Authors: W. C. Mack
“Oof is right,” I agreed, then skated over to him.
“Are you okay?” I asked, leaning in close as he rubbed his lower back.
It was pretty obvious from his scrunched-up face and groaning that he wasn’t.
It didn’t take long before there were parents out on the ice. Coach was answering questions with grunts, and when he finally did squeeze a word out, it was “Wow.”
I had the feeling he wanted to say something a lot worse than that and when I saw the relieved looks on the parents’ faces, I figured they must have been thinking the same thing.
“He’s gonna need an ambulance,” Mulligan said. He played Old Timers on Wednesday nights, and came to almost every Cougars game to cheer us on. “Anybody got a cell phone?”
My parents didn’t, since they liked living in the Dark Ages, and my sister’s was charging at home.
I was amazed she could even breathe without it.
“Ungh,” Coach groaned, wincing from the pain.
“Is there a doctor in the house?” a voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
I’d never actually heard anyone say that before.
“Right here!” A man I didn’t recognize stood up, then seemed to change his mind. “Well, I’m a veterinarian.”
Coach groaned again and the man sat down, looking kind of sad that he wasn’t a real doctor.
When Coach was carried off the ice on a stretcher, the rest of us just stood there.
“Nice work, Bosko,” Colin said, rolling his eyes.
“If you have something to say to me, say it,” Bosko growled.
“I just did,” Colin muttered. “
Nice work
.”
Bosko looked at the rest of us, and I’m sure he saw the same frustration in every guy’s face that I did.
I wanted to say something in his defense, since he’d kind of become a friend while he was tutoring me in Math.
But at the same time, I knew I’d be the only one defending him, for something I didn’t think he should have done in the first place. Charging? Come on.
I kept my mouth shut.
“You win some, you lose some,” Dad said, quietly.
Like that helped.
“What a burn,” Kenny sighed. “And now Coach is all messed up.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Patrick asked, as the Thunder headed for the Visitors locker room, high-fiving all the way.
“Go home,” I shrugged.
“No, I mean the team,” Patrick said. “We’ve got two practices this week and we’re up against Nanaimo on Saturday.”
Nuts.
“Maybe we should cancel, until we know what’s happening with Coach,” Chris’s mum said.
“Nah, we just need a fill-in,” her husband told her.
“Who? You?” she asked, laughing.
“No … but somebody.”
All I could hear for the next ten seconds was a bunch of fathers saying how busy they were.
Then I heard my dad’s voice above the crowd.
“I’ll do it.”
And I grinned.
On the way home from the rink, Mum didn’t seem quite as excited about Dad taking over for Coach O’Neal as I was.
“Are you sure you have time for this, honey?” she asked. “You’ve had a pretty heavy workload lately. Can you really do this?”
“Cover a couple of practices?” Dad laughed. “Absolutely. It’ll be fun.”
I thought so, too. I’d always been proud of the fact that Dad was scouted by the Flames before I was born. When he got hit near the eye with a puck, it ended his career as a player, so he worked as a junior hockey ref for a while, which was cool, too. Not as cool as going pro, of course, but that wasn’t his fault. (Except for the part about not wearing a helmet when he got hit.
That
was definitely his fault.)
Anyway, I knew Dad would make an awesome sub until Coach O’Neal came back. And thinking about my buddies seeing how much he knew about hockey made me look forward to practice even more than I usually did.
And that was saying something.
“This means getting up at five tomorrow, Gord,” Mum said.
“Zero dark hundred,” Dad nodded, then gave her a really goofy salute. “Got it.”
“Okay, can you
please
not do stuff like that in public?” my sister Wendy groaned from the seat next to me. She was sixteen, and nothing on the planet was cool enough for her.
“Stuff like what?” Dad asked, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror.
“I don’t know. All of it,” she sighed. “Talking and whatever.”
Dad’s eyebrows jumped. “Even talking? Geez, are you okay with the way I breathe?”
“Not when it’s through your mouth,” she said, looking out the window.
“Ouch!” Dad said, then turned to Mum and added, “You know, I used to be pretty hip.”
