Off the Crossbar (11 page)

The goalie wasn’t going to let Charlie score again, and
he completely overplayed him, straying far over to cut down the angle, even though Charlie had virtually nothing to shoot at, and the puck was on his backhand to boot. Charlie glanced over his shoulder and saw that Zachary had beaten his check to the net. He put his hand back on his stick and flipped the puck across the crease. The goalie was completely out of position, and Zachary one-timed it home for an easy score.

The Terrence Falls fans hooted and hollered for all they were worth. Most of the players were on their feet, high-fiving and slapping their sticks on the boards. The third goal even got a reaction from their usually reserved coach. Hilton clapped a few times — and allowed himself the luxury of a smile.

“Okay, boys, that’s enough. Let’s get focused. We have lots of hockey to play. Change it up,” he said.

The next line went out. Charlie sat down on the bench, thrilled by the goals. Tremblay came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“That was the Charlie Joyce we’ve been waiting for,” Tremblay said.

“Thanks, Coach,” he replied.

“That wasn’t a bad shift, boys,” Zachary said. “And great play on that goal, Pudge. You were a tank out there. I think you almost killed those defencemen when they tried to hit you.”

Pudge blushed. “Charlie gave me a great pass. I couldn’t have missed it if I wanted to.”

Zachary would have nothing to do with his modesty. “Don’t give me that! You keep playing that way and we’ll
score twenty goals this game. And you set up a beautiful screen for Scott’s shot on the first goal.

Pudge was tongue-tied. He managed to mumble, “Thanks,” and reached down for a water bottle as an excuse not to say anything more.

“Let’s put this game away now,” Hilton called out, pacing behind the bench. “One goal, and they’re back in it. We have to get the next one, so they know this game’s over. Stick to our game plan. Forget the score. It’s 0–0, as far as I’m concerned. Get the next goal!”

Their coach need not have worried. Chesswood never recovered from the three quick goals, and the final score was 7–1. Charlie scored another goal early in the third, a slapshot from the slot on a pass from Pudge, giving him three goals and an assist, but he left the ice feeling relieved more than anything. The team had won! The only thing that bothered him was a game misconduct for Jake late in the third. The pesky Chesswood centre continued to shadow Jake even when the score became lopsided. Jake grew so frustrated that he cross-checked his tormentor in the back. That earned him a double minor. He argued the call so loudly that the referee added a misconduct. Jake followed that up by throwing his stick at the penalty box, which was why he got kicked out. He left his stick lying on the ice and stomped off to the dressing room. Chesswood scored its lone goal on the ensuing power play.

The happy mood in the dressing room was a stark contrast to yesterday. Everyone was talking and having a
good time, everyone except Jake.

“Can’t believe what an idiot that ref was,” he complained to Liam. “Guy’s a total clown. How many times did I get hooked or held and that jerk was looking right at it?”

“Ref was totally clueless, for sure,” Liam sympathized.

“Could you believe that guy, Matt?” Jake said, casting about for support.

Charlie was amazed to see that Matt wasn’t paying attention. He turned his back on Jake to listen to Scott describe a run-in with a Chesswood player.

“So he’s telling me we got lucky, and it’s 6–1 at this point,” Scott said.

“He was lucky it wasn’t 10–1,” Nick said.

“I asked which goals were lucky.”

“What did he say?”

“He tells me all six,” Scott said, laughing. “So I asked him how many lucky goals did we have to score before they should count. He then tells me to take a hike, and I tell him I’ll do that as soon as we score another lucky goal.”

“Is that when he cross-checked you and got the penalty?” Matt interjected.

Scott nodded. “That’s the best part. I got the pleasure of waving to him after we got the power-play goal. I tried to thank him when he came out of the box, but he wouldn’t even look at me. He just kept his head down and skated to the bench.”

Hilton held his clipboard up in the air and whistled loudly.

“Can you keep it down a second please? First things
first: that was more like it.” The players added their own cheers and whistles. “Second thing: we have another game in two hours. Win that and it’s into the quarterfinals. Lose and we’re out. That makes it easy to figure out what we need to do.”

Hilton pointed to two cardboard boxes sitting on the floor.

“We have some sandwiches and drinks, courtesy of Pudge’s father, who owns Bruno’s Bistro. Help yourself, and drink lots of water. Make sure you get good and hydrated. There are some doughnuts too, supplied by one of the tournament sponsors. Please go easy on those. A dozen donuts is not the best way to get ready for a game.

