Body Check
Authors: Matt Christopher
Copyright © 2003 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at
www.HachetteBookGroup.com
First eBook Edition: December 2009
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-316-09376-7
Contents
THE #1 SPORTS SERIES FOR KIDS: MATT CHRISTOPHER
®
B
rent Mullen looked closely at the blade of his left skate. He felt the edges with his thumb to see if it needed sharpening.
He decided to ask his father or older brother to take him to the skate store that afternoon, or tomorrow at the latest.
Brent was twelve and played right wing for his hockey team, the Badgers. Brent was tall and rangy and kept his brown hair
trimmed short. He wished that he could put on some more weight — more muscle, anyway — but figured, if he did, he wouldn’t
be as fast and shifty on the ice. Brent knew that his greatest asset as a hockey player was his skill at making quick turns
and stops.
That was why he made sure to get his blades sharpened weekly, at least. Like all skate blades, his had a slight hollow between
the edges. Brent liked that
hollow to be a little deeper than most because he thought it helped him maneuver better. He’d read that his idol, Mario Lemieux,
did the same thing.
As he began lacing up, someone poked him in the shoulder. A familiar, husky voice said, “Yo, dude, what’s happening?”
His friend Cam Johanssen plopped himself down on the rinkside bench next to Brent. Cam was stocky, with powerful legs, and
wore his light blond hair in a buzz cut. Cam was a defenseman. Unlike Brent, who preferred to stay out of the way, Cam enjoyed
hitting. He wasn’t as good a skater as Brent, never scored, and rarely took a shot. But he was great at bodychecking.
“Hey, it’s a contact sport,” he’d say.
And since Brent didn’t like hitting or being hit by others, he was glad to have a guy like Cam on his team to back him up.
Also, he knew that even though Cam could and did slam into opponents, he never played dirty.
“You missed stretches today,” Brent said as he worked on his laces. Every Badger practice began and ended with stretching.
“Yeah, our car wouldn’t start,” Cam said, putting on
his skates. “I saw Coach in the dressing room. He really chewed me out.”
Brent stared at his friend. “No kidding?”
Cam snickered.
“Sure,
I’m kidding! Can you see Coach yelling at anyone? Ever?”
Coach Maxwell, who’d been in charge of the Badgers for years, was an easygoing man. Brent had never seen him lose his temper.
His seventeen-year-old brother, Lee, had been a Badger years before, and he had never seen the coach yell at anyone for any
reason. But that was okay with Brent. He liked Coach Maxwell.
Cam shook his head. “Maybe if the coach got mad once in a while we’d be a better team, you know?”
Brent laughed. “That doesn’t make sense. How would we be better?”
Cam yanked at his laces to make sure they were tight. “Sure it makes sense! A team is sort of like its coach. When the coach
gets mad sometimes, the team will, too. Maybe we’d play harder, be tougher. Instead, we’re like Coach Maxwell. We’re… you
know…
nice.
Nobody’s afraid of us. The coach doesn’t push us. So, we lose as many as we win. We did last year, and we will this year,
too.”
Brent started to argue, but then he stopped. Cam was probably right. So far this season, the Badgers were 1 and 1. They’d
probably split the rest of the games as well.
“You know what?” Brent said. “That’s okay with me. I like Coach Maxwell. Maybe he isn’t the kind of guy who yells and pushes
all the time, but he knows the game. He’s a good teacher. My brother, Lee, says that Coach Maxwell made him a good hockey
player, and now Lee’s one of the best high-school players in the county. If he can do the same thing for me, I don’t care
if we aren’t league champs.”
Cam shrugged. “Well, I like to win. I mean, why else keep score, you know? And where is the coach, anyway? Isn’t it time for
practice to start?”
“I think he’s coming now,” Brent said as the door from the locker room to the rink opened. Sure enough, Coach Maxwell came
through the door, but he wasn’t alone. There were two strangers with him, another man and a boy about their age, who was wearing
skates and pads.
“You know those two?” he asked Cam.
“Unh-unh.” Cam shook his head. The other Badgers, who had been chatting and getting ready to start
practice, stopped talking and watched as the coach and the newcomers came toward them. Coach Maxwell raised his fingers to
his lips and whistled.
“Everyone, group up over here,” he called. The Badgers gathered around their coach, staring at the new boy, who stared back,
not smiling. Brent figured he had to be nervous.
“Guys, meet Mr. Seabrook and his son, Vic,” said the coach. The father waved and grinned. Vic nodded but still didn’t smile.
“They’re new in town. Mr. Seabrook played a lot of hockey in his day, and he coached youth hockey where they used to live.
Vic, here, played for his dad.
“As you know, I’ve been looking for someone to work with me coaching the Badgers, so having Mr. Seabrook show up is a stroke
of good luck, I think. He’s been nice enough to volunteer to work as my assistant. And Vic will join the Badgers as a player.”
Coach Maxwell studied Vic for a moment. “You look to me like a defenseman, am I right?”
Vic muttered, “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Well, good, fine,” said the coach. “That’s settled, then. Vic, you have all your pads and a stick?”
The boy nodded again.
Cam poked Brent. “He sure talks a lot.”
Brent started to laugh but managed to turn it into a cough.
“Great,” said the coach. “You can work out with us today.”
“If it’s all right with you, Coach Maxwell,” said Mr. Seabrook, “I’d like to watch today. Just get a look at the team.”
