As I make my way onto the ice to warm up, I make my eyes travel to Parker. She’s holding Allison in her arms as they chant my name. My girls. She didn’t want to sit in the wives’ box tonight. She wanted to be front and center to support ‘her man.’
It’s a tough twenty minutes. Everyone is skating hard, everyone is using their body as much as they need to, but both goalies are in the zone. Both of them pull out amazing saves to keep their teams in the game.
By the end of the second period, the score remains the same. The fans are getting louder and louder as the time goes on and more drinks are consumed.
We are getting ready to go out for our last twenty minutes. This is where dreams are made.
“Okay, boys, we’ve got twenty minutes left. Some of you have already been here. Some of you are here for the first time. All three have been amazing, but none of them has meant as much as being with you guys. When I went through that crazy two-week slump, none of you brought it up.” A couple of my teammates laugh. “Okay, some of you brought it up, but we endured it. We endured Anderson getting hurt and barely made those play-offs. We’ve been the underdogs this whole fucking series. Now I’m fucking tired. I want to have this fucking game over with so I can go home a fucking winner. I’ve won three of these things before, but I’ve never wanted to win one as bad as I do today, because of all of you. Now let’s get our fucking game on and win ourselves a fucking Stanley Cup.” With that, I walk out with the boys all hyped, chanting go go go go go.
Once my feet hit the ice, I look around. All fans are on their feet, ready for the last period of the game.
“Let’s finish this fucking game,” I say when I get on the bench. “Show time, boys. Let’s show ‘em what we got.”
It’s the third period, and everyone is out for blood or at least that’s what it seems to me. The checks are harder than I’ve ever felt, the rush faster than before.
But we’re late in the third period, and we are still tied at zero. With seven minutes to go I get to shoot. It’s a play that we’ve come to know from this team. Passing like a diamond, I’m waiting for it. I’m between both defensemen, waiting for one of them to get the puck and pass it to the other. The puck is behind me. I hear it touch tape to tape when I see the right defenseman get it, and just like that I stretch out my stick, knocking the puck out of the zone, skating with it all by myself. I feel the defenseman right behind me, but I also see the goalie in front of me. Their goalie is getting ready for my shot. He has studied me for many years. None of my moves are different. Except today, today I’m fucking winning this motherfucker. When I skate over the blue line, I don’t stay right but almost brake, slowing it down but not too much that the defenseman can catch up to me. What seems like an eternity is five seconds tops, and just like that it’s me and the goalie one-on-one. Someone is going to be the hero. The question is who will it be.
I see him go right, and as soon as I see him move I tip it up so I know it’s going to go right over his left shoulder. He has no chance to stop it, and just like that the red light goes off behind. The ref is calling the goal, and I’m jumping into the glass window where I’m crushed by the four teammates on the ice.
It’s insane. The noise in this building is vibrating off the walls. We can’t even hear each other talk. While I skate along with my teammates to the bench to celebrate the goal, I turn to look up at Parker. She’s standing there high fiving everyone that she can possible touch. Allison is jumping up and down, her blond curls going everywhere. Matthew salutes me with a nod while cheering.
“Okay, boys. Four minutes to go. We can do this,” I say to the bench. We can’t get sloppy. We must be confident so we don’t fuck up, but thank God, Anderson is on fire. He’s already saved four shots in one minute.
With two minutes to go we call a penalty for tripping. It’s the worst thing that can happen. Two minutes it’ll be five on four. They will most likely pull the goalie, making it six on four. Too many men on the ice. It’s a matter of time.