“Let’s see it. 17, 33, 2!” Coach boomed, alerting us to jump the boards and take the next face-off.
I was number 17, Nick was 33. Those had been our numbers for as far back as I could remember. By luck, Nick and I had signed up for the same mini-mite team when we were 5 years old in our poor, run-down, hockey town in Canada, and we’d stuck together ever since. A bond formed between him and I just as much as one had formed between me and hockey. We were brothers. And this was our game.
And we always played better together, which was why I wasn’t too annoyed he jumped the line and got Coach’s attention. We had the opportunity, now we just couldn’t blow it.
I leaned down to take the face-off, ignoring the asshole in front of me chirping. He’d been doing that all game, trying to throw me off and mess up my timing.
But it seemed he was only messing himself up.
The second the puck dropped, I snapped it back to my left D-man named Stoney, and the poor sap in front of me groaned and let a curseout.
We were off then. I moved up ice and felt- or just knew- that Nick was moving faster and further into the offensive zone than I was. Stoney snapped the puck to me, and in a second, I passed the puck up to Nick to give him a breakaway.
I hustled up ice after him, trying to beat the Detroit defensemen and be able to help with a rebound if the goalie stopped Nick’s attempt.
But my hustle wasn’t needed.
Nick faked a shot, held onto the puck for an extra second, and then shot top right.
The goal lamp lit up and the ref’s whistle pierced through all sound in the rink.
I kept skating though, to pound into Nick for a hug… but the reason changed as I gotcloser.
After Nick scored, he threw his arms up in celebration, but he was also yelling something at the Detroit guys, our opponents, and pointing to the scoreboard, which now read 2-0.
I shook my head. Nick was always looking for trouble, and egging on the Detroit defenseman who just got burned was not the smart move at this point in the game. I watched almost in slow motion as the Detroit guy held his stick with both hands and cross-checked Nick in the back of the neck.
It didn’t matter that Nick probably deserved it. He was my brother, my teammate, and I’d throw down for him any day. I was already moving at a lightning speed and didn’t bother slowing down.
Nick was getting up to take him on, but I was there faster.
I felt my first crash into his helmet, and then it was on.
There was a flurry of red and white jerseys clashing, and it was all motions and fury.
I felt my neck snap back after taking a punch square to the face, but that just made me punch back faster and harder.
I gave it my all until the ref overpowered me and pulled me too far from the Detroit kid.
Nick continued to run his mouth as we were both ushered toward the penalty box.
The refs all convened for a moment in front of the timekeeper’s station.
I sat my ass down and took off my helmet to shake out my sweaty hair. No way were we going to be able to play the rest of the game. We’d be watching the last 5 minutes from the sin bin. I wasn’t sure what was going through Coach’s head at this point- because we did do what we said we would- we scored smoothly… but we were also probably about to be short-handed for the rest of the game... And Nick and I probably could’ve gotten at least one more point up on the board… Coach had to know that, and that’s why I was afraid to look across the ice at him.
I at least hoped we avoided a game suspension. I couldn’t handle not being able to suit up this weekend- I’d be pretty pissed at Nick if that were the case. He needed to learn to keep his mouth in check. I was all for backing up my bud in a fight, but only necessary fights. He kinda brought this one on himself for taunting the other team,
I tried to read the refs’ body motions as they talked, and knew it was coming before the minutes even showed up on the time clock: We were both in for the last five minutes of the game.
I knew it would happen, but it didn’t make me less upset. Seeing the game happen in front of me and not be able to play was the worst… This was what I was good at. It was who I was. The Griffiths really didn’t have anything to be proud of… but we always had hockey.
“You’re not too mad at me, are ya, bud?” Nick said beside me.
I felt my jaw clamp shut. Iwas.
“We get a nice rest now after our hard work,” he tried. We were shoved tightly in here and I felt him shift next to me to lean back against the glass behind him.
“I mean, Gordie Howe hat trick, my boy!” He shook my shoulder. “Goal, assist, and fight,” he pushed.