“Finally, Chelsea is playing next, and it would be a good idea for us to watch. So, unless you have a prior commitment,” he said, “why don’t you grab something to eat and join Coach Tremblay and me in the stands.”

“We’ll be the guys with the clipboards,” Tremblay quipped.

The game was halfway through the first period by the time everyone got dressed and found a seat. They all sat in one section, surrounding their coaches. As the game progressed, the two hockey men began dissecting the Chelsea team, pointing out their strengths and weaknesses, both as a team and with regard to certain players.

“Take a look at number three, for example,” Tremblay said. “Whenever he takes a pass, he looks down at the puck for at least a step or two. That’s too long, unless you’re absolutely sure no one’s near you. So if you’re forechecking, get on him real quick. He might not see you
coming, and we can get a turnover.”

“That number twenty-one looks like a good player, and he’s a big guy too.” Charlie said. “He’s already plowed at least five guys into the boards.”

“His name’s Burnett,” Pudge told him. “He played Peewee Triple-A for the Snow Birds last year. He was the best defencemen in the league, and he came second in scoring to J.C. Savard, which isn’t too shabby considering Savard’s a centre.”

Burnett snapped a pass to his right winger just inside the line. The winger drove into the offensive zone, slowed down at the top of the circle near the boards, and then lofted a soft pass into the high slot back to Burnett, who’d been trailing the play. The defenceman stepped into the pass with a blistering slapshot and the puck streaked into the top left corner. The goaltender barely moved. That made the score 4–0, and the first period was still not over.

“Who’s Savard?” Charlie asked.

“You haven’t heard of J.C. Savard?” Pudge sounded astonished. “He’s the best Bantam player in the district, a regular Wayne Gretzky. He also played for the Snow Birds. Scored something like sixty goals last year, and I think he got even more assists. In my opinion, the only reason we won districts last year,” he said, in a lowered tone, “is that he got appendicitis and missed the playoffs. If he’s healthy — and the last I heard people only have one appendix — then we’re in tough if we play Chelsea.”

Charlie watched Savard hop over the boards and join the rush. He called for and received the puck, casually corralling the errant pass out of the air. He circled back
towards his own end to gain some room. When the other team’s centre tried to poke the puck away, Savard slid it between his legs and cut past, weaving his way through the neutral zone. He gained the blue line and stopped at the top of the right circle, his teammates roaring past. He slid a pass down low to his winger camped out near the side of the net. The goalie and defenceman collapsed on the winger, who feathered a pass back to Savard in the high slot. He wristed it into the top corner, stick side.

It was hard not to admire Savard. Yet, Charlie knew they would have to stop him if Terrence Falls was going to win the gold medal. Although he didn’t mean it, he said to Pudge, “He’s good, but we can shut him down. We just have to pressure him, knock him around a bit. I’d like to test his toughness. The other team’s giving him way too much room. We need to be all over him, as soon as he touches the puck.”

Pudge nodded politely, and tried to look confident.

“Coach, I have a question,” Charlie said. “Wouldn’t you play the trap if you were coaching the other team, and try to keep the score down?”

Hilton thought for a moment. “The trap is a good idea, but I doubt this team could make it work against Chelsea.”

He pulled out a sheet of blank paper from a folder and quickly sketched a rink.

“The concept for the trap is simple. You want to make it difficult to get the puck out along the boards, forcing a team to try risky passes up the middle. It’s just a 1–2–2. One player forechecks in deep. The other two forwards line up at the blue line to cut off a breakout pass. The two defencemen back up the forwards, plugging the neutral zone. The tricky part is being able to shift across the ice so that you always have four players in front of the puck. As long as you can force the puck to one side and then stack that side with players, the attacking team will have difficulty breaking through.”

He handed the paper to Tremblay. “Why don’t you explain how to beat the trap.”

“A good rushing defenceman can beat the first fore-checker, so he’s not pinned to one side,” Tremblay said. “He can then use the whole ice, either carrying the puck himself into the neutral zone, or passing to a breaking forward. “Quick passes will also cut the trap to ribbons,” Tremblay continued. “You can swing the puck across the ice in your own end, and then move it forward before the other team can set up. The threat of a long pass at another team’s blue line also helps stretch the defence and makes it hard for the defencemen to stand near centre. If they drop back to cover, then the neutral zone opens up and it’s much easier to break through.”

