Page 116 of Hockey Bois
He didn’t have time to do more than wave at them before he was bodily dragged to center ice for the next faceoff. The Mother Puckers were getting pissy, and the refs, not wanting to deal with their bitching, were trying to keep the game moving.
At the end of the first, with a one-nothing lead to protect, Nick snuck away from the bench to talk to his cousins… and make himself feel better for not noting them earlier.
“Hey—”
“I can’t believe I had to find out about your championship game from Terry’s girlfriend.” Jenna had to stand on her tippy toes to yell over the glass and be heard, but damn if she didn’t make it work. “That’s literally the insanest sentence I’ve ever said in my whole life, so I expect you to win to make it worthwhile.”
“When’d you get here?”
“Terry drove in with Gail. I got here about five minutes before your goal. Yes, I noticed you didn’t notice us.”
“Well, thanks for coming. Pretty sweet goal, right?”
“Uh huh. Good luck. Don’t fuck it up, you’re doing really well so far.”
“…thanks?”
Jenna gave him a thumbs up and then hopped down from the glass.
No pressure. Just his team to let down, the tournament to miss out on, and now his family to disappoint.
And yet it was surprisingly easy to forget Jenna and Terry were there. As soon as the period started, the pressure slid right off him. The full stands didn’t matter. The ticking clock didn’t matter. Even the score didn’t matter. It was this shift, and then the next, and then the one after that.
His zen faded a little when the Mother Puckers tied it late in the third. It was a shit play, too. Little Douche pushed past Lexi, his stick catching Lexi’s skate and making the defenseman trip hard into the boards. The Jagr Bombs were on their feet screaming for the refs to make a call, and then seconds later the Mother Puckers were on their feet screaming in delight as Little Douche scored.
“Those fucking shitheads—” Brady said, about to climb over the boards. Nick wasn’t surewhatBrady intended to do—kick ass or talk to the refs—but Benns held him back and waved the refs over.
“You gotta explain that no call to me,” he said calmly, captainly, as Brady seethed next to him.
“I didn’t see a call,” the ref said apologetically, though his voice was hard and brooked no argument. “I see your guy flat on the ice, I can’t just call a random penalty if I don’t see what puts him there. Even if I see it, doesn’t mean there’s a penalty.”
“You fucking kidding me—”
Benns yanked Brady’s jersey. Brady was entitled to speak as alternate captain, but cooler heads tended to fare better with the refs. Something that Brady himself usually preached.
Maybe if it were another player involved, he’d be calmly pleading his case alongside Benns; Nick got the feeling that ship had sailed back with the BJ Incident.
“Dube has a history,” Benns pointed out.
“I get that,” the ref said, “but I can’t make a call I don’t see. I apologize that you feel there should’ve been something on that, but I can’t take a chance. Goal’s a goal. This ain’t the NHL. There’s no review. If me or the other ref don’t see it or we think it’s good play, nothing to do about it.”
“It’s a tying goal in a championship game.” Nick could hear the slight desperation in Benns’s voice, but also resignation. “He doesn’t trip our guy, he doesn’t score that goal.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but I can’t retroactively call a penalty, now can I? Sucks, but hey, that’s hockey sometimes.” And then the ref skated off before they could say anything else.
Nick got it, he totally did, and as a ref he’d have made the same call. Didn’t take the sting out of it and clearly didn’t make anyone else on the bench feel better as they glared murder at the ice. They were a powder keg right now, and if they didn’t win, Nick wasn’t sure what would happen.
After one trip to the doctor already this season, he’d keep himself out of it.
Unless Brady was involved. Just as a courtesy for the whole concussion debacle.
…or maybe Gail, so that Terry wouldn’t have to bail her out of jail.
So basically, he was getting very heavily involved no matter what.
“You know what,” Nick said. “Maybe you should send me and the Gregs out. Calm things down. Score some goals. End this garbage before we get dragged through OT.”
“We can totes get one back,” Young Greg agreed.
