Djurgården skated out in the Swedish national team colours: beautiful yellow sweaters with the three crowns of Sweden in blue crests across their fronts. They looked intimidating, the sort of team that is so skilled, so fluid, and so organized that they can sometimes defeat the other team before the warm-up is even over.
Travis was particularly nervous. He missed the crossbar on five straight shots in warm-up. He tried to figure out what was wrong but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The first game of a big tournament? It shouldn’t be that. All the security?
“This doesn’t feel right,” a voice squeaked in his ear.
He knew at once it was Nish. He was relieved to discover his friend was also uneasy.
But for different reasons.
“I need my old boxer shorts back,” Nish whined.
“They’re in the garbage. Go pick ’em out,” Travis laughed.
“They’re ruined. I should sue.”
“Sue the government of the United States of America for your boxers?” Travis asked.
“They had no right to destroy them.”
“They have the undying gratitude of our whole hockey team,” Travis said.
“Nothing feels right,” Nish continued, not listening to anything Travis was saying. “I’ve got the wrong shorts on. Wrong equipment. Everything’s wrong. I don’t even smell like me!”
“God bless America!” Travis said, and skated away from his muttering, mumbling pal.
What a difference an ocean made! When the Owls went to Sweden, they were baffled at first by the big Olympic ice surface. Now the Djurgården peewees had the same problem in reverse. To them, the ice was cramped and tight. Less space meant less time, and they were panicking with the puck. Used to being able to work the corners, they now had to fight for them, and the usual long cross-ice passes of European hockey were easy pickings for the Owls – particularly for a player as quick as Dmitri.
Dmitri scored the first two goals. He snared a lazy Swedish pass in the neutral zone, roared in on the opponents’ net, faked once, went to his backhand and roofed the puck, sending the water bottle flying. On the second, he finished off a pretty tictac-toe play where Travis slipped the puck back to Sarah, moving in late on a rush, and Sarah snapped the puck ahead to Dmitri as he came to a spraying stop at the far goal post. Dmitri had only to redirect the puck in behind the falling goaltender.
“They’ll find themselves,” Muck warned at the first break. “Just like you guys had to find yourselves over there.”
Muck was right. In the second period, the Swedes adjusted their game. Forwards carried less and shortened their passes. Defencemen used the boards more, pinching in on the Owls whenever they could and causing pucks to jump free. The first Djurgården goal came on a scramble, and then a fluid-skating centre scored a beautiful goal on a solo rush when he managed to slip the puck between Nish’s legs and get in alone on Jenny.
“Never would have happened if I’d had my old boxers on,” a red-faced Nish muttered when he plunked down on the bench.
“The puck would have melted!” laughed Sam, plunking down beside him and giving him a shot in the shoulder.
Both teams scored in the third, Djurgården on a tip, and Lars on a beautiful end-to-end rush with a hard backhander along the ice that just caught the corner.
Muck called a time-out with two minutes to go and hardly said a word. There was really nothing to say. Everyone knew how much a win mattered in a round robin. Travis also knew that Muck wanted his top line out for the final moments, and Sarah was gasping for breath, having just killed off a penalty.
Nothing had gone right for Travis. He had the one assist, but nothing more. The one good shot he’d had slipped off his blade and flopped off to the side of the net. He thought the other team might even be laughing at his weak shot. He needed something. Anything.
Nish and Sam were back. The most powerful five Owls had the ice, and Sarah won the faceoff by sweeping it back to Nish. Nish moved back behind his own net, checking the clock quickly and then measuring the ice for the best side to go up.
He faked a pass to Travis along the left boards and then shot it back off the boards to Sam on the other side.
Nish moved out quickly, “accidentally” brushing by the forechecker to put him off balance and give Sam more time. Sam used it to step around the second forechecker and fire a hard pass up-centre to Sarah, who was curling just before the red line.
Dmitri was already away down the right side. Sarah dumped the puck in as she crossed centre, and Dmitri beat the Djurgården defence to it.
Dmitri danced with the puck out to the open corner. Travis cut for the slot, slapping his stick on the ice.
Dmitri hit him perfectly.
Travis tucked the puck in to himself as he drifted around the last defenceman. He had an open shot – and fired hard. The goaltender jumped, literally leaving the ice, and the puck hit him high in the chest pad and dropped back down in the crease.
Travis was still moving in. He saw the puck there, patiently waiting for him, as the goalie came back down on his skates, scraping hard and falling off to the other side.
Open net!
Travis stabbed at the free puck just as a glove lunged out of nowhere and yanked it to the side and out of harm’s way.
Travis could not stop his stab. He hit air, then fell, tearing the net off its moorings as he was hit from behind.
He could see nothing. All he could hear was the referee’s whistle, so close it seemed to be screaming. He rolled over, looking back to see what the call was and who had hit him. At least he had drawn a penalty, he figured. Not as good as a goal, but not bad.
But the referee was not pointing at any of the Djurgården players. He was pointing hard towards centre ice.
Travis was momentarily confused. He knew the signal from somewhere. Had he seen it in the rule book? Had he seen it on television?
Suddenly it came to him.
Penalty shot!