There would be no overtime. A tie, the organizers, the coaches, the managers, even the players, all agreed was the perfect ending to the perfect tournament. Aussie All-Stars 6, Screech Owls 6. Screech Owls 6, Aussie All-Stars 6. No matter how you said it, it sounded perfect.
The players lined up and congratulated each other. The Wiz had a special rap across the shins for Nish, a headlock for smaller Travis, and a bear hug for Sarah. The two of them, Wiz and Sarah, then moved off to stand together for the closing ceremonies. Travis wasn’t close enough to tell for certain, but he could have sworn that Sarah was somehow smiling and crying at the same time.
There was one more order of business: the Game Star.
“It’s me,” Nish hissed into Travis’s ear as they stood waiting for the announcement.
“How do you know?” Travis asked, thinking that Muck might have tipped him off.
Travis winced and shook his head. Nish was back to normal.
“The MVP of the Oz Invitational,” the announcer’s voice droned over the loudspeakers.
He paused for effect, no one daring to say a word.
“From the Screech Owls – WAYNE NISHIKAWA!”
The arena erupted in thunderous applause. The players banged their sticks on the ice. Nish, acting as if this were an everyday experience for him, piled his stick and gloves and helmet in Travis’s arms and skated off to accept his due.
Travis watched in amazement as Nish bowed to the fans and then shook hands with the organizers.
A man in a suit pulled an envelope out of his pocket and made a big display out of handing it over to Nish, who took it and stared at it. There was no announcement over the public address as to what it was.
With the man’s encouragement, Nish opened the envelope and removed a piece of paper from inside.
What is it? Travis wondered. A cheque?
The man, beaming, reached out to shake Nish’s hand. Nish must have been stunned by the amount of money, for he dropped the paper and another organizer had to pick it up for him. The first man reached out, took Nish’s limp hand, shook it hard, and slapped him on the back.
Nish turned, his mouth a perfect circle, the blood draining from his face.
He skated, weakly, back to Travis while the sticks continued rapping and the rink maintained its loud standing ovation.
“What is it?” Travis shouted over the cheering.
Nish said nothing. He merely handed his award over.
Travis looked at his friend. Nish was white now, his eyes half shut.
Travis unfolded the paper and read: “Free Admission for One – Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb.”
The Coathanger!
Nish’s mouth twisted in search of words.
Finally he found them, speaking in a voice so low Travis could barely hear.
“I think I’m gonna hurl.”
THE END