An Excerpt from “The Empty Net” by Jim Hatch

Following practice one Tuesday afternoon, he was called into the coach’s office unexpectedly. A summons into the quarters at the end of the locker room can only mean two things and there certainly was not a chance of being cut, not after all he had done for the program. This was it. He could feel it coming as he stepped into the office and sat down across from the coach and beside a man in a gray suit topped with a scaly cap, presenting a piece of paper that if signed, would make him official property of a low level professional team that had a bountiful history of players later drafted up to the big time. The representative made it very clear that the team was interested in him, and after the general manager attended his next game to see the young man in action, they could then sign the contract to make the transaction official. A professional scout was finally offering him a job. This was the greatest day of his life.

Saturday had finally arrived after what seemed like an eternity waiting for game day and it was against the most aggressive and dirtiest team in the league- the Clippers, a fitting name for a team known for its late hits and wildly swinging sticks. He sat in his stall in the locker room. His skates were laced tight, shin pads secured, and made certain his jock was securely in place. Before putting on his upper body gear, he wrapped his wrists in white tape, anticipating a scrap or two, and didn’t care to risk injuring a hand after slugging the facial cage of an opponent if necessary. A wave of nausea passed through his stomach. He couldn’t remember being nervous for a game in his life but then again; the stakes were much higher this time.

Squaring off at center ice, the linesman dropped the puck to the ground and the game was underway. Only sixty minutes separated him from accomplishing his dream. Stepping forward, he won the draw back to the defenseman on the blue line before being knocked to the ice by a crosscheck to the back delivered by the opposing center. The opening seconds made it clear that the game would be just as physical with cheap shots as he anticipated. Leaping back to his feet, he started up ice, anticipating the pass. After dumping the puck into the offensive zone, he skated to the bench. Knowing he would be given all the playing time he could handle, he would only need to take quick shifts. He couldn’t afford to expend all of his energy early on, not with the scouts in the stands.

The horn sounded as the first period came to a close. With both teams heading to the locker rooms to regroup, he was given a shove by a passing opponent’s shoulder. Turning toward the offense, he brought his gloved hands up, shoving the instigator in the chest. Before any more could come of the situation, a linesman and a referee were between the two, quickly defusing the situation. While the opponent skated toward the locker room door, he watched the Clipper jersey, showing the number 3, retreat. He would take care of the situation the next period, the way he had been trained to do.

Ten minutes had ticked away in the second period and there was still no score. After the Eagles’ defenseman recovered a rebound that had beaten the goaltender over the shoulder but kicked back out after pinging the crossbar, a pass was made up to the wing and the rush started. Looking to the Clipper’s bench, the young talent saw the opening he had been waiting for and called to swap positions with the right wing. Racing along the boards, he was able to cut off the line change, barreling into the fresh-legged opponent trying to take to the ice, slamming him backward over the bench boards he was trying to climb over. As number 3 fell to the rubber mats, the play was immediately blown dead. He headed straight for the penalty box to serve his minor for interference as the remaining players on the ice all locked together in a shoving match. “Two minutes?” he thought. “Well worth it.”

The penalty time expired as the puck was cleared out of the defensive zone, meeting the blade of his stick as he hopped onto the ice, behind the defenders. Racing in alone, his eyes were locked on the top left corner of the rectangular frame. Shifting possession from his forehand to backhand and back again, his right hand pressed the shaft of the stick, pushing the puck against the snowy surface etched with ruts. Thrusting forward, the puck rose from the ground and continued to elevate over the goaltender that had dropped to his knees, turning his head to see the black disc hover over his blocker side and collide with the netting, just under the elbow intersection of the red piping. Gloves, sticks, and skates banged against the boards from the home bench as the rest of the team applauded the goal. Making his way to the bench and being tapped in the shins by sticks from fellow Eagles on the ice, he looked to the corner to see that his father had made the trip down and was pounding the glass, cheering on his son that had given his team the go-ahead goal.

With 12 seconds to go and the clock running, the Eagles began another break out led by the star center. He carried the puck out of his zone and cut to the right side, trying to pass by the remaining defender as the other half of the defensive pair failed to keep the puck. Sending a saucer pass across to the left side, his left wing batted the puck to the ice as the defenseman stumbled trying to pivot and engage with the shooter, a rookie mistake. Before he could make contact with the wing, the pass had already been thrown across the slot, bouncing off the blade for a redirect, pushing the puck along the ice and under the goaltender’s sliding pads, hitting the back of the net as time expired. Again, the cheers roared within the arena from both the bench and the stands. Sprinting to the door, he exhaled in relief. Notching another point would surely solidify the deal that would bring him to play with the big boys. Glancing to the corner, he saw the look on his father’s face. The old man could not have looked any prouder of his son than he did at that moment.

The aggressive and heavy hitting throughout the first two periods erupted into a shit show of a third. Players were shoved after the whistles had blown. Goaltenders on both sides slashed at the attackers low in the slot. Sticks collided with heads and elbows were thrown on every body check. Little of the period was played five-on-five as players were sent to sit in the sin bin often. At one point, the Eagles were down two men when the Clippers managed to bury a loose puck, closing the lead to just one goal.

With already two goals late in the game, a penalty was called for a blatantly intentional high-stick, which left his team short-handed for 5 minutes while the major infraction was served, bringing the talented young star onto the ice for the penalty kill that would have to last the remaining minute of the game to hold onto the win. The coach gave him specific instructions- get the puck and ice it. Only up by a goal, clock management was the coach’s main concern. They had the win in their hands; there was no need to further risk blowing the lead.

However, when the right defenseman made the mistake of an on-ice pass across the slot, he quickly made the interception and raced the puck out of the zone. “Ice it! Ice it!” screamed the coach and the players from the bench, but his ego got the best of him. The Clippers had pulled their goaltender to play the remaining minute six on four, hoping to tie the game with a two man advantage. Racing down the ice, he had only one man to beat as he passed through the neutral zone in 3.2 seconds. He could really fly. Flipping the puck onto the curved blade of his stick, he then tossed it high over the head of the opponent. By the time the puck landed, he had already passed the back-checker as his head was lost in the ceiling trying to find the floating biscuit. Catching his own pass, he again was in alone, 60 feet away from yet another career hat trick. Before he could take the shot, he crashed to the ice.

Looking across the ice, he saw the player he had just beaten into the zone meet a wall of bench clearing Eagles, taking exception to the dirty play made by once again, number 3. As he was about to add the insurance goal and extend the lead to two once again, a violent and forceful blow from a two-handed slash blasted against the outside of his right knee. Unable to pull himself up, the trainer rushed to his side. The referee and two linesmen attempted to break up the brawling players, but were ineffective. While the Clippers coach screamed from the bench for his team to control themselves, the head coach of the Eagles stayed silent, with his eyes glued to his fallen player, fearing for his safety, as his bonus heading toward a speedboat lay sprawled on the ice.

For more on the rest of the story or for more information, contact Hatch at jhatch3@comcast.net