Travis felt as if he had overstretched elastics in his legs instead of muscles. He could barely walk. He wasn’t able to walk at all down stairs. Nor could any other of the Screech Owls–especially Nish, who wasn’t even capable of hobbling in a straight line. Yet here they were, lining up for the face-off in Game Two of the Little Stanley Cup.

They needed to win this game. The Montreal Vedettes were one of the top teams in their division, and Muck and the coaches had expected it would be either the Vedettes or the Screech Owls in the final against the powerful Toronto Towers. The Owls’ defence might have been a bit better than the Vedettes’–but better because of Nish, who was no longer able to play.

Travis knew they were in trouble long before the opening face-off. Muck had no speech for them–his silence still saying it all–and Mr. Dillinger had been quiet and frowning, which was most unusual for him. Nish had come in on his new crutches and sat in the dressing room to inspire the team, but it had inspired no one. All they could think about was how much they needed him and how sore their legs were from their foolish race down the CN Tower.

The puck dropped, and the big Vedettes centre took it easily from Derek and sent it back to his right defenceman. It was Travis’s job to cut him off and take away the pass, if possible, but when he dug in to spring toward the defender, his legs felt like rubber.

The Vedettes’ defenceman fired the puck across ice to his far winger, and when Travis turned, too late, the defender hit him with an elbow. It caught Travis on the side of the helmet and, with his legs already weakened, put him down instantly. He could hear the crowd yelling and his bench yelling, but there was no whistle. He couldn’t get up, and the next thing he heard was the crowd cheering a Vedettes goal.

Travis got to his feet slowly, feeling terrible. First game, his line had scored immediately; second game, it had happened to them, with Travis lying face down on the ice at the time. He pushed his aching legs toward the bench, afraid even to look at his teammates. He could have sworn he heard the word “wimp”–from a teammate with a deep voice–but he wasn’t sure. He pretended he hadn’t heard it.

But Travis wasn’t alone. By the time all three lines had had their first shifts, it was obvious to everyone that no one on the Screech Owls had any jump. Not even Dmitri, whose entire game was his quick acceleration and speed. It was as if the Screech Owls were playing a player short–two players at times–the entire game.

At the end of the first period, they were down only 2–0 thanks to Jeremy Weathers’ fine goaltending. Dmitri finally did get a break in the second and scored to make it 2–1, but the Vedettes scored on an excellent two-on-one against Willie, who was filling in for Nish. Travis couldn’t help but think that if it had been Nish back there, he would have had the pass.

In the third period, Travis could feel his legs beginning to come back. Dmitri had more jump as well. The Vedettes were just dumping the puck in, trying to kill off the clock, and Travis, feeling finally that he was in the game, raced back to pick the puck up behind his own net. He hit Derek as he curled back with a pass at the blueline and, without even looking, Derek fed the puck between his own legs to Dmitri, who was already in full flight.

Dmitri blew past the defenceman who should have been watching him. He kept to the boards, hoping to sweep in across net–his favourite play–and get the goaltender moving just before he put it on the short side. But the opposite defenceman came hurling toward Dmitri, completely ignoring the open ice on the other side.

Travis saw his chance and shot for it as fast as his weakened legs would take him. Normally, he would have already been up with Dmitri, but he was still in the centre-ice zone when Dmitri flicked the puck back. It was a beautiful play, one that only Dmitri, or Sarah Cuthbertson last year, could have made. The puck floated through the air and then landed flat, slowing instantly. A location pass, placed perfectly where a player is going to be rather than where a player is at the moment of the pass.

Travis drove hard toward the net and picked up the puck as it lay there waiting for him, just inside the blueline. He came in alone, the defenceman committed to Dmitri and now entirely out of the play. Travis dropped his shoulder and the Vedettes’ goaltender went down on the fake. Travis went to his backhand and hoisted as high as he could. The puck pinged off the crossbar and went high over the glass into the crowd. What he couldn’t do in the warm-up he had done in the game. But now it meant nothing. There was no time left for the Screech Owls.

 

We’ll walk back to the hotel, okay?” Muck said after the game. The team groaned as one.

“All except Nish, who’ll ride with Barry. The rest of you can use the exercise. Fortunately for you, it’s mostly downhill.”

Downhill!

Muck never even smiled–but he knew, he knew.