Page 188 of On His Team

First period is ugly. Everything gets interrupted. Sticks in lanes. Bodies in corners. Dump-outs. I get hit behind our net twice in the first six minutes and hit somebody else hard enough that he looks at me after the whistle.

Blue gets into something near their bench. Benson grabs the back of his jersey and pulls him away before he can turn it into a penalty. Stanley takes a hit behind the net that spins his helmet sideways. He spends his next shift looking for the guy who did it. Percy stops nine.

We score none.

They score none.

0-0.

In the room, Coach Fuller draws one thing on the board. Their weak-side winger is collapsing too low on our retrieval. He circles the space above the dots.

“Somebody use this.”

I stare at it. Middle. Of course.

Second period starts faster. Ohio State gets the first one four minutes in. Nothing dramatic. Shot from the wall. Rebound goes somewhere Percy doesn’t want it. They get there first.

1-0.

The building tightens.

Benson gets us even eight minutes later on the power play. Stanley shoots from the top. Traffic. Rebound. Benson finds it.

1-1.

The noise changes immediately. Momentum is mostly a word people use after something happens, but there are nights when you can feel a building decide the next ten minutes belong to the home team.

This feels like that.

Our next two shifts are good. Blue finishes a hit. Mackey holds the line. Stanley gets a shot through. Their goalie kicks it out. Then the puck gets rimmed behind our net.

I go back for it.

First look before I get there.

Their winger is high.

Second look.

He changes direction.

I don’t.

That part is automatic now. The part that used to take all of my attention. I pull the puck off the wall. Their first forechecker expects D-to-D. I see it in the way he turns his hips.

There is space in front of me. Not a lot. I step out from behind the net. One stride. Then another. Their winger adjusts late. The middle opens.

I hear the bench shouting. I have no idea what they’re saying. Probably all of it. Move it. Go. Shoot. Wall. Something.

For half a second, every version of this play I have made for four years tells me the same thing.

Move the puck. Make the safe play. Get it up the wall. Do your job.

Then I think about the clinic. Not intentionally. It just flashes through. Gianna standing at the gate with forty-eight kids on the ice behind her. Nobody in that building knowing how many things went wrong before it started. Her fixing them anyway. Just making the next decision.

I have a lane, so I take it. I carry above the circle. Their winger is still trying to catch up. Defenseman backs off. Goalie squares. I shoot. Low blocker. I don’t actually see the puck cross the line.

I hear the sound first.