“The trap also requires a fair amount of discipline and timing,” Hilton said. “You need to know when to push forward and when to back off. Everyone’s movements must be precise, and every player needs to know exactly what to do.

“To state the obvious, we’re not watching professionals. They haven’t had the time or training to make the trap work. That’s why Chelsea’s ripping them apart, and why it’s already 5–0.”

“So they shouldn’t play the trap,” Charlie conceded. “What should they play?”

“Hopscotch,” Scott said.

Hilton laughed, along with the rest of the team. “You might be right, Scott. I don’t think they have any real chance of winning. Maybe their only chance would be if Chelsea took the game for granted, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Charlie watched as Chelsea scored goal after goal. By the third period, Chelsea was trying not to score. Even so, when the game ended, the final tally was 16–0.

A much humbler Terrence Falls team returned to the dressing room compared to the cocky bunch that had left an hour earlier. Charlie was under no illusions about Chelsea. Terrence Falls would have to pick their game up to a whole new level to win.

The door swung open, and Jake, Liam and Thomas came in. It struck Charlie suddenly that they hadn’t watched the game with the rest of the team. He noticed that a few of the other players were staring hard at the three boys as well. He wondered if he should say something. He was captain after all, and that kind of thing was not going to foster team spirit — just the opposite, in fact.

The trio sat down in the far corner, joking about how bad Chelsea’s opponents had been. Charlie knew it was
their way of showing off. Charlie agonized over what to do. Just then the two coaches entered, and Charlie decided not to say anything. He didn’t want to start something with the coaches in the room. And, captain or not, he was the last person they’d listen to. It would only make things worse, he reasoned. Charlie opened his bag and pulled out his pants and shin pads. He was relieved. But he also had a nagging feeling that he might have let his team down — again.

Charlie enjoyed the cool morning air as he walked along his street to the corner store. He’d been the first one up at home. There was no milk for cereal, so he decided to get some. The night before, his mother had suggested he sleep in, but he couldn’t. He was still too worked up about yesterday. Terrence Falls had won all three of its games and made it to the semifinals. In the quarterfinals, with a minute to go and the score tied at two apiece, Charlie intercepted a pass at his own blue line. He had a clear breakaway the length of the ice. As he closed in on the goalie, he spotted Jake out of the corner of his eye, skating hard to catch up. Charlie slowed and drifted to the side. When he got in close, he faked a shot and slipped the puck across the crease. Jake arrived just in time to shovel it into the net. Charlie had also scored the first goal, and set Pudge up for the other, so he’d actually been in on all three goals.

Jake reacted as if he’d scored the goal single-handedly. He jumped up in the air, pumping both arms by his sides.
And the heroics continued in the dressing room.

“That team was useless. We just needed some Jake action to seal the deal,” he boasted.

Jake was also dissing everybody — Charlie even took a few verbal shots. He could see that some of the guys were not impressed, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment by telling Jake off. They’d won, and that was all that counted.

What worried him more than that was how the rift between him and Jake had affected team morale. They played a team called Leaside in the quarterfinals — not a bad squad, but not as good as them. Terrence Falls should have won the game easily. Instead, it had come down to the last minute. Scott, Zachary, Pudge and Nick were barely on speaking terms with Jake, Liam and Thomas. The two groups had made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with each other. He was uncertain about Matt — he’d been fairly quiet lately, and didn’t seem to be hanging out with Jake that much. Regardless, team spirit was at an all-time low, with no sign of improvement.

Their semifinal opponent would be Flemington — and they were good. They’d beaten Terrence Falls 4–1 in last year’s tournament, and had made it to the finals, where they gave Chelsea a good battle, only losing by one goal. Terrence Falls would never beat Flemington, let alone Chelsea, if things didn’t change — and fast! He was thinking of how to fix the problem when he heard his name called out.

“Hey, Charlie. How’s it going?”

Charlie looked up. It was one of the guys on the team.
For some reason couldn’t remember his name.

“It’s going okay,” Charlie said. “Stoked for the big game?”

“You know it. Except for Chesswood, every game’s been so close. Have to admit, there were moments when I didn’t think we’d get this far.”

“We’ve gotten lucky — no doubt about that. Better to be lucky than good!”

The boy nodded. “So where’re you off to?”

“I’m on a milk run,” he said. “Build up the bones before the game, and pack in a few pounds of cereal.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’m on a newspaper run. I wanted to check out the hockey scores from last night.”

