Page 8 of My Pucked Up Enemy

Nina

“Switch!Switch!Whatthehell was that?”

Connor’s voice is raw, echoing up through the glass from the bench. I’m six rows back, behind our visitor’s bench, trying to take notes without wincing every twenty seconds. The energy on the ice is frantic, like the team’s been plugged into the wrong voltage.

It’s chaos. Disjointed. Like they’ve forgotten how to play as a unit.

A botched breakout play turns into an easy goal for the other team, and the home crowd roars. Another notch on the scoreboard, another visible slump in the Acers’ shoulders. We’re already down three at the beginning of the second period.

I don’t sigh out loud, but I do write:

Loss of focus, emotional reactivity, poor recovery after mistakes.

Below that, I underline:Team cohesion breakdown.

On the bench, Parker tries to rally the guys around him, clapping gloves, forcing eye contact, trying to hold it together with sheer positivity. He’s saying something—can’t catch it—but his body language is purehold the damn line.

Across the bench, James and Ethan are bickering.

“I was covering him!” Ethan snaps, slamming down onto the bench.

“Yeah, with your eyes,” James shoots back. “Maybe try using your stick next time.”

Connor cuts in before it escalates. “Shut it down, both of you.”

This is the first line talking like this! There is trouble here.

And Alex looks stoic. I can see the tension in his shoulders from here. Even from his crease, it’s obvious he’s burning up behind the mask. He’s made some solid saves, but when his defense collapses and no one clears the crease, it’s impossible to hold the line forever. Every time the puck ends up behind him, his posture stiffens just a little more, like the weight of each goal is stacking on his back.

After the fifth goal—another blown defensive assignment—he slams his stick against the post before the puck is even pulled from the net. He doesn’t scream. Doesn’t look at anyone. Just turns his back to the play and skates in slow, simmering circles near the crease, like he’s trying to burn the frustration out of his system before the puck drops again.

I make another note:Alex – holding it together by sheer will. Frustration rising.

Midway through the second period, Coach Stephens calls a timeout. The first line huddles at the bench: Connor, Parker, James, Ethan. Alex stays in his crease, watching but not joining. Standard.

Coach’s voice cuts through the buzz of the arena. “I don’t care what the scoreboard says. Reset. You play smart, you play together, and you move your damn feet. Got it?”

Connor nods hard. “Let’s go. Shift the energy. We can still take momentum into the third.”

Parker claps his gloves. “Let’s get one back. Right here.”

The line jumps back on the ice, and for the next minute, something clicks. They tighten up. Connor takes the puck off the draw, threads it to James who actually passes instead of shooting, and Parker crashes the net. Rebound pops out and Connor buries it top shelf.

The Acers bench erupts. A glimmer. A heartbeat.

I jot a rare positive note:First line – flashes of cohesion. Controlled aggression. Trust.

For sixty seconds, they looked like themselves again.

Connor’s goal sparks a brief momentum shift. The next shift, the second line doesn’t let in a goal. They don't score either, but the puck stays in the offensive zone for more than twenty seconds, an improvement. Defense still looks tired, but I see better communication between the blue liners. Small corrections. Attempts at structure.

On the bench, I catch Ethan checking in with Parker during a line change. A low-five. A few words. A nod. Noted.

Another scribble on my tablet:Signs of leadership. Peer accountability increasing. Fragile but promising.

But it fades quickly. The shift doesn’t last. A neutral zone turnover leads to another odd-man rush. Sixth goal. The team sags again.

By the start of the third period, they’re running on fumes. The legs are there, but the belief is gone. It shows up in the little things like finishing checks late, second-guessing passes, and drifting out of position. The goalie can’t bail them out forever.

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