He doesn't quiet this cheer, and before I know it we are on the ice.
Sure enough, New York is playing hard, almost desperate. From the beginning, they don't seem to be worried about getting the puck so much as keeping us off it. Three times the first line gets the puck near the net only to have it poke-checked out.
At the first intermission, Carter seems more frustrated than usual.
“Everything ok out there?”
“Hmm? Uh, yeah. It's fine.”
I can't say I'm particularly confident in that answer.
“Look, they're still sloppy. We'll get one through sooner or later.”
Sure enough, Matthews executes a beautiful deke in the secondperiod that lets him sink the puck, his first goal of the year. On the bench, we go crazy, tapping our sticks and bumping his fist.
The next time I'm out, I notice one of the defensemen for New York - Deacons? - seems to be shadowing Carter closely. Even when the ref whistles the play dead, he's right up in Jamie's space, pushing him around. It's nothing crazy, but when I see it again I decide I need to know more.
Sure enough, during our next shift, I see him right up next to Jamie again. I skate closer than I usually would, hoping Mac can cover the gap I'm leaving.
“You fucking pussy. Not man enough to score in our house, are you?”
I've never understood when people say they see red, not until this very moment. The play gets whistled dead again and this time I see Deacons dig the end of his stick into Jamie's ribs. I can't even say I plan what I'm about to do. Before I know it, I'm placing an open-ice hit on the guy, laying him out.
He pushes himself up as the refs approach, getting between us.
“That'll be two for roughing, Tremblay. Head to the box.”
I shrug, thinking I'm frankly lucky for that call.
“What thefuck, ref? That was a major, no question.”
The ref seems unconvinced.
“Mr. Deacons, if I were allowed to talk to you, I'd say you're lucky you're not getting a matching two. You've been all over Carter after the play."
Good. He saw it too, at least, even if he didn't hear the words I did. I'm happy to do two in the sin bin to make sure he stays off Carter – frankly, I'd have been fine with ten and a game misconduct.
Unfortunately, our best PK unit was mostly on the ice when I placed the hit, something I wish I'd taken into account. Instead, our PK2 has to handle most of the power play.
They give it their best, but it’s still early in the season, and with thirty seconds left on the power play, New York’s second line center manages to squeak one in thanks to a bad screen from Koski.
During the second intermission, Jamie sits down next to me in my stall.
“Hey, I thought we were trying to win this one.” He says, reminding me thatI'mthe reason it's all tied up now.
“I'm not ever gonna be ok with someone talking to you like that, manhandling you like that. Even if it means I lose in front of my dad.”
“I can fight my own fights.”
“Abso-fucking-lutelynot. It isnot your job. You score goals that defy physics; I give you space to do it. I thought we already had this conversation.”
He rolls his eyes at me and walks away, rubbing a towel through his hair.
In the third, the play is sloppy from the beginning. Coverage is bad on both sides, and the goalies are getting in a real workout. The forwards are desperate to score, and the defense are falling all over themselves to block shots. Truly, I've seen better peewee games.
As the minutes tick down, Sutter sets up a screen, trying to open something up for Lindy and Jamie. They pass the puck back and forth until Jamie finally pulls the trigger. The shot is blocked, but New York's goalie is unable to hold onto it, the rubber disc bouncing free in front of him.
The crease turns into a scrum, everyone poking for the puck, trying to move it even an inch in their direction. Suddenly, somehow, the goal horn scores, and sure enough the puck sits there behind the goalie. As the play shows on the screen, I hold my breath, sure we're going to hear a goaltender interference call. Instead, I see the puck bounce off a skate and get kicked in – a skate that belongs to a New York defender. As the seconds tick down, I realize – we're winning this game on an own goal. Can't wait to hear what Dad has to say about that.