“Seriously, Dad?” Wendy groaned. “No one even uses that word anymore.”
“I know you were hip, honey,” Mum said, reaching over to pat his knee. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Double ouch!” Dad laughed.
“I think you’re hip,” I told him.
“Thank you, Nugget,” he said, smiling at me in the rear-view.
Sometimes us guys have to stick together.
* * *
When we got home, I went upstairs to have a hot shower and clean off all the sweat. It was amazing how gross me and my uniform could get after just one game.
When I dried off, I went to my room, where Mum was waiting for me with a bag from Chapters.
Shoot! Volume 4.
It had to be.
“You picked it up!”
“Yesterday,” she said.
“And you didn’t tell me?” I couldn’t believe she would hold out on me, especially when it was something so important. Something I’d been waiting for.
“You had Math homework to do.”
Good call. I still did, as a matter of fact.
Even though I’d really needed the book back in October, when I was trying to win the PUCK Radio contest, I was still excited to read it.
“Awesome!” I said, when she handed me the bag.
I pulled out the book, and grinned when I saw the cover. It was a big picture of the NHL logo, made up of hundreds of tiny logos for every team in the league.
Sweet? Oh, yeah.
I started flipping through the pages. “I’m going to —”
“Read it later,” Mum finished for me. “Homework first, honey.”
“Nuts,” I sighed as I closed the book and left it on my bed.
I knew from experience that Mum had the power to take the book away. And from a near-miss last month, I knew that my Math teacher, Mr. Holloway, had the power to take away my whole hockey season.
I wasn’t about to test either one of them.
When Mum left me alone in my room, I looked at the walls covered with posters and all kinds of other hockey stuff. A picture of the room would have made a great cover for one of the “Shoot” books.
Actually, considering the amount of Jean Ducette stuff I had up on the walls, it might have made a better cover for a book about him.
A biography of a legend, just like the ones I had for Gretzky and Gordie Howe in my personal hockey library. Of course, the library only filled one bookshelf so far, but it was growing fast.
Aside from the books, the ultimate piece in my hockey collection was the jersey Ducette had signed for me when I met him at a Canucks game after winning the PUCK contest. I’d just missed my one big chance at a shot from centre ice and a big prize, but it didn’t matter.
Jean Ducette made me forget I’d blown it.
Well, almost, anyway.
He was my absolute, number one hero.
I flopped on my bed and started flipping through the pages of my brand new hockey bible, but stopped.
Math had to come first. Period.
Otherwise Mum would not only take away the book, but stop me from watching the game that night, whether Kenny came over or not.
As much as I hated to do it, I cracked open my Math textbook instead. As usual, the homework assignment looked like hieroglyphics.
At least I had Eddie Bosko to help me pass, so I wasn’t as doomed as I could have been. But I still seemed to be pretty doomed.
I took a deep breath and started the first question, wishing he was there to walk me through it. Everything made more sense when Bosko explained it, which was funny, because you’d think a genius would only explain stuff at genius level.
After about an hour I needed a break, so I checked out the Cougars schedule I’d tacked to my bulletin board, right next to my favourite picture of Jean Ducette.
The next month or so was looking good. Of course, we’d already lost to the Thunder, but next up was Nanaimo, who usually gave us a run for the money. Our record from last season showed we didn’t finish that far ahead of them, so we’d definitely be putting some hustle into that game.
After Nanaimo came the Esquimalt Eagles, who were the lowest ranked team on the island. Hockey was never a joke, but playing the Eagles was pretty close to it.
Next were the Sooke Seagulls, whose goofy name didn’t match how good they were. After us and Bosko’s old Shoreline team, the Seagulls were probably the best team on the island.
We had our work cut out for us, and it would be weird if we went into games without Coach, but I knew Dad was going to be an awesome secret weapon.
* * *
That night, Kenny came over and we watched his Red Wings play the Blackhawks on TV, which was pretty cool.
But Kenny wasn’t.
As usual, he was wearing all of his game night gear, including sweatpants, a T-shirt, hoodie and even a Red Wings tuque.
He was shiny with sweat about six minutes into the first period.
“You can take some of that off, you know,” I told him.
