Chapter 8
Brian Weir wasn’t crazy. Billy lost that early awkwardness by the middle of the first year in bantam, and started scoring goals again. Strangely enough, he also got over his shyness and started wearing a garter belt, leaving his jeans in the dressing room. His team didn’t tear up the league that first year, but by the time they were into their second season, the two boys from Munro Mills were dominating the scoring race. And that attracted attention.
One Sunday afternoon in December of that second year, Tony Stanton, coach of the Munro Mills Midgets, showed up behind the players’ bench at a game in the Glengarry Gardens of Alexandria. The bantams were just finishing their warm-up.
Labelle acknowledged Stanton’s presence. “What’s the matter, Tony? Got some time on your hands?”
“Hah,” the little, red-faced man grunted, “that fool referee suspended me again. But I’d be here, anyways. I keep hearing about these kids.”
“You shouldn’t be losing your temper so often. You’re getting a reputation.”
“Aw, baloney. I didn’t do a darn thing. Just yelled at him, is all.”
“Yeah, but it was Murphy. He still remembers you from your playing days. Remember that stick you threw at him?”
“The jerk suspended me for five games, that time, and I never even hit him. You know me, I’m not dangerous.”
“I don’t imagine Murphy’s too sure about that.” Paul turned his attention back to his team. They were taking shots on the goalie. He yelled, “All right, guys, pick up the pace.”
Stanton wasn’t finished. “What about this Campbell kid, and Weir? Think they can make my team next year?”
Labelle turned around. “Half my team could make the midgets, right now. You know that. And don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve watched them.”
“Yeah, yeah, but what about Campbell? He’s one of Angus Campbell’s boys, right?”
“Yep.”
“Duncan MacDonnell is his uncle, then. Heck of a lacrosse player, Big Dunc. Ran like a deer.”
“Yeah, and his nephew skates like the wind, but he’s got a ways to go, yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s a speedster all right, but I’m not sure he can take the rough going. He may love the game more than he loves to win.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Like I said, he loves to play. Dipsy-doodles around everybody; avoids the banging. He can still get away with it, though. He’s faster than anybody on the ice.”
Stanton rubbed a weekend’s growth of red stubble on his chin, then looked Labelle in the eye and asked, “You think he’s afraid?”
“Not sure. Could be he loves the game so much he doesn’t notice the rough stuff that’s going on around him.”
“You mean he doesn’t like hitting people? Or he doesn’t like being hit?”
“Maybe both. Or maybe he can’t be bothered. Thinks it’s a waste of time.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. I pushed him on it a few times. Kid claims he’d be wasting energy. Says if they can’t catch him, they can’t hit him.”
“What about the ones who try to hurt him? Can he fight?”
“Question isn’t can he fight, it’s will he fight? Besides, anyone goes after him, big Weir is there to calm them down. They know if they do dirt to Campbell, they’ll get double from Weir.”
“So, Weir is part of the package?”
“Right now he is. Digs the puck out, sets up plays, pops anybody that goes near his friend.” Labelle smiled. “Works good.”
“Has he got what it takes, Weir?”
“Heck, look at him out there, legs like tree trunks. Would you want him coming after you?”
“But can he play?”
“He’s got some good moves, good hands. Question is whether he gets bigger and faster, or bigger and slower. Anyways, you’ll love him in midget, the way you encourage the rough stuff.”
“C’mon, Paul, you know I just tell my guys to defend themselves. We never start it. It’s that bunch from Maxville.”
Labelle grinned at him. “Sure, Tony. Anyways, when it comes to Campbell, his ability might not matter.”
“Waddaya mean?”
“His parents. They might not let him play midget.”
Stanton’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. It took a lot of persuading to let him play bantam. You know Angus; he’s tight with the dollar. I think he’s counting on the boy to work in the shop, not play hockey.”
“He’s not the only father in Glengarry with that attitude, but surely he won’t hold him back for that?”
“Well, he also had rheumatic fever about five years ago, and they’re worried about his health.”
“He looks fine.” Stanton was upset. He had been counting on the Campbell boy to make his midgets competitive in their third season in the league.
Labelle grinned at the sudden concern in Stanton’s expression. “So far, he’s holding up. But it’s more than that. Angus and Anna don’t want to see him pushed.” Then he laughed to himself as he added, “You know, pushed too much by an ambitious hockey coach.”
Stanton tried to act surprised. “Well, I can understand that. But I don’t know of any coach in Glengarry who pushes his kids too hard. I mean, they can’t be serious. The way I hear it, this kid has talent to burn — a good coach will only help him improve. Surely they wouldn’t stand in his way?”
