We nod, rumbles of memories when we’ve all individually lost a two goal lead. The Vortex as a team just this past year in the playoffs against the Portland Torches. I watched their final game from my couch—the Chill had been knocked out pretty quickly after a few bad losses in the final stretch of our season.
Their final was a rough one to watch.
“I’m not going to point out who I want to get the game winning goals, but we need three to start the season on the right foot and show these Sparks that we’re something to be worried about.” He continues, “So what do you say? Are we going to put these sparks on a spin cycle?”
The energy is pumped back into the room with his speech, electrifying each player. You can almost see the way everyone starts to sit a little straighter and their hands shake to get their sticks on the puck. We all want this.
We win as a team and we lose as a team.
The start of the third is rough. We’re taking the fight tothem with renewed vigour. Our lines are hitting hard and fast. Where we lose them in the straights, we’re making up for it in the intricate battles against the boards.
By intricate, I mean we’re pummelling into them, and it’s comforting to see how many of our team like it.
Maybe also concerning, but right now, it’s perfect.
We’re keeping them in their end pretty comfortably, to the point that Taylor and I, when we’re on the ice, can get a bit closer to the blue line than before. One of their forwards, an old player from Toronto whose name I can’t remember, is floating near us. She keeps tapping my stick and then skates over to Taylor, who pushes her off.
She’s a nuisance, and I pray that Taylor can keep her head down for right now. We can’t have her in the penalty box. Playing a woman down would kill our momentum.
Luckily, we don’t have to worry about it, because as the puck slides to us, the player trips over her own skates and lands perfectly in Taylor’s stick.
She slaps it, her whole body twisting into a slapshot making machine before she forces the puck through a throng of bodies and into the back of the next. The silence of the audience jolts us to action, and she jumps into my arms, both of us cheering before she goes and high-fives the rest of the team on the bench.
We’re taken off for the second line, and Taylor’sgetting little helmet taps by everyone. They’re jolting her, shaking her shoulders in excitement, and we watch as the second line keeps up the unrelenting pressure.
This is perfect; it’s exactly what we’re supposed to be doing as a team. It’s what we talked about, and I can see Lawson beaming underneath his moustache.
He catches my gaze, and with a twinkle in his own, he nods before focusing back on the game.
As the second and third lines shift, there’s a little scare where the forward gets a breakaway, but she’s shut down by Winnie, who looks intimidating in her helmet. She somehow makes pink look terrifying.
I’m so glad I’m not playing against her anymore.
The puck’s passed from Winnie to Rory, and it’s like magic as she pushes through the team, going one v one against the goalie. The Sparks were in the middle of a shift change and now their lines are all mixed up trying to get to her.
It’s too late.
She wraps around, startling the goalie and tucking into the left corner before her skate can block it.
The bench jumps up, half of us already standing as we try to get a good look at the motion she just put into play. The first line is tapped in again for the face off, and has Taylor and me skating on with Lily, Brynn, and Rhea. We’re setting up, and looking at the clock, I realize we’ve got about three minutes before we push this into overtime. That’s sudden death, and the Sparks will still get a point instead of us getting a full three.
We don’t want that.
I lock eyes with the girl across the dot, and she looks just as determined.
It’s such a shame for them that we want it more.
The puck drops, and it’s a clash of sticks and the crack of the puck landing in the cradle of Rhea’s stick. She pushes forward, but there’s a block, so she passes it over to Lily, who has it for a second before it’s stripped from her. Brynn’s in the path of the other player, who’s trying to figure out the best way to get the puck near the blue line again.
Taylor and I are just hovering over the line in case it comes back near us, but when it’s passed up to me, I push it forward to Brynn.
She grabs it, tries to pass to Rhea, but passes back to me.
I’m juggling it among the three of them as the seconds are ticking down. Sweat pours down my temples when I hear the fans start to count down.
They want overtime.
The Sparks want overtime.
