Page 30 of Pucking the Team
The Welsh fans went wild, their cheers deafening and raucous. There was much celebration on the ice. Sticks werewaved, chests were pounded, and the Plexi was rattled by players high-fiving the crowd.
“That guy is too damn quick,” Gina muttered with a frown.
“Maybe you should buy him.” I shrugged. “You got space for one more?”
“It’s a good idea, and I did make an offer last transfer window but I was too close to the deadline to get a good conversation going. It fell by the wayside.”
“So can you try again?”
“Mmm.” She tapped her chin. “I should probably try. Trouble is, it takes a ton of money to get Welsh guys to leave Wales, know what I mean?”
“Everyone has a price.”
“True, true.” She set her attention back on the game.
It was in full swing.
“Now this is a power-play unit,” the commentator boomed. “We have The Vipers throwing out some serious muscle here to stay ahead on the scoreboard.”
I watched, breath held, as the puck shot along the right flank, all players in hot pursuit. It bounced off the side and was hooked by Brick. He spun around only to come face to face with a Devil. He rounded his way past him, but just when I thought he’d made an escape, the Devil railroaded into him. Both hit the ice, Brick sliding into the Plexi as another Devil landed on top of him with his stick outstretched.
Eduardo piled in, stick at the ready, but another Devil player collided with him and they both sprawled onto the ice.
“Oh fuck,” Gina said, standing.
All the players on the bench also stood.
A deep rumbling horn bellowed. The players piled up. There were sticks and helmets and shoulder pads and skates all over the place.
“Get them off,” Gina yelled.
Mike was on the ice, so were the other coaches. The ref was shouting and pointing.
I had no idea what was going on but was relieved when the players began to come out of their tangle.
All except one, that was.
Brick.
He stayed down.
“Oh no.” Fiona clasped her hands under her chin.
“What’s going on? Is he hurt?” I asked.
No one answered me.
The ref signaled to a medic.
“And it looks like Brick gave the wall a good headbutt. The medics are on him, there’s always drama. The guy is a wall but he’s met his match.”
I frowned. Were hockey commentators always so flippant about injuries?
The other Viper players were hovering around their teammate, sticks hanging loose, cages up.
“Is he unconscious?” I asked. It certainly looked like it.
But then he was helped to sitting. His helmet was removed, and he rubbed his head.
