There was a good crowd to watch the Rideau Rebels play the Screech Owls. The Rebels were the media favourite in the tournament. Not only was the team made up of local kids, it was the namesake of one of the first teams ever to play in the Ottawa area. The modern Rebels even wore replica jerseys.
According to the Citizen newspaper, if there hadn’t once been a team called the Rebels, there would never have been a Stanley Cup. Two of the players on the team had been the sons of Lord Stanley, the Governor General of the day. Lord Stanley, who had come over from England, never tried to play himself, but he enjoyed watching, and at the end of his appointment in Canada he decided to leave behind a “challenge cup” for hockey teams to play for. Lord Stanley spent $48.67 of his own money on the trophy, but never once saw it played for. He could not have imagined that, a century after he’d returned home to England, the Stanley Cup would be the most easily recognized trophy in professional sport.
Two of the Rebels’ players, Kenzie MacNeil and James Grove, were the Citizen’s choice as most likely candidates for the Most Valuable Player award, which was to be presented on the final day by the modern Governor General. If the award were to go to one of the two Rebels, said the Citizen, it would be “poetic justice.”
“What the heck’s that mean?” Nish demanded when Travis showed him the article.
“That it should happen. That it’s the right thing.”
“Yeah, right!” Nish said with great sarcasm.
Nish didn’t miss a beat. Just before the puck dropped on the opening faceoff, he skated past Kenzie MacNeil, lining up to face off against Sarah, and quickly whispered his own version of “poetic justice”:
“Roses are red, violets are blue.
I’ll be MVP–not you.”
MacNeil just looked at him and shook his head, baffled.
Halfway through the shift Travis could see why Kenzie MacNeil might be the early favourite as the tournament’s top player. Joe Hall had switched the lineups around a bit, perhaps sensing that Nish and Sam would hardly be able to play together. Nish was out with Lars, and Lars made the mistake of trying to jump into the play right after the faceoff. Sarah tied up MacNeil, but just as Lars tried to slip in and away with the puck, MacNeil used his skate to drag the puck through the circle and up onto his stick. Sarah stuck with him, but he was able, one-handed, to flick a backhand pass to his left winger, James Grove, who suddenly had open ice with Lars out of the picture.
Nish cut fast across the blueline to cover for Lars, but to do so he had to leave the far wing open. The Rebel left winger was able to fire a rink-wide pass, blind, knowing that the Rebels’ other winger would be open.
Travis was the Owls’ only hope. He chased his check and caught him just inside the Owls’ blueline. Travis began leaning on the player to force him off towards the boards, but he should have tried to play the puck. The winger flipped an easy drop pass that looped over Travis’s stick and fell, like a spinning plate, on the safe side of the line.
Kenzie MacNeil, moving up fast, was all alone. He came in on Jeremy–who was coming out to cut the angle–and instead of cutting, or faking a shot, MacNeil simply hauled back and slammed a vicious slapshot that tore right through Jeremy’s pads and popped out the other side into the Screech Owls net.
As the starting lineup skated off, their heads hung low, Sarah said to Nish,
“Roses are red, violets are blue,
When that guy scored, where were you?”
“Ahhh, drop it!” Nish said angrily, slamming his stick down.
Travis felt bad for his friend. He’d seen that Nish had simply tried to cover for Lars, who made the initial mistake, and that in doing so he’d left his side open and gave the Rebels the opening they needed. Sarah was also at fault, Travis said to himself, for she was supposed to have stayed with MacNeil. He’d learned long ago, however, that there was no point in arguing over what had happened out there. The only thing that mattered was what would happen next–and the Screech Owls had to get back into this game.
“Everyone noticed how they scored that goal, I hope,” said Joe Hall. “Drop pass.”
Joe Hall decided to counter the Rebels’ big scoring line by putting Sam out every time MacNeil was on the ice. Sam’s only job was to stay back and make sure the big Rebel centre didn’t get free. As the game continued, she stuck to him, in Nish’s words, “like gum to the bottom of a school chair,” and it was clear that the star player was growing frustrated.
So, too, was Nish, who was not seeing his usual amount of ice time. On a Rebels power play he let little James Grove slip in behind him, and the talented Rebel got away a hard shot that Jeremy in goal took on the shoulder, sending the puck flipping high over the boards. The whistle put an end to play, but Nish continued right on through the little forward, running him over like a Zamboni and picking up a second penalty for the Owls.
Joe Hall was not amused. He waited until Nish returned to the bench from the penalty box, then very calmly he told him he had all but cost them the game with that stupid after-the-whistle hit.
“If you can’t control your temper,” Joe Hall said in a steady voice that must have sounded like a scream in Nish’s burning ears, “you’ll never control the play.”
Nish didn’t play another shift. Joe Hall began double-shifting Sam, pairing her first with Lars and then Wilson–and the more she played the more she shone.
In the second period, Gordie Griffth picked up a bouncing puck at centre and broke up alone, dishing off to Dmitri, who was just coming over the boards on the fly. Dmitri raced in and beat the Rebels’ goaltender with his trademark backhand high into the net.
MacNeil might have scored a second when he got in alone, but a sprawling, stick-swinging desperation move by Sam knocked the puck off his stick and into the corner as she fell to the ice. MacNeil came to a sharp stop, his skates deliberately throwing snow into Sam’s face.
She got up, laughing.
If it had been Nish, he would have come up swinging.
In the third, the two teams exchanged goals: one by Fahd on a weak, looping shot from the point that bounced in off the butt of one of the Rebels’ defenders–“Exactly the way I planned it!” Fahd claimed at the bench–and one by the Rebels when little James Grove came down one-on-one and slipped the puck through Wilson’s skates. The little Rebel then pulled out Jeremy just as deftly, sliding the puck in so slowly it looked like he was in a curling match.
Travis had one good chance. He broke up ice with Sarah charging behind him through centre, but when he tried to cut to the defence and drop the puck for Sarah–a no-no, according to Muck–he blew the opportunity, leaving the puck for the second defenceman instead. The defenceman simply chipped the puck off the boards and the Rebels had a three-on-two that, once again, Sam foiled with a poke check.
“You have to get the puck to your centre,” Joe Hall said when Travis skated off. “It’s not a package you leave at the front desk for her to pick up when she’s got time.”
Travis nodded, knowing he’d blown it. Next time, if there was a next time, he’d make sure the puck was on Sarah’s stick before taking himself out of the play.
But there was no second chance for Travis. The horn blew–a 2–2 tie–and the teams lined up to shake hands. Travis was right behind Sam. Big Kenzie MacNeil was coming through the line, barely touching hands rather than shaking them. When he came to Sam, he scowled.
“Keep off my case,” he hissed, “or I’ll take you out.”
Sam yanked off her helmet and shook out her bright red hair. She blinked several times, faking delight.
“My, my, Kenzie,” she said, smiling, “are you asking me out on a date?”
It was MacNeil’s turn to blink–but in genuine surprise. Had he not realized Sam was a girl?
“Go to hell!” he snarled.
He refused to shake Sam’s hand, slamming his fist into Travis’s glove instead and turning abruptly to leave the line.
Sam was laughing loudly.
It was a good thing, Travis thought, that Joe Hall had already ordered Nish to the dressing room.
Sam had scored another bull’s eye, and Nish would not have been pleased.