Labelle was losing interest in Stanton’s rationalizations. “They’re serious, all right.” He grinned. “Some people just aren’t interested in hockey, Tony. Hard to believe, eh?”
“But we’re building a new arena,” Stanton almost whined. “We just got the go ahead for this summer. They’ll wanna see their kid playing in the new arena, don’t you think?”
Labelle laughed, thinking of his first encounter with Angus in the barbershop. “I don’t think Angus is too impressed with new arenas. All I can say is, you’ve got your work cut out for you if you want the boy in the midgets.” He left Stanton to chew on his warning as he turned his attention back to his team. The referee signalled the start of the game, and Labelle called his players over to the bench.
Tony backed off then, but stayed to watch the game. Labelle noted his loud encouragement for the boys from Munro Mills. It was hard to believe that this stubby, little man with the red ring of hair around his balding head was once a pretty fair hockey player. You couldn’t blame him for putting on weight, though, working in his father’s hotel where the beer was available at wholesale prices. Labelle smiled when he thought about the hip checks the “Fighting Irish Fireplug” from Glengarry used to hand out to unsuspecting forwards. He wondered if a guy like Stanton had the diplomatic skills to convince the Campbells to let Billy risk his health in the rougher, more competitive level that was midget hockey.
Toward the end of the game when Munro Mills was three goals ahead, Stanton leaned over and tapped Labelle on the shoulder. “Those kids look just fine to me. And the Campbell kid is right. Nobody can catch him.”
Stanton didn’t look back. “Seems that way, doesn’t it?”
“You’ll win it all this year, that’s for sure.”
“Hell, Stanton, don’t put the jinx on us. It’s a long season.”
“It’s in the bag, man. You got the class of the league on the ice, right now.”
Stanton was right. By January, Campbell and Weir were leading the league in scoring, with Brian digging the puck out of the corners and Billy putting it in the net. In one game in February, Billy scored five goals and passed to Brian for two more. It was not surprising that the two of them began thinking of themselves as serious hockey players, especially after the Glengarry News started putting their pictures in the sports section.
Paul Labelle was having fun, too. His team went all the way to the county finals, where they beat Vankleek Hill for the championship in four straight games. The Campbells were at that final game, though, and it didn’t do much for Anna’s peace of mind. “My gosh,” she exclaimed. “They’re ahead by three goals. Can’t he slow down a bit?”
“He’s playing like he always does, dear. He just looks like a wild man to you. Probably because you notice your own more than the others.” Angus frowned at the worried look on her face. “And you’re thinking too much about his health. Relax! He’s doing all right.”
She looked back at him and smiled, letting the fear fade from her face. “I just can’t help but worry about him. He gets so worked up; he’s drained after every game.”
“Well, you should recognize the type. He’s just like your brother, Dunc. And you.” He smiled and added, “I’ve played enough cards with you to know where he gets it from. Some people just have to win.”
Anna frowned at his attempt to change the subject. “It’s only going to get rougher, if we let him play again next year. You know it.”
“We haven’t come to that bridge, yet. Why don’t you relax for now, and enjoy the game.” He grinned and added, “Besides, he might discover girls any day now, and lose all interest in hockey.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Is that supposed to comfort me?” Just then, she saw Billy get flattened with a cross-check from behind. “Oh my God! He’s hurt!” She grabbed Angus’s hand as she watched her son get up slowly from beside the boards. He stood up, shook his head a couple of times, and charged back into the play.
Angus squeezed her hand in return. “See? He’s fine. You get all upset for nothing.”
“I hate this feeling. I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t the last game.” But she stayed and watched the whole game, including Billy’s third goal. While they waited for their son to change, the Campbells discussed his future in hockey.
“What are we going to do next fall?” Anna asked. “You know he’s going to want to play on the midget team.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be worried about it? You know what I would have preferred.”
She shook her head. “Those days are gone, Angus. You can’t put them to work at thirteen.”
“Maybe so, but do you think we can stop him, now? He’s been healthy. He’s doing okay in school. What bargaining chips do we have left?”
“But is he strong enough to stand up to the bigger boys? Look at the way that boy sent him flying. And what about this Stanton character? I hear he drinks. Do you trust your son with him?”
Angus frowned. “To be honest, not entirely. But the boy loves the game. He’ll go nuts if we try to stop him.”
“But do you think he can take the pounding he’ll get? You told me yourself, they always go after the ones who can score goals.”
“Maybe he’ll quit then, if it gets too rough for him.”
“I wonder.”
“I know, but he’s got another six months or so to mature, before the next season. It’s a long way off, so why worry now?”
