I don’t even get a second to enjoy it before I’m tackled to the ground. My face slams into the ice.
“Fuck you!” I hear Richie yell. His body crashes on top of mine.
“Get off of him!” Ryan yells and I can see him out of the corner of my eye lifting Richie off of me by the collar of his gear.
With Danton’s help, they both toss him off to the side and give me some space to get back to my feet. Which is great, because from here I have the perfect view of the line brawl that has just broken out. Clemmers has one of their defensemen in a headlock. O’Sheais trading punches with their left winger. Richie is struggling back to his feet, but Ryan is right there to push him back down. Even Ivanov has skated to the center of the ice where he’s challenging Minnesota’s goalie for a fight. It’s bedlam as the refs all try to pull everyone apart.
The crowd is on their feet. Half are cheering; the other half are screaming obscenities at us for demolishing their home team.
The refs are all blowing their whistles and still working to break up the fights. Ivanov has dropped both his glove and his blocker. He’s pulled his jersey and his chest protector off as now Minnesota’s goalie has come out onto the ice to meet his challenge.
Ivanov grabs him by the jersey and handily brings him down to the ice. He didn’t even have to throw a punch.
“That’s enough!” one of the refs yells, and yanks Ivanov up and away.
The refs all work together at getting each of the fights broken up, and all players sent towards their benches.
“Animals!” one ref yells. “You’re all animals!”
“Well, yeah,” Danton says, and points at the mule head on his jersey. “Don’t let this logo fool you. Mules make excellent guard dogs.”
“Just shut up and go back to your bench while we sort this out.”
“Here,” Ryan says, holding a towel towards me. He places it gently on my cheek and wipes. It’s harsh against my skin and comes away with blood on it. “You’re gonna need some stitches for that.”
“That bad, huh?”
His lips lift. “Don’t worry, you’re still a Green Bay eight.”
“Hey,” I laugh. “I’m a Green Bay ten and a half and you know it.”
He leans in close. “Do I ever,” he says, then wipes the blood that’s dripping from my eyebrow again.
One of the refs finally makes it to center ice and signals he’s about to make his call. The stadium comes to a near hush.
“Upon review and assessing the play, Minnesota numbertwenty-nine, McDaniel, receives a five-minute penalty for roughing, and a match penalty, subject for further review by the commissioner and player safety, which could result in a suspension of at least one to as many as five games.”
The Minnesota crowd erupts into boos. Richie, looking furious, skates off the ice and heads down the tunnel.
The ref signals that he’s not done yet and waits for the crowd to quiet down once again. “We have also decided that every player on the ice shall receive a ten-minute misconduct. Upon the restart of play again, we will play four on four for the remaining eight seconds.”
Laughing, all of us Mules who have just been tossed skate off the ice together. When we pass Coach Chris, I can see him snickering behind his clipboard.
He stops me by placing a hand on my shoulder. He looks at my eye, then looks at Ryan. “Make sure the trainers get to him first.”
“You got it, Coach,” Ryan says, then pushes me forward with his hand. “Let’s go, slugger. There’s some stitches with your name on them.”
TWENTY-SIX
Brandon
“We’ve got this,” Coach Chris says, his voice calm and even as he gives us our pregame pep talk before puck drop. “We’re three games ahead of them; we have some breathing room. They’re the ones feeling tight right now. Not us. They don’t want to be swept. Which means they’re going to come at us hard, and if they’re desperate enough, sloppy. Be ready. Take advantage. And most importantly, don’t let up the pressure.”
“Yes, Coach!” we all say together.
“It’ll be light work, Coach,” Danton says cheerfully. He’s all smiles. He has been for pretty much this entire playoff run. It’s easy to see he’s having the time of his life.
I am too. Even if my pounding heart rate betrays me. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this. A part of me hopes not. Because if this begins to feel normal, if it doesn’t get my nerves set on edge, then I fear it will have lost its excitement. And I never want to lose my love for this game or my appreciation for being in a position where I can experience this.
