From The Vault: Overtime

In this edition of From The Vault, a short story about hockey written back when the Leafs, well, still hadn't made the playoffs for a while...



Overtime



   As the horn blew the game was still tied three goals apiece, meaning only extra time could decide the winner of this close contest. The two captains of each team, Rod Johnson and Billy “Wrinkle Kid” White, hit the ice and skated to the referees, both of them with a different complaint. With a roll of his eyes, the head ref met them at centre ice.
    ‘Listen stripes, you left the penalty clock running ten seconds past regulation. Our powerplay should have an extra ten going into OT’ claimed White, rubbing his sweaty beard.
    ‘Come on ref, if they get extra powerplay time then ya gotta let me use the Accelerator!’ argued Rod Johnson in protest.
    Captain White stared at Johnson then at the referee in shock, unable to believe this had even been brought up again. ‘The Accelerator? The Accelerator! That thing your team has that brainwashes opposing players? That?’ he asked in outrage.
    ‘Hey, if you guys are getting the extra ten seconds, then they should be able to use the Accelerator. It’s only fair,’ explained the referee.
    ‘Yeah,’ agreed Johnson, sticking out his tongue.
    A vicious scowl decorated White’s battled, sweat dripping face as he skated back to his team’s bench. He put his arms along the top of the boards and faced the rest of his players, shaking his head all the while.
    ‘Alright boys, we have the extra man for fifty-three seconds, plenty of time to sneak one by. Thing is stripes is letting 'em use the Accelerator, so if you get bodychecked you’re good as their’s.’
    ‘Man I hate that stupid thing…’ muttered Alternate Captain Stefan Meadows.
    ‘Right. So here’s the plan,’ resumed White. ‘First thirty ticks of the powerplay we send the rookies out. Then once they’ve all been accelerated…’
    A collective gulp came from the end of the bench.
    ‘… Meadows, Vilakov, Turnbull, Stall and myself hit the ice in a blitz toward the net. Any questions?’
    A hand raised two metres away from White. ‘Yeah, um, shouldn’t the coach be making strategic decisions?’
    ‘Shut up, Tork,’ answered Meadows. ‘Sides, coach is away for personal reasons.
    The coach was in fact at a casino in High Falls, Nevada, “investing” the bonuses of his latest contract.      
    ‘Right,’ agreed Turnbull, straightening his glasses. ‘The Wrinkle Kid’s in charge.’
    Billy White flashed a faint smile, just before giving a firm final glance over each of his players. ‘I know we can beat these assholes. Now let’s go! Newbie, you’re first off the pine!’
    The meatballs Matthew Willis had eaten for lunch fell to the pit of his stomach. ‘M… m… me?’ he asked, quivering.
    ‘Y… y… yes! You!’ said Meadows. ‘Now get the hell out there!’
    With all the sheer courage he could muster, Willis leapt over the boards and onto the ice, Rod Johnson and his line-mates waiting for him there. Behind Willis came defenseman Kevin Cordiel, who with incredible calmness was playing his first ever game. Soon all five rookies were off the bench, led by big Farina Montroise skating to the faceoff circle.
    ‘Ya really think this ridiculous plan’s gonna work, Wrinkle Kid?’ asked Meadows sullenly.
    ‘No.’ answered Billy White, scraping his kneepads against the boards. ‘I just don’t wanna be brainwashed.’
    The horn went and the period was set to begin, sending Willis’ skates into an uncontrollable frenzy of shaking. Sweat came down in beads from his face, as his stomach began burning from inevitable terror.
    ‘Don’t worry buddy, I got you covered,’ said the defenseman Cordiel, giving Willis a tap with his stick.
    Down came the puck and away went the skaters in a scramble to retrieve it, while the player in the lonely penalty box knew in under a minute he’d be joining the fray. Johnson took control of the puck and charged the opposing blue-line, only to be stopped in his strides by Cordiel.
    ‘Accelerate!’ he ordered his troops, giving a hard chase after Cordiel and the puck.
    Instantly, Johnson’s team went off to corner and check the rookies, without any regard to what else was going on. First they leveled a defenseman into the boards, and in seconds he was up and joining their rush to the net. Montroise however was able to force a turnover and, just as he was sandwiched by three guys, clear the puck down to the other end. With the numbers now six to three in their favour, Johnson and his new line-mates entered and left their zone in a flash, looking to make this the last attack they’d need.
    The dump in behind the net was perfect as the goalie Stromqvist couldn’t play it, leaving Willis, the nearest skater, responsible for this certain suicide. He retrieved the puck along the boards as quick as he could, but it was too late. In the corner of his eye he saw three guys coming at him fast; there was no time to escape. Willis closed his eyes and braced himself for the mind-numbing bliss that was approaching, his only remaining hope that he might later screw up and give his real team a chance.
    Suddenly two of the attacking skaters fell to the ice, as the third, Kevin Cordiel, had taken them both down with a clean, glorious check.
    ‘Take it! Go!’ screamed Cordiel, just before the influence of the Accelerator reached his mind.
    Without a second to spare Willis strode off hard with the puck, fumbling it endlessly but still keeping control. He crossed his blue-line and the open ice welcomed him, only five enemy skaters between himself and the net. A sharp move to his right and the first obstacle couldn’t block him, though a fighting stick lingered not too far behind. The assimilated Montroise came at him next, his new shiny green eyes of a controlled mind coming hard for Willis’ lumber. But even a simple brainwashing couldn’t make up for Montroise’s lack of mobility, as Willis slid the puck through his legs and dodged him too.
    ‘Shit, wouldya look at this kid?’ exclaimed Billy White from the bench. ‘Turnbull! Vilakov! Stef! Let’s give the kid some help!’
    ‘Buvt veire only twhenty ceeven indo de Pow-ver-play…’
    ‘Doesn’t matter! Lines lets go! Cept you, Stall. Kid took your spot.’
    ‘Fukin kid…’ grumbled Stall.
    Without another word, the four of them leapt from the bench and hit the ice in an all-out blitz. The referees, completely aware of the too-many-men-on-the-ice rule, inexplicably decided to let this chaos ensue, likely just out of astonishment.
    Johnson’s drones came right away after these new opponents, nearly taking out Meadows before he could take a single stride. The forgotten man still in the penalty box grinned with glee at seeing his team’s sheer dominance, until something from the corner of his eye reversed that feeling instantly. He waved frantically to his teammates but it was no use. White’s distraction had worked.
    Willis crossed the enemy blue-line, the puck still his, with Vilakov rushing fast on his right wing. Of the eight skaters Johnson had under his control, only two were back in their own end. Hesitating, Willis tried one more move to shake the last defenseman, but it didn’t work. The defender latched onto him, and quickly he felt his senses beginning to accelerate, his thoughts becoming hollow and replaceable. Before the process could complete he launched the puck hard to his right, missing the net entirely. It was too late, now he was theirs.
    The puck rounded the boards and came right back to the other side, onto Vilakov’s waiting blade. In less than a second he turned himself to the net in one slick, sweet motion and fired. And scored.
    ‘Yes! Yes!’ yelled Billy White, raising his arms in impossible triumph. He had been about three seconds away from getting checked by three guys.
    The bell rang loud as the Accelerator’s spell snapped like a bar of sesames, allowing the whole team to celebrate this unpredicted victory. White knocked young Willis on the helmet, while Kevin Cordiel tossed him a look transcending mere admiration. A somber Meadows came over and bumped his fist, looking off to the crowd with his worn, war tested eyes.
    ‘Good first assist, kid. Don’t worry, they come a bit easier than that one.’
    Meadows then paused for a second. ‘Well, most of ‘em.’