Colbert is already on the ice. Their big star, number nine, is a guy by the name of Darren Reynolds. Darren really is the whole package, let me tell you. He is five foot eleven, and 192 pounds. He has fifty six points in twenty games (32-24). He leads their team in hits, with an average of six hits per game. I've been on the receiving end of many hits from him. He is a feared player around the league, due to his strength and power. Hell, his imposing figure is enough to make someone turn the opposite direction.
The referee, John Kelly, stands at centre ice. He has been the referee for most of our games this season. He is a fair ref, who tends to let a few things go at times. He allows the players to just play the game.
In this league, overtime is a five minute, four on four affair, exactly like the National Hockey League. Overtime is non-stop action until the end. It is the most intense part of any hockey game. The first to score a goal wins the game for their team. Scoring an overtime winner automatically makes you hero for a day. Hey, you just won the game, right?
The teams line up in their positions. I am at centre. Luke is on my left. Nathan and Josh are back on the defence positions. Noel is in goal. On the other end, Darren stands opposite me. I don't know their other three skaters. Nick Jenkins is their goaltender.
The referee looks at Darren and myself, and asks us if we are ready. I nod. Darren grunts. The ref raises his arm, and drops the puck at centre ice.
As soon as the puck hits the ice, the action begins. I sweep the puck back to Nathan, who passes to Luke. He is like a speeding bullet as he skates into Colbert's zone. Luke drives to the net, letting go a high wrist shot. The puck sails just over the crossbar, hitting the glass.
Luke follows the puck, picking up his own rebound (he is very good at that). He passes back to Josh, who shoots it. The puck goes through traffic towards the net. Nick Jenkins makes a pad save, and covers it with his glove. The whistle blows, and I skate to the bench.
Off the next faceoff, our centre, Sam Kline, wins it back to Connor Jost, a winger. Connor lets a high shot go, wide of the net. Darren Reynolds picks it up behind his net and starts to skate up the ice with it.
He passes our blue line and stops. He raises his stick as if to go for a slap shot, but doesn't shoot. Instead, he passes to the right faceoff circle, where a winger is waiting. He one-times the puck towards Noel. Luckily, Noel is there and he makes a good glove save. There are three minutes and twelve seconds left on the clock. I jump on the ice, for a real important shift.
Hockey is, and has been for a very long time, a sort of religion for me. From the moment I was three years old and watching Saturday games with my father, hockey has been my bread and butter.
The first game I saw with my dad was a Saturday game between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadiens, back in 1971. I remember being fascinated by seeing Jean Beliveau and Yvan Cournoyer skating up and down the ice. I swear, their jerseys were made of silk, the way they flapped behind the players as they skated.
Now, my ambitions are stronger than ever. Once I am old enough, I want to play junior hockey, and later on, I hope to play in the NHL. I know that I can make it big in hockey someday, that I just have to work hard to get where I need to go.
The referee drops the puck, and I lose the draw to the Colbert centre. He shoots and the puck hits Noel in the chest. Noel uses his stick to bat the puck away, and Josh takes possession.
I see my chance. There is a huge gap between the two Colbert defenders. Josh let's go a long pass, which I corral at our blue line. I begin to skate forward, as fast as my legs can carry me. I am like a speeding jet in flight. I push past the two defenders, and I am on a breakaway.
I skate past Colbert's blue line. I deke once, and deke again. Nick Jenkins still hasn't made a move.
Thoughts race through my head. Do not make a move until he does. Let him commit first. This is your moment, Jordan. Seize it.
Nick makes a move first. As I get close to the net, he drops to his knees- a fatal mistake. I shift to my forehand once more, and let a wrist shot go. It is a rising shot that just sneaks over his shoulder. The puck hits the crossbar, hits the ice, and trickles into the net.
I raise my arms over my head. I cannot believe that I actually did it. I have scored fifty goals in twenty games! I have just broken a league record. Hell, I didn't just break it, I obliterated it! The fastest to fifty in our league before me had fifty in thirty-four games. I just scored as many goals in fourteen games fewer.
I skate to the bench. My teammates give me pats on the back and high-fives in congratulation.
"Nice one, Devlin," one says.
"Atta boy, Cap'n," says another.
Nick Jenkins skates over to our bench at that moment. He holds out his hand and I shake it. "What a beauty," he says. "No goalie in the world would stop that." He hands me the puck that I scored on him with.
"Thanks Nick," I say. "Rough game, huh?"
"Yeah, I thought Darren was going to shit himself when you got that breakaway. He was absolutely seething, by the looks of it."