“Very good,” said the coach. “We’ll talk later on.” He turned to the players. “Okay, let’s get going. Vic, if you have any
questions, ask me or one of the other guys. But I think you’ll find most of what we do is a lot like what you were used to
with your old team. We’ll start with our usual skatearound, then some end-to-ends.”
The Badger players skated onto the rink and began circling it. Cam came up alongside Brent. “Maybe this new coach will fire
our team up a little more.” He spoke just loud enough so that only Brent could hear him.
Brent kept his own voice down, too. “Maybe. And it won’t hurt to have another defenseman, either. You guys could use a little
more backup.”
“Oh, yeah?” Cam said. “Seems to me that our defense is fine… if only we could score a couple more
goals now and then.” Brent looked at Cam and both boys grinned to show that they were only joking.
After the team had taken several laps around the rink to warm up, Coach Maxwell set two orange traffic cones near one end
of the rink, about fifteen feet apart. “Split into two groups and form two lines down at that end of the ice,” he called.
When the team had divided into equal groups he said, “Okay, this is a speed drill in the form of a relay race. Vic, since
you’re new today, I’ll explain: the first guy in each group skates full-speed to this end of the ice, around this cone, and
back to the starting point. When he touches the board at that end, the next guy in line takes off. Questions? Okay. This is
about
speed
and
control.
First two ready? Set? And… go!”
Brent, one of the fastest skaters, was the anchor skater of his group. He yelled encouragement to the skaters before him,
including Cam. Cam pumped hard but wasn’t fast, and he lost ground to his opponent when he slowed down to make the turn around
the cone. So Brent’s side was a few yards behind when the next two, including Vic on the other side, took off.
Watching Vic, Brent winced. The new guy was
seriously
slow.
Maybe his skates needed sharpening, because he slipped and almost stumbled at the turn. By the time he finished, he had not
only lost the lead but was trailing by a few feet.
When Brent got going, the two sides were even. Brent got into a forward lean, swinging his arms freely, noting in the corner
of his eye that his opponent was right with him. As he neared the cone, Brent decided to use a fast, slightly risky crossover
turn. Moving to the right of the cone, he leaned his body left with his inside, left leg bent at the knee. He pushed off hard
with his right leg and quickly swung it across his left leg, pivoting his body so that he was ready to head the other way.
It gave him a three-foot lead on the player in the other lane, and he was able to hold that lead as he streaked to the finish.
“Way to go,” Cam shouted, wrapping Brent in a bear hug. “You can motor, dude!”
Shortly afterward, the coach and a couple of players moved some cones into a “slalom” course for players to work on turns.
For Brent, this was easy. Cam had trouble.
“Cam, shorten your stride a little and you get better control,” called the coach. Cam did as he’d been told. “See? Much better!”
Vic had a lot of trouble making the turns at all. “Hang in there, big fella!” his father called out, clapping his hands.
As Vic finished the course, looking embarrassed, Coach Maxwell came up, put his arm around the boy’s shoulders, and spoke
quietly to him. Vic nodded several times.
Brent leaned toward Cam. “Bet he’s telling Vic that his blades are too dull.”
Cam snorted. “That’s the least of his problems. But you’re right. You’d think he would have known to do that.”
The coach whistled for attention. “Right, let’s go through the slalom again — backwards this time.”
Hockey players must skate backward as well as forward, and defensemen like Cam were more comfortable with this drill. Even
Vic got through the backward exercise without serious problems, though he was still slow.
A little later, Coach Maxwell said they’d work on passing. He looked at Mr. Seabrook. “Any passing drills you like?”
The other man held up his hands. “Today I’m just an observer.”
The coach had pairs of players skate up and down the rink, passing the puck back and forth. He had them work on backhand passes
and drop passes, where a player “drops” the puck for a player coming from behind or alongside. The coach stopped the action
now and then to give suggestions. Mr. Seabrook stood just off the rink, clapping his hands a lot and shouting out things like
“All right,” “Way to go!” or “That’s the old hustle!” Brent wasn’t very impressed by him and said so to Cam during a break
in practice. Cam waved it off.
“The guy is new. Cut him a little slack.”
After the break, the coach organized a passing-and-defense game called Monkey in the Middle. Three players went to each of
the five face-off circles painted on the ice. The circles were ten yards across, with face-off spots in the middle. Two passers
stood outside each circle and the third — the defender — stood at the face-off spot. The passers hit the puck to each other,
going around the circle, and the defender tried to intercept. When a defender got the puck, he became a passer, and the player
whose pass was picked off went into the middle. Coach Maxwell roamed among the groups, watching each in turn.
Brent’s group included a center named Ted and Vic as defender. Brent and Ted passed the puck between themselves for a while,
and Vic seemed unable to do anything to stop them. Brent began to feel weird, as if he and Ted were being unfair. Vic looked
helpless.
Then, just after Ted had gathered in a pass from Brent, Vic lunged forward in his direction. Ted looked startled as Vic charged
at him, and he froze for a second. Brent couldn’t see exactly what happened next, since Vic’s body blocked his view. But the
next thing he knew, Ted had fallen to the ice, and Vic had the puck on his stick and was grinning triumphantly.
Coach Maxwell, who had been watching another group, hurriedly skated over to see if Ted was hurt. Brent stared at Vic, who
paid no attention to the fallen player.