There's a Shark in My Hockey Pool (29 page)

"Do you think it will last?" asked
Sylvie.

"Hell, I got eight years out of a bum
knee."

The two shared the "it's-been-so-long"
lover's look. Their pupils raced around the corner of each other's
corneas, bumped into each other, got up and dusted themselves off.
Derek gripped the boards to steady himself. Sylvie's heart tripped,
but somehow she managed to stay upright as well.

Artie tapped Derek on the shoulder.

"Uh, we've got a game here, boss," said
Artie.

Derek nodded and turned to Sylvie.

"Can I take back something I said? Like ...
everything?"

Sylvie put two fingers to her mouth. She
kissed the tips of them and pressed them against his lips.

"A little Montreal compassion for you."

Derek returned to his place behind the bench.
Determination rode a new horse called Bodacious Tatas. She was
coming into the home stretch, two lengths back.

What happened next was the worst thing
imaginable.

The Serpents sprung the trap on the Leafs.
The ten razor-sharp skate blades, circling in a fifty-foot radius
were the trap's teeth. The bait was the two-goal deficit that
forced the Leafs to forge ahead into the mouth of the trap.

The neutral zone trap was a diabolical
defensive plan devised 53 years ago by a Florida snowbird with too
much time on his hands. It was "Croc-Hockey", Everglades-style. The
defensive players waited between the blue lines like crocodiles in
the weeds. The crocodiles would clutch, grab and practically devour
the player ... spitting the puck back out. The player was then
released so they could retrieve the puck and continue this game of
fetch gone wrong.

The Serpents did their distant crocodile
cousins proud. Erskine's lot pestered and sequestered. They held
and interfered with the Leafs, but there was no snapping. That
would have earned a 10-minute misconduct penalty. The Serpents
hooked, held or pushed offside every Leaf player that had an
inkling of skating with the puck. It was a defensive shell game
with the Serpents lining the blue line five men wide. The Leafs
were unable to penetrate the zone by dumping the puck in or working
it across the blue line.

Fifteen minutes ticked off the clock. Sylvie
bit her bottom lip. Derek was the unwitting bird sitting atop the
crocodile's mouth, suddenly noticing that the floor was bumpy ...
and moving.

On the ice, the predominantly rag-tag play
continued in the center of the rink, as Herculean repelled each
May-Ja-Look thrust.

"The Serpents have slowed the game to a
standstill since the Leafs goal early in the period," said
Able.

The scoreboard read SERPENTS 5, LEAFS 3. 1:58
remained in the third period.

"Time is running out for the Leafs," said
Able. "The Serpents are called for the offside."

Erskine stalked behind the bench.

"Two minutes! Two minutes left! Check your
sticks, everybody. I don't want any illegal sticks out there!"

Some players took a quick look at the blades
of their sticks. Woodley looked down at his and smirked. He had
specifically measured it before the game. He was regulation, thank
you very much. He looked back to the action on the ice. He puzzled
the situation again however, and looked back down at his blade. Had
the curvature increased? He mulled it over. Nahhh. Impossible. He
turned his attention back to the ice.

"Woodley!" said Erskine. "Take left
wing."

The player jumped over the boards.

"The Leafs are hemmed in their own zone,"
said Able. "Starsikov knocks the puck away from Woodley and starts
up ice. Woodley hooks at him. Starsikov sends a pass across to
Harley Farquharson. Farquharson is hauled down by Corcoran before
the puck gets there. There's going to be a penalty. The Leafs are
going on the power play."

The referee blew his whistle. He pointed to
Corcoran, and signalled interference as he skated by the
time-keeper's bench. Derek motioned to the ref, who skated over to
the Leafs coach.

"We want a stick measurement for number 18,"
said Derek, pointing to Woodley.

"You'll get two minutes for delay of game if
he's legal," said the ref.

"No, I'll have two cents to my name if he's
legal."

The referee skated away from Derek,
signalling to Woodley.

Woodley saw the ref out of the corner of his
eye. Shit! What's he pointin' at me for? That was no goddamn
hook.

The ref skated over towards Woodley.

"What the hell do you want?" asked
Woodley.

"Your stick. Hand it over."

Woodley gave it to him. A false sense of
security and gnawing suspicion grappled inside his head. Gnawing
suspicion scored with a vicious scissor kick to the solar plexus.
The striped arm of the law had just relieved him of his weapon. He
felt naked.