“I don’t know who won,” Charlie said. “I didn’t catch the highlights. I was too tired — just went straight to sleep.”

Charlie was desperately trying to remember his name. This was pathetic. He was a forward, probably left wing — but it could be right. He wasn’t a defenceman — he was certain of that.

“Do you live near here?” Charlie said.

He looked taken aback. “Actually, I’m about a block down from you, on the same street.”

“That’s weird. I’ve never seen you around here.”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you a few times, going to school and stuff.”

The two boys looked at each other.

“Well, I’ll see you at the rink,” Charlie said.

“Okay. Take it easy.”

He crossed the street. Charlie walked into the store,
and then it hit him. “Dylan,” he said, smacking his forehead. The guy’s name was Dylan. Charlie had taken his place in the football game. He was right wing on the third line. How could he have forgotten that? He hoped Dylan hadn’t noticed. He must have sounded really dumb when he’d asked where he lived. They were practically next-door neighbours!

He bought the milk and headed home. He didn’t enjoy the walk, however. He felt guilty that he’d been playing hockey with Dylan and hadn’t said a single word to the guy. He was the new kid, not Dylan — the least he could do was be friendly. How many guys on the team did he really know? he asked himself. There were his friends — Scott, Zachary, Nick and Pudge — and his enemies — Jake and his crew. And while it was kind of awkward to get to know the grade ten guys, he hadn’t even made an effort. Some captain!

“I went out for some milk,” he announced as he walked into the house.

“Just toss it in the fridge, please.”

“No problem, Mom.”

Charlie sat at the kitchen table and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He spread out a napkin and grabbed a pen, and then he wrote his name at the top, drawing two large circles underneath. In one circle he listed his friends, and in the other, Jake and his friends. Below those circles he drew a third circle and wrote:
The Rest
. The team’s fundamental problem was clear to see. He’d always assumed the team was divided into two. It was actually divided into three.

Suddenly, a plan formed in his mind. He’d been so obsessed about Jake’s circle that he’d forgotten there were other guys on the team. He was supposed to be captain for everyone. Maybe it was unrealistic to expect Jake to be his buddy. At the very least he could make his friends and “The Rest” into one circle. Then, at the worst it would be four guys versus thirteen. He decided that from this moment on there’d be no Charlie Joyce clique — not if he could help it.

He folded the napkin and put it in his pocket. He vowed to get started on the plan right away, before their next game, in the dressing room. Time to show the grade tens, and his friends, what kind of captain he could be.

“Good luck,” his grandparents said in unison. They’d come along again to watch the semifinals with his mother and sister.

“Thanks,” he said, taking his equipment from the trunk and heading to the arena. He waved back at them and went in. He stopped to watch Chelsea play their semifinal game for a few minutes. It was already 5–0 for Chelsea, with ten minutes left in the second period.

Most of his teammates were getting dressed when Charlie walked into the dressing room. Pudge moved his bag over, and waved for Charlie to sit next to him.

“How are ya?”

“Stoked and ready to go.”

Pudge picked up his helmet and rested it on his knee. “Did you catch the score of the Chelsea game?”

Charlie nodded. “As expected, Chelsea’s kicking butt.
It was 5–0, with about half the second gone.”

“They’re going to be tough to beat.”

“No argument here.”

They stopped talking while Charlie dressed. He needed to hustle if he was going to have time to put his plan into action. It didn’t take long before he’d pulled his pants on, taped his shin pads, and laced his skates. He took a deep breath and then started to go around the room to each player. His plan was to punch fists with each player, making a point of calling them by their first names, and offer some encouraging words or ask if they were ready to play.

“Go for it, Ethan,” he said. “Big game from the D today. Shut ’em down like last game and we’ll smoke these boys.” He held out his fist and Ethan gave it a punch.

“Let’s do it, Adam. Big game from you today. Dylan, I see two goals in your future.”

Jake was next. “I didn’t get the chance to compliment you on your goal last night,” he said. “I didn’t think there was any way you could catch up, but you did. I looked over and you were there. It was an awesome hustle.”

