Page 4

Ruben

“Jesus, Doc, can you be a little gentle?” Randall complained while I was once again cleaning him up.

“You’re going to need some stitches after the game,” I said and patched him up the best I could because I knew this wasn’t the end of it.

“Is he okay to play?” Coach asked.

I shined a light in both his eyes, and I knew he wasn’t doing as well as he wanted to pretend he was. His eyes locked on mine, and I knew he knew it too. “No more fights,” I said under my breath, and he nodded. He was healthy enough to play but barely. We were deep in the third period and still tied. The new goalie was doing a great job defending the net, but I knew he was tired and probably bruised in spite of all the padding. He hadn’t come to me with any complaints and since there wasn’t another replacement he was sticking it out—so far.

The refs rushed around the players as both teams skated back onto the ice. “I want the rest of the game to be clean. If I see any high sticks or hooking, you’ll be ejected since sitting in the box isn’t doing a damn thing,” the ref said as he stood between Leon and Randall. The puck dropped in slow motion as everyone held their breath waiting for the moment it touched the ice. Time sped up and the two of them slashed and sliced their sticks until finally one of them connected with the puck and it shot away, and over to the Blades’ possession.

Tensions were high as a few more players left the ice with injuries. So far in this period there hadn’t been a major fight, but you could cut the tension with a knife. Play was intense and fast paced as they passed and drove the puck to each goal before attempting to score.

“Get in there, Stanton,” Coach yelled from next to me as the Blades caught a pass and rushed down the ice. Leon tried to shoot against the Titans’ goalie and came up short when it was blocked. The goalie passed the puck to Griffin and had just turned back into position when another Blades player hit him with his stick as soon as he was close enough. It caught him just to the side of his knee and I knew he wasn’t padded enough there to not feel it. He flinched and I moved forward trying to get a better look just as play passed in front of me.

“He’s going to need some help with that knee,” one of the other players said to me as I continued to watch the goalie stretch and try to ignore how much pain had just been inflicted on him. His mask hid his reaction, but I knew that hit would leave a mark. Action at the other net got everyone’s attention and I looked that way just in time to see Griffin slap the puck high enough for it to slip past the goalie’s glove and into the net. The stadium erupted in cheers, and after a quick glance at the clock I knew if the Blades were careful, they could possibly score. The noise was deafening as they took control of the puck and hurried down to where the Titans’ goalie now waited in front of the net.

“They’re gonna try to take out the rookie,” one of the trainers said, and leaned against the plexiglass as all the players moved to the goal. “If he’s lucky they run down the clock.”

There were still two minutes left on the clock and their movements became more erratic and frantic as they started taking shots toward the net hoping one of them would make it through. The same player who had hit the goalie earlier hit his foot with the stick before slapping the puck right into his face. If he didn’t have that helmet on, he’d be spitting teeth. He stumbled back and sticks and gloves were dropped as all the players nearby started fighting. One of the Blades’ big players grabbed Griffin and shoved his head down then pulled his jersey over his head before punching him three times right in the face.

“Come on, ref,” Coach yelled.

The horn blared that signaled the end of the game, but the fight didn’t stop. Now all the players were out of the box and either trying to pull other players apart or throwing punches of their own. The ice was littered with helmets, sticks, and jerseys that were either torn off or pulled off during the mele. I stood there frozen, not sure what to do and not willing to get in the middle of the mess that was taking place right in front of me. One of the trainers looked at me before looking at the coach who glanced at the scoreboard, and once he confirmed they’d won, crossed his arms and did nothing.

“What do we do?” I asked the trainer that had helped me earlier.

“I’m not really sure. I’ve never seen the refs just let them fight it out. I mean they play again tomorrow night,” he said without looking away as one of our players tore a helmet off a player from the Blades and tossed it aside before punching him in the face, making the guy talking to me cringe.

“They’re going to kill each other,” I said and thought about how many players I’d be patching up tonight.

“They won’t go that far. They all want to do it all again tomorrow night,” Dexter, the first-string goalie, said from where he sat on the bench watching.

“How come you didn’t run out there?” I asked.

“Oh, I want to play tomorrow so I’ll get mine then. The rookie’s holding his own,” he said and pointed to the goalie who now had his helmet off and had another player’s jersey clasped in his hand while he pummeled him.

“Jesus, I’m going to be patching them up all week,” I grumbled, making him laugh.

“Welcome to the world of hockey,” he said and patted me on the back as he stood and leaned toward the ice. “I can’t wait to get back out there.”

“Of course you can’t,” I said. Even if I didn’t know him, I knew his type and knew I’d be patching him up the first game he was able to play.

The refs started pulling people off each other and shoving them in the direction of the player boxes while the crowd was on their feet screaming. Even though the game had ended, no one left yet. Everyone wanted to see who survived.

“Nice opening game, right?” Randall said when he skated over to the box. Blood ran from his nose and his knuckles were bloodied, but apparently, he wasn’t seriously injured.

“Right,” I said then walked over to where my supplies were and got ready to move it all into the locker room just as the Zamboni was driven onto the ice to clear off the blood and mess.