“No way. It’s my lucky gear.”
Dad and I just shook our heads.
“Even the air freshener?” I asked, pointing at the logo hanging around his neck, totally reeking of cherries.
“Yup.”
“You’re taking it seriously,” Dad said.
“I have to, Mr. McDonald,” My buddy said, blowing on
his hands to cool them off before he put his Red Wings mitts back on. “If I’m missing one piece of my gear, they might lose.”
“I see,” Dad said, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh.
When Dad left to get drinks to go with the big bag of ripple chips I couldn’t believe Mum had actually bought, Kenny said, “I wonder how long Coach is going to be out.”
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging.
“Because we’ve got some big games coming up.”
“Yeah, Nanaimo this weekend, then Esquimalt and —”
“At least we aren’t playing Shoreline for a while.”
“We beat them last time,” I reminded him.
Not that I was actually on the ice for the game. The Sharks were the biggest team in the league and Coach O’Neal always kept his tiniest player (me) on the bench for that one.
“Well, Nanaimo’s a tough team.”
“I know, Ken. I’ve been in the league for like, my whole life.”
“Sure,” he said, quietly. “It’s just that it’s going to be a big game.”
“Duh,” I told him, reaching for the chips and wishing Dad would hurry up with the drinks.
“And if Coach isn’t back —”
“My dad will handle it,” I told him.
“Can he?”
“Can he what?” I asked, turning to look at my friend, whose face was red. I couldn’t tell if it was from being way overheated or from embarrassment. “Can he what?”
“You know … can he handle prepping us for that game?”
“Dude, he was almost in the NHL,” I reminded him.
Kenny nodded, his face even redder. “I know,
almost
, but this is coaching.”
“He was a ref for ten years.”
“Yeah, and that’s cool and everything, but I think coaching is … different.”
I gave him a stare-down. Kenny wasn’t really known for coming up with theories on his own. “
You
think, or
someone else
thinks?”
He winced. “Well, my dad said —”
“That he’d rather take over the team for now?” I asked, kind of in his face.
Mr. Cavanaugh was a hockey fan, but I was pretty sure he’d never actually played, even as a kid.
“No, because —”
“Because the only guy I heard offering to help us out was my dad.”
Kenny definitely looked embarrassed. “I know.”
“He’s going to do an awesome job, I swear. And don’t get all worked up about playing the Sharks and all that. Dad’s only going to be running a practice or two and then Coach will be back.”
Kenny nodded. “I know he’ll be good. I’m sorry, Nugget. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s okay,” I told him, handing him the bowl of chips.
“Sometimes my dad’s kind of a —”
“It’s okay, Ken. We’re cool.”
Dad came back into the living room with Cokes for all three of us.
I was totally stunned that Mum had given in on that one. She was a nutritionist and she was as dedicated to health food as I was to hockey.
And that was saying something.
“What did I miss?” Dad asked.
“Nothing,” I told him. “The commercials just ended.”
As we sat and watched the game, I thought about what Kenny had said about coaching being different from playing or reffing. I wished his dad hadn’t said anything.
Of course, Mr. Cavanaugh’s opinion didn’t matter, because I knew Dad was going to be the ultimate substitute coach. And everyone was going to see exactly how cool he was in a few short hours.
* * *
When my alarm clock went off at five the next morning, I guess I didn’t hear it right away, so I woke up to the sound of Wendy pounding her fist against the wall between us and yelling at me to turn it off.
Oops.
Hers wasn’t the kind of boat I wanted to rock at any time of day, but especially early in the morning. She was like an angry rhino at eight, and something even scarier before six.
I hit the “off” button and jumped out of bed, heading straight for the shower.
I ran into Dad in the hallway. His hair was crazy and he was rubbing his squinty eyes.
“Oh, you’re up.” His voice sounded dry and scratchy.
“Yup,” I nodded.
“I was just coming to wake you.”
“I’m awake,” I said, nodding. “I have an alarm clock.”
“Sure,” Dad said, stretching as he yawned. “While you’re in the shower, I might catch a couple more Z’s.”
Huh?
“Um … Mum usually makes breakfast while I’m in there.”