He skates away. "Come on," one of our players says. "It's freezing out here." We go down the hallway towards our dressing room. Once we get there, the cheering begins.
"Three cheers for Jordan!" Luke yells. The team does three "hip-hip-hoorays!".
We are all yelling and screaming at this point. I don't think we realize just how loud we are until a loud whistle silences us. We turn around, and see Coach Bennington standing there.
"I think they could hear you across the world," he says. "Now, I need to talk to Jordan for a moment. Jordan?"
I stand and take off my skates quickly. I then follow Coach Bennington into his office. Coach's office is small, much smaller than our dressing room, and he uses it mostly for paperwork, and to field phone calls. I have only been in this office twice before: the first time was three years ago, when I joined the team; the second time was last year, when Coach handed me the "C" that is on my jersey now.
This time, a man stands in front of Bennington's desk. He wears a dark suit jacket, with a red tie (not my first choice), and a pair of black gloves. He has a smile on his face, and I know exactly what he is. A scout, he has to be. That grin says it all.
"Jordan, this is John Weir, a scout with the Oshawa Generals organization," Coach says, confirming my suspicion. "He contacted me yesterday, letting me know that he wanted to attend the game today."
I shake Weir's hand. "What a game that was, too," Weir says. "That really was something, eh?"
"Yeah, I guess so," I mutter.
"I have an offer for you, Mr. Devlin," Weir says. "I'm sure you won't refuse."
"All right," I say. "I'll hear it. What's the offer?"
"I want you to play for us," he says. "You can go home, pack a bag or two, then it's off to Oshawa for you. I want you to play in our next game, against Parry Sound. I'm sure Coach Rogers will approve.
"You'll have a great life in Oshawa. You get a free apartment, paid for by the team. Of course, you'll have a roommate. You'll receive a tutor, and get all your schooling from her. Also, there's lots of pretty girls in Oshawa who just love hockey players. So Jordan, what do you say?"
I don't know what to say. I mean, it gives me the chance to play junior hockey, which I have always wanted to do. It would be one step closer to the National Hockey League. It seems like an offer too good to be true. But it is true.
However, it is the middle of the season. I would have to leave the Ryerson Raiders, the team I've grown to love over the last three years. I have unfinished business here: I must win a championship here. If I left before I did that, I would have that empty feeling inside me, saying why did you leave? You didn't accomplish your goal.
I know in my heart that I cannot accept this offer. It's too early, and I don't think that I'm ready yet.
"It's an amazing offer, Mr. Weir, it really is," I say. "But I just can't do it. I have unfinished business here, with the Raiders. I can't leave until I finish what I started. It's just not possible. Next season, sure, I'll play. Junior hockey is something that I've dreamed about for years, and I really want to play. Really, I do. But I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I went now. I'd have the everlasting voice in my head, telling me to go back to the Raiders. I cannot believe that I am saying this, but I have to decline your offer for the moment, sir."
Weir looks stunned, as if to say, How dare you refuse us?. "Um... O-okay," blusters Weir. "I was told by the general manager that I have to accept anything, as long as we have you."
"I told you, sir," I reply. "It'll have to wait until next season."
"All right, fine!" Weir says. "Next season works. Oh, Mr. Schneider's gonna kill me..."
Coach Bennington (who I forgot was even there) puts a hand on Weir's shoulder. "It's okay, John," he says excitedly. "Jordan will come to your club eventually. You just have to wait a little while." I swear there's a happy tone to his voice as he speaks.
"All right," Weir says. "I guess I'll be off then. Good day to you." He leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Coach," I say. "Just to let you know, I was never-"
"I know, Jordan," he says. "Part of me is glad you declined, yet part of me is upset."
"Why?"
"I want to see you go on to better things, and going to play junior hockey sure is a way to go. Yet I am glad that you have such team spirit in you that you are willing to put your teammates over your future."
"I didn't crash my future there, did I?"
"No Jordan, you did not," Coach says. "It will come eventually. It just wasn't the time for you quite yet. Now, go out there and tell your teammates about this. They deserve to know."
I exit the room, going back into the dressing room. Everyone looks at me expectantly. I just stare back at them, unsure of what to say.
"Come on, tell us what happened," Connor says.
"Yeah, the suspense is killing us," Sam shouts.
"All right, I'll tell you," I reply. I breathe in, and then slowly exhale. "I've been offered a spot on the Oshawa Generals."
_____
The song on the side is "Money for Nothing", by Dire Straits.