Sure enough, a guy hooks Leroy as he’s picking up speed with the puck. He gets a pass before eating ice and the game continues on with him crumpled. After a failed shot on the opponent's goal, a ref calls for a timeout and helps Leroy up.
There’s muted applause as he’d lead off the ice and into the bench. The game continues, but I’m more interested in what Leroy is saying to Christos. It’s impossible to hear, but my guess is he’s arguing to be let back onto the ice.
Which makes sense. Leroy likes to lead by example. Someone has to have a good heart and strong convictions to put up with toddlers all day, and for once, I’m not talking about the Dingbat’s team. He’s studying to be a teacher and works part-time at the daycare on campus.
When the break comes around, it’s obvious who the defensemen are; all of them looking haggard with their heads hanging. It’s been a brutal period and I’m not sure how defense is going to keep up.
Two to one might not be a very impressive scoreboard, but a win is a win, especially for the Dingbats.
The players might be spent, but the crowd is more alive than ever. Everyone here knows our reputation. For Dingbats fans, this could be a good omen; first home game—first win. For the opposing team, starting the season losing to the worst team in the league would be a huge bruise on their ego.
Next period, Leroy is back on the ice and gets revenge against the defenseman who took him out—shouldering him hard as he passes the puck. The guy slams into the glass, bruising his ego more than his body. The puck is long gone, but he keeps going after Leroy.
“Looks like you’ll get your wish,” I tell Alex.
The gloves come off, Leroy taking a hit at the back of the head before tossing his own gloves. I’ve always assumed the rule is you can’t start fights, but finishing them is acceptable.
Everyone’s focused on the action, but I get curious about Christos. He’s gesturing to another player, getting his attention before pointing him in the direction of Terrence. He hasn’t joined the fight yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Except the player Christos was just talking to skates over and blocks Terrence from the fight. While the two of them talk, Leroy has the other guy grappled. Eventually, a ref pulls them apart, and they both go to the penalty box.
Alex shouts over the roar of the crowd, “That was hot. This is better than porn.”
Marcus nods. “Right?”
I roll my eyes. “You two have problems.”
“You seriously don’t like watching guys fight?” She bumps me with her shoulder.
Marucs, wanting in on the teasing, pushes against my other side. “C’mon, like you wouldn’t want to be manhandled.”
“I like my boys obedient.”
“Oh?” Alex’s eyes narrow in the direction of the player’s box where Christos is standing. “Noted.”
Afraid Marcus might notice, I free my arm and jump up to reach around his neck, putting him in a light chokehold. “This good for you?”
“Man, you're strong—” he chokes out. “Forfeit, forfeit—” He taps my forearm. I do the merciful thing and release him.
Despite the fight, the opposing team scores in the first five minutes of third period. Guys are throwing elbows and slapping sticks like it’s the NHL and get sent to the penalty box for their efforts, including Terrence. That doesn’t stop him from getting up and shouting at his teammates. Maybe if this hockey thing doesn’t work out, he can become a cornerman in boxing.
There's ten minutes on the clock. I don’t think anyone would be mad about going into overtime. Selfishly, I want to spend more time with my friends. Alex and Marucs seem to get along. I’m not sure when we’ll all be able to hang out again. Preparing for the Grand Prix and learning a new routine for next year’s circuit will keep me plenty busy. Plus, there’s that whole degree I’d like to finish by next year. I don’t think I can bear to find new friends as a super senior.
Hockey might not be my sport, but I think I’ve gotten pretty good at following the puck. Except it somehow disappears—some forward sneaking off with it. By the time the opposing team realizes, he’s already crossed the central line. I make a note of the guy’s number of twenty-four, pretty sure that’s the freshman Terrence has been complaining about.
He’s about to have a lot more to complain about because the rookie scores. Sure there is still time on the clock but the cheer from Dingbats fans is such a bombastic and perfect conclusion. The last few minutes of the match look more like a keep-away drill than a proper game. Then it’s over, our first win of the season secured.
On the ice, everyone rushes to twenty-four, everyone giving the kid pats on the back, shoulder, even the top of his head. Meanwhile, on the bench, Christos is getting swarmed. He makes it clear that even if he’s retired from playing, he can still keep his own against seventeen guys.
The crowd starts to disperse, but we linger. The teams head to their locker rooms but Terrence and Leroy stop short.
“What happened?” I ask Terrence.
“What do you mean? We won!”
“You didn’t get in any fights.”
Terrence pouts while Leroy cackles. Through his maniacal laughter, Leroy slips in an “Aw man dude!” “He wraps an arm around Terrence’s shoulder pads. “You can’t catch a break at all!”
“Coach wants me to ‘expand my skill set.’” His air-quotes are subdued by his thick hockey gloves.