“How can I not worry? That boy’s got hockey on the brain. Hockey, hockey, hockey. That’s all we’ll hear all summer long. So don’t tell me not to worry about it.”
Angus smiled as he saw Billy emerge from the dressing room, a tired smile on his face, and his back bent under the weight of his bulging kitbag. “Well, we don’t have to encourage him. Let’s keep him busy in the garage this summer, and hope he finds something else to dream about, like — ”
She silenced him with a stern look.
Billy was slowing down by the time he reached them in the lobby. Angus relieved him of the heavy bag. “That was a heck of a game, young fella. Three goals and two assists, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, we’re the champs. And we each get a trophy, eh? Brian and me, for the two top scorers.” He stood taller, his eyes brighter.
Angus smiled at his excitement. “Both of you? How does that work?”
“Brian gets it for most points, goals, and assists. Me for most goals. We get them next week, at the bean supper. You’re coming, aren’t you? All the dads come.”
Anna laughed. “Oh, yes, Angus, that sounds like such fun.”
“Huh,” her husband grunted, “think you’re funny, eh?”
“Your father loves baked beans, Billy. He’ll be there with flying colours, won’t you, dear?” She put her arm around Angus and gave him a quick hug. She knew that was all she would be allowed in this public place. “C’mon now, Billy. David is waiting for us in the car, and I made your favourite pie for supper.”
Billy acknowledged her pride. “Thanks for coming to the game, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. Now let’s go home.”
They worked their way through the crowd of kids and parents, buzzing about the game. “Do you want a chocolate bar or something?” Angus asked.
Billy smiled to himself. His father usually considered such purchases a waste of good money. “No, thanks, Dad. I want to leave room for my lemon pie.”
They said their goodbyes to everyone and made their way to the car. Dave greeted the high-scoring centre with a playful slap on the back. “Way to go, squirt. You had ’em on the run tonight, just like I taught ya.” He took Billy’s equipment, threw it in the trunk, and slammed the lid down. “Want me to drive, Dad?” he asked as he headed back toward the driver’s side of the car.
“I guess you’ve already decided. But no jack-rabbit starts, mind you. This is no race car.”
“You can say that again — it’s an old lady’s car, six cylinders — jeez. We need one of those new eights, Dad, with the overhead cam. I mean, this thing’s got no pickup at all.”
“Hasn’t got any pickup, dear,” his mother corrected him.
Dave grinned. “See? Mom agrees with me.”
Angus shot back. “I notice that doesn’t stop you from driving it.” He opened the door for Anna, and then slid in beside her. Billy climbed into the back.
For the first few minutes, the subject was strictly hockey. Billy was full of ideas about the team and how good they had been this year, and how many of them would be able to make the midget team next year. Angus and Anna exchanged worried looks, and were glad when Dave interrupted with a new subject.
“So, Billy boy, what are you planning to do for the next six months, now that you can’t use hockey as an excuse to get out of work? Guess you’ll have to help me a lot more in the garage, eh?”
Angus laughed. “Help you? Anyone would think you were running the place, the way you talk.”
“Aw, c’mon, Dad. You know what I mean.” Then Dave grinned and added, “Be at least a couple of years before I’m running it by myself, unless of course you let me quit school.”
Anna scolded, “Don’t even joke about that. You’re not quitting school until you’ve got your senior matric, at least.”
“Jeez, why does everybody have to jump all over me? All I did was ask Billy about working.”
Angus showed him no sympathy. “You’re the one who brought it up. But you are right about Billy; he’s got some catching up to do in the work department.”
“Not too much,” Anna interjected, “until summer. He’s got to start by catching up on all the study time he’s missed, or else he’s going to fail his year.”
“Aw, Mom!” It was Billy’s turn to feel put upon.
Dave laughed. Now the kid’s mind was off hockey. “Don’t worry, squirt. I’ll help you. I know the stupid tests those jerks give in grade nine.”
“David! Don’t be disrespectful.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Dave pulled in his horns as his father stretched behind Anna to give him a shove on the arm. Another couple of minutes went by before he dared to speak again. “You planning on a big summer, Billy, now that you’re part of the high-school crowd?”
“Yeah, and I’ll be fifteen in June.” Billy looked over at his father. “If I’m working in the garage, does that mean I get a car to fix up? Like Dave?”
“Maybe; we’ll see.”
“But Dave was only fifteen when he — ”
“I said we’ll see,” Angus answered sharply. “Show me what kind of mechanic you make, first.”
Billy was silent for the rest of the ride home. He couldn’t figure out why his father had been so abrupt with him. After all, hadn’t his team just won the championship? In fact, both his parents were acting a little strange. He wondered if they knew something he didn’t.