coach’s whistle blew, and we skated toward our bench, still craning my neck to read the signs. I passed a little kid wearing a sweatshirt reading, “RIKKER IS MY HERO.”
“What the fuck?” someone said, which was pretty much the same as my reaction.
“Rikker, would you be my hero, too?” another guy asked.
“Take a number,” Rikker muttered. He looked dazed, his eyes darting around the arena.
“This is nuts!” Bella said in a breathless voice. She pressed herself against the boards, taking pictures with her phone.
“Change of lineup!” Coach bellowed. We all turned to listen. “Rikker’s skating first line with Hartley, and Trevi. Davies, you’re on second. We have to give these fans what they came here to see.”
Nobody argued. Not out loud, anyway. Rikker’s expression was serious behind his facemask. I couldn’t guess what he was thinking. Maybe his prayers were the same as mine:let this not be another disaster.
After Vermont’s team got its own standing ovation, our first line was back on the ice, skating to a stop at our net. The announcer began introducing players, giving the name, class, hometown and position of the Vermont first line. Each player skated to Vermont’s blue line when his name was called, receiving applause.
Then it was our turn. “From Etna, Connecticut, Harkness senior and team captain Adam Hartley.” There was applause even for the competitor. This crowd was fired up tonight.
“From Kent, Michigan, junior defenseman Michael Graham.” I’d never admit it, but I liked hearing the announcer call my name. I skated to the blue line to polite applause.
“And… from Burlington Vermont! Sophomore forward John Rikker!” The stands absolutelyeruptedthen, with screams and the stomping of feet. I turned my head to see Rikker skate to the blue line, eyes wide, an embarrassed smirk on his face.
Across the ice, on the opposing line, I saw his high school friend roll his eyes and smile.
The announcer had to pause before reading the last Harkness player’s name because the crowd was screaming too loud for him to go on. “What planet are we on?” Trevi asked when he finally arrived beside me.
“No clue,” I said, distracted by the relief coursing through me. The ice lights dimmed, and the announcer asked the crowd to stand for the national anthem. A spotlight went up on some dude who played it on the electric guitar, and the sound of it gave me chills. I didn’t even have a name for the way I felt right now. All I knew was that this game would be different from the one against Saint B’s.
Even if it was crazy, and embarrassing to Rikker, the whole thing was awe-inspiring. There had to be a thousand newly-converted hockey fans in this place tonight. (Tomorrow we would read on the news sites that a few drove from as far away as Toronto and Maryland to attend this game, just to show support for the first out gay Division One player.) The place was crammed full of people who’d come to see a guy they didn’t know play in a sport they might not understand. But they were all watching.
As usual, I tried not to let my true feelings show on my face. But the whole thing was really freaking cool.
Unfortunately, Coach had been right about one thing. Vermont wasn’t going to give the game up easily.
The first period was a big donut for both teams. Then, in the second, Hartley got lucky with an ugly goal right in front of the net. But the pressure from Vermont redoubled, and it was a sweaty third period. Vermont scored, unfortunately, and with five minutes left on the clock, the tension on the bench was ridiculous.
With just three minutes left, Rikker took a shot that looked awesome as it flew toward the net. The crowd flipped out. But Vermont’s goalie scrambled, deflecting it with the very tip of his glove.
That might have been the end of it. But while the crowd was still yelling over Rikker’s near miss, Big-D slapped that baby back into play, and Hartley tipped it behind the goalie and into the basket. From where I sat on the bench at that point, I couldn’t even see it happen. I only knew from the screaming.
From there, we ran down the clock and won it, 2-1.
Ladies and gentlemen, we wereback.
—January—
Lamp Lighter: a goal. In pro hockey, a goal is signified by a red light on the goal itself or on the boards behind the goal.
