Page 110 of Hockey Bois
“Jesus fucking Christ,” GG muttered. He was smiling, though, which was better than the ornery mess he’d been before, snapping at everyone in the locker room.
Young Greg ignored him. “Today’s match-up is the Slashing Pumpkins, who score 11/10 for their look because damn it’s sick to have a pumpkin as your jersey logo, versus the Jagr Bombs, who only score 7/10 on their jerseys because boo Pittsburgh.”
“I hate you,” Brady said. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes shone with amusement.
Young Greg winked at him. “Predictions are evenly split for who’s gonna win. Both teams have an impressive line-up and have similar stats on the season. Or so I assume, because I sure as hell don’t check the league website.”
“There’s a league website? They poststats!?” Lexi looked appalled. Nick was well aware and did check on occasion, but it was usually so out of date that it wasn’t useful. Besides, Benns got all the relevant data and sent it out to the team as needed.
And yes, Nick was enough of a math nerd that he’d spend a good hour perusing the spreadsheets and save them onto his computer for later comparison when they got updated numbers.
“Bro, don’t interrupt,” Young Greg scolded Lexi. “I’m doing the intro commentary to get us pumped for the game.” He shook himself like he was getting back into character, and continued, “The real question is, who’s gonna be the difference-maker today and send their team to the Finals tomorrow night? Will it be Guy in net, building a wall to keep the Pumpkins out? Will it be Gail, scaring the other team shitless? Will it be the handsomest member of the team, Young Greg, scoring a hatty and crushing his enemies beneath his skates?”
“I’d like to see where you got that ranking for handsomest,” Donno muttered. “Not even sure you break the top five.”
“Don’t be jealous, bro. I got you ranked up there, no worries.”
“And what exactlyisyour team hotness ranking?” Gail asked skeptically.
“We’ll compare notes after the game. Don’t want anyone getting a big head pre-game. Now, let’s talk obvious weaknesses on the Pumpkins…”
By the time the buzzer went off, the Jagr Bombs were significantly looser. It didn’t feel like they were about to walk the plank to their doom; it felt like another game, and a completelywinnablegame at that.
Nick squared up for the opening faceoff. He and Brady had practiced on their own a few times to brush up on some skills and hopefully make up for their lost game time, and faceoffs had been a huge part of that. Nick had only played one game since his concussion, but he was confident he was going to win this draw.
He wasgoodat faceoffs.
The ref’s hand moved, Nick’s hands got into position, the puck dropped, and he timed his move perfectly for it hitting the ice—
“Nicki skates up the boards, yells for the puck, gets it! Goes one-handed on a breakaway! He’s got Young Greg to his left and Jensie coming in behind for that sick point shot. Nicki weaves around a defenseman and— Yikes, bad move, bro.”
Nick slammed the penalty box door. He wanted to shout at the refs, but it was a legitimate call. Like it or not, he’d tripped the dumbass… even if the guy’s own shitty skating had been the real reason he’d fallen.
The only consolation was that he’d shaken off the feeling of rust pretty early. Concussion or not, he was on fire.
“Jens is open on the backdoor! Risky move or smart play, Young Greg?”
“It’s a good hockey play, smart move there, but it’s a super dangerous one if he fucks up,’cause Gail will smack him when the refs and Benns aren’t looking.”
“Wouldn’t wanna be on Gail’s bad side, that’s for sure.”
“Whoops. Looks like Jensie’s fucked it up after all. Missed the puck, and now the other team’s looking to keep him from getting it back.”
Brady hastily took off his glove while on the bench so he could give a player on the ice the middle finger. Young Greg and Gail laughed, holding up their still-gloved hands and trying to comically give the middle finger as well. It barely worked, but it did the job of getting Brady to laugh and calm down.
“Y’know,” Nick said as he nudged him on the bench. “If they know it’s that easy to get you worked up, they’re gonna keep doing it.”
Brady gave him a once over. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” he said like it was a challenge.
Not knowing how to interpret that, Nick went back to focusing on the game.
“A two-on-one develops! The Jagr Bomb bench erupts in screams loud enough to drown out Young Greg’s amazing commentary. Does he care? No! He has a duty to the game, and he’ll do it— SCORE!!! That’s it, boys! Let’s go!”
An oncoming player charged Nick. He had the barest trace of a flashback, could almost feel the pain of hitting the wall and ice, saw nothing but the bright lights on the ceiling. For a fraction of a second, he froze. There was fear, a desire to avoid pain and another few weeks (or more) off the ice. He powered through, though, forced himself to stay strong on the puck and keep moving. He’d seen the guy coming, so he dodged the potential (illegal) check and sprinted forward. The puck had gotten a little ahead of him, but he wrangled it back in, used the last few seconds before he ran out of ice to pull it in and shot…
“There are fifteen seconds left in the game with the Jagr Bombs up 3 to 2 thanks to a late goal from none other than resident concussee Nicki. The Pumpkins have pulled their goalie and are putting the pressure on now. Jensie has double shifted and blocked at least three shots. Bro’s gonna be sore tomorrow. Nine seconds, then the Jagr Bombs move on. Gail hacks at a guy’s shins, but he doesn’t lose the puck. Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One—”
*