Charlie held out his fist. This would show everyone that he wanted to end their feud for the good of the team. The room was completely quiet, the atmosphere very tense. Jake stared back momentarily, and then snickered and began taping his shin pads. Charlie lowered his hand slowly, turned, and sat back down. That wasn’t good. Pudge raised both eyebrows and didn’t say anything. Scott and Nick exchanged surprised looks, but they also kept quiet. Ethan didn’t look happy. He shook his head at
Jake and reached into his bag for his helmet. Jake’s friends were less discreet. Thomas was laughing, and Liam gave Jake the thumbs-up. Charlie noticed, however, that Matt remained silent.

Jake noticed it also, and he said to Matt, “The guy makes one pass a game and thinks he’s a superstar.”

Matt blinked a few times, cleared his throat, and replied in a low tone, “Give it a rest, Jake. You can be so lame sometimes.”

Jake stared long and hard at Matt. “What planet have you moved to, dude? Talk like that to me again, and I’ll make sure you’ll be eating through a straw for a year.”

Matt ignored him, and bent back down to tape his shin pads, which seemed to infuriate Jake even more.

“Big tough guy can’t think of anything else to say?”

Matt straightened up, his eyes blazing. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

“Then make your move, wuss.”

Charlie couldn’t believe what was going on. After going around the room he’d planned on making a speech about how the team had to pull together if it wanted to win. Things couldn’t have gone worse. He’d underestimated just how much Jake hated him, and he also hadn’t considered how Jake’s friends would react.

Charlie knew that neither player was likely to back down. Jake was a tough customer. But Matt couldn’t be intimidated, either. He wasn’t as big as Jake, but his powerful build made him an imposing figure when provoked.

Charlie tried to get them to calm down. “Guys, let’s
be cool,” he said. “This is insane. We’re only one game away from the final. This isn’t the time.”

Jake looked over at him. “Actually, it’s time that I busted you up, once and for all. I’m tired of seeing your face, and I’m tired of putting up with your garbage.”

Jake charged him. Charlie was too shocked to move. Before Jake could throw a punch, however, Matt bodychecked him from the side, knocking him into the wall. Jake fell to the floor, but was back on his feet in a second.

“You’re as good as dead, Danko,” he yelled.

Before he could charge again, Charlie got up and stood next to Matt.

“So I’ll take both of you losers on,” Jake snarled.

Then Pudge got up and stood next to them, followed by Scott, Nick and Zachary. Ethan came over, as did the rest of the grade tens.

“You were saying, Wilkenson?” Ethan said quietly.

That stopped Jake in his tracks. “You guys are real brave when it’s ten against one,” he said.

“I think that’s more your style, Jake,” Matt said.

“I think I’d rather jump out of an airplane without a parachute than play with you jerks,” he said.

“Let me book your flight,” Scott said.

A few titters of laughter were followed by a few more, until most of the guys were roaring. Charlie watched Jake closely. He half expected him to take them all on. He didn’t. Instead, with a cocky grin on his face, he picked up his bag and said, “Liam, Thomas, I’m tired of carrying this loser of a team. Let’s go. It stinks in here, anyway.”

Jake left, followed by his two friends.

“If you ask me, it smells a lot better now,” Scott quipped.

That set the guys off again, but they quieted down when the coaches walked in and reality sunk in.

“I just saw Jake, Liam and Thomas leaving with their equipment,” Hilton said. “Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?”

Charlie felt all eyes on him. He cleared his throat to stall for time. “I don’t think they want to play for the team,” he said finally.

Hilton took a deep breath, shaking his head.

He looked around the room.

“Here’s what we’ll do. We’ve got five defencemen, so one guy will sit every second shift. Up front, we have two lines and a sub. Dylan, you go through the lines on the wing. Matt and Charlie will be the centres. I just have to speak to the convener about the lineup changes.”

Hilton and Tremblay left. Charlie didn’t know what to say to the team, but he had to say something. He had initiated the fight to some extent by going up to Jake in the first place. But he still thought he’d done the right thing. Jake, Liam and Thomas made the decision to quit. That wasn’t his doing. Unfortunately, the fight seemed to drain the energy out of the team. Everyone was quiet, looking down at the floor or straight ahead at the walls. What could he do with this lifeless bunch?

While Charlie considered his options, the Chelsea players filed past the dressing room. Some of the players began chanting, “Six in a row!” Obviously, they’d won.
The chant grew louder until all the Chelsea players and the coaches were joining in.

The Terrence Falls players sat glumly, listening to their rivals. Charlie cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Wait till you play a real team. And bring your silver shoes to match the silver medal you’ll get. Terrence Falls gets the gold!”

That got a reaction.