He knew his stick had to be legal, but
anything could happen in stick measurements. The referee could be
thinking about a post-game wobbly pop instead of the sixteenth of
an inch needed to buy Woodley's innocence. The Serpent winger
skated over to the time-keeper's bench. The ref was already there.
The time-keeper handed the ref the measuring instrument. One of the
linesmen intercepted Woodley a few feet from the ref.

"You cross that line and you're gone."

"Hey!" Woodley shouted over the linesman's
shoulder at the ref. "When was the last time that thing was
calibrated?! Is that metric?!"

Woodley didn't know calibration from
calligraphy, but it sounded good. If he put the bug in the
referee's ear and got him thinking, the ref might lean his way on a
close call. Which way did a tie go? Would he wear the goat horns of
infamy? What witness protection program could escape the global
reach of Erskine? These questions raced through Woodley's head.

"The referee is talking with the off-ice
officials," said Able.

The ref handed the stick over the glass to
the time-keeper.

"Yes, the Serpents have been called for
playing with an illegal stick."

Erskine smacked himself in the head. Derek
licked his lips, adjusted his tie and motioned for Cal Arrette to
come to the bench.

"The Leafs pull their goalie," said Able.
"Down by two goals with 52 seconds left, they have a six-on-three
manpower advantage. Starsikov will take the face-off."

Starsikov motioned for Hutchny to line up
behind him. Hutchny shook his head and pounded the ice with his
stick. He was intent on staying where he was ... to the right of
Starsikov, against the boards. Starsikov glared at Hutchny. The
referee skated between them.

The ref motioned to Starsikov.

"Let's go, white ... get your stick
down."

Starsikov replied in Russian, "I will chop
off your hand if you don't drop the puck today."

North American referees had their own code
for understanding European players. If they were able to translate
the slur, it was a ten-minute misconduct. If they were unable to
translate, but judged the tone to be derogatory, the player was
only tossed out of the face-off circle. The referee pointed to
Starsikov, then outside the circle.

"Awright. You're out. I want another guy in
here."

Starsikov skated over to Farquharson's left
wing position. Farquharson skated to the face-off dot, but Hutchny
was already there. Farquharson shrugged and took his position on
Hutchny's vacated right wing. From the face-off dot, Hutchny
grinned at Starsikov, who fumed in return.

"The referee finally drops the puck and it's
swept back to Hilliard at the point," said Able. "Hilliard passes
across to Gobelthorpe. There's a lot of traffic beside the Serpent
cage."

Starsikov and Hutchny stood face-to-face
beside DeChance. Stapleman stood guard behind them, his eyes
ping-ponging between Starsikov and Hutchny, following the
conversation and waiting for one of them to make a move. DeChance
also paid slightly more than passing interest, picking up the
Russians' dialogue as he tried maintaining sight of the puck. The
referee knew he shouldn't be paying attention to them, but it was
like rubber-necking a car wreck. The two Russian teammates had cast
the gloves aside and were poking home hard opinions with harder
fingers to the chest.

"Your mother wears red army boots!" Starsikov
said, poking Hutchny's chest on every second syllable.

"Your cossack father shovels salt in
Siberia!" said Hutchny. He shoved Starsikov hard against the corner
boards.

"Play continues as the two Leafs are engaged
in a heated debate," said Able. "Other players appear distracted by
it. The referee raises his hand ... and he lowers it. Raises it.
Lowers it. Confusion reigns. Hilliard winds up from the point. HE
SCORES! Well, m-i-i-i-i-i-l-l-l-l-k my cow and take a bow!"

The scoreboard changed to read SERPENTS 5,
LEAFS 4. 28 seconds remained in the third period. The two teams
lined up at center ice. Erskine's heart was now pumping blood only
to his face. It was a beet-red, blustery mess.

"Will somebody puh-LEEZ tell me what's going
on?!?," he shouted at his two defensemen on the ice. Their focus
remained rigid on the referee holding the puck at center ice.

"The Leafs are looking for the equalizer ..."
said Able. "Off the face-off, the puck is shot into the Serpents
end."

Leaf players forechecked vigorously. The four
Serpent players set up in the four-corner, penalty killing
formation. Boswell backed into the goal crease. He went to step
forward but couldn't. He was stuck with DeChance between the goal
posts. Like two men in a doorway, neither could move.

"Boswell and DeChance appear to be stuck
between the goal posts," said Able. "Hicks drops his stick and is
trying to yank his defensive partner free."

Gobelthorpe fired a shot, hitting Boswell in
the mid section. The defenseman frantically grabbed for the puck in
his bulky equipment. He pulled the puck out with his hand. He tried
throwing it, but couldn't move his shoulder because it was jammed
against the post. He didn't want to drop the puck to his feet
because he couldn't fall on it. He looked both ways. Leafs were
everywhere. The referee blew his whistle.

"Boswell is called for closing his hand on
the puck in the crease," said Able. "The Leafs are awarded a
penalty shot with twelve seconds left."

Derek leaned over the board at Tuckapuk.

"Okay, Nap. Tuck it somewhere, anywhere."

At the signal from the referee, the Raven
Lake native spun in his own zone and picked up speed.

"Tuckapuk takes the puck at the center dot,"
said Able. "He crosses the blue line, measuring DeChance. Tuckapuk
has yet to look at the puck on his stick. DeChance doesn't bother
coming out to meet him. The big goalie takes a deep breath ..."

"He's trying to fill as much net as
possible," said Kane.

In an elaborate deking sequence, Tuckapuk
appeared to move his head in three directions at once. Nausea crept
into DeChance's stomach. Tuckapuk swooped in front, cutting across
to his left. DeChance moved with him across the crease, then
realized too late he'd been fooled. Tuckapuk was in front of him
... but where was the puck? Tuckapuk's last deke had left the puck
behind the Leaf player. In a drag bunt-like maneuver -- with his
trailing right hand holding the end of his stick -- Tuckapuk gently
guided the puck through the gaping right side of the net inside the
goalpost.

"HE SCORES!" said Able. "Well, snap my cap,
they've closed the gap! The Leafs and Serpents are tied at
five."

A sickened DeChance fell to the ice,
clutching his stomach with his glove hand.

The players in front of Marcotte went wild.
Erskine stood with his hands on hips ... shaking his head. 12.2
seconds remained in the third period.

"We're tied at five," said Able, "with sudden
death overtime creeping closer."

The two teams lined up for the face-off, five
players a side. The Serpents won the draw and fired the puck into
the Leafs zone. All three Serpent forwards raced in to forecheck.
At the Serpents bench, Erskine had one foot atop the boards.

"Kill!! Maim!! Decapitate!!"

"Both teams jostle for the puck along the
boards," said Able. "The clock's winding down. Five seconds left.
Sunhite falls on the puck and there's a stoppage in play ..."

The scoreboard showed 00:03.6 seconds
remaining in the third period.

"What have we here?" asked Able. "Erskine is
motioning for Pa DeChance to come over to the Serpents bench.
They're pulling their goalie for the extra attacker with the
face-off deep in the Leafs zone."

Erskine pointed a finger at Corcoran.

"You lose this face-off and you'll never take
another one. Who will want a center without any thumbs?"

To the left of Arrette, the referee dropped
the puck between Corcoran and Short Hand. Corcoran took a swipe at
it and missed the puck. Short Hand almost succeeded in drawing the
puck back to his own defenseman but Corcoran lifted Short Hand's
stick with another swipe. Corcoran gained possession of the puck
but couldn't shoot with Short Hand in his face. Looking to dish off
a quick pass, Corcoran heard Erskine hollering above the buzzing
fans.

"The point! The point!"

"Corcoran snaps a pass back to Dillabough at
the blue line," said Able. "The puck skips over his stick! Down the
ice it goes! Going ... going ... IT'S IN!! Corcoran scores on his
own net! Leafs win 6-5! Kiss my keester, it must be Easter!"

The crowd roared. The puck crossed the line
with two-tenths of a second left. The players piled on Cal Arrette.
Marcotte and Hammond exchanged high fives and raised both arms in
the goal scorer's salute. Derek turned to find Sylvie standing
close by. She jumped into his arms. Artie grabbed Derek's sleeve to
keep them from tumbling into the stick rack. Derek and Sylvie
locked in a passionate embrace. Artie grabbed a water bottle and
sprayed the celebrating couple.