Drop The Gloves

I stepped into the ice rink with my equipment bag heavy in one hand, my broomball stick light in the other. The cool air immediately hit my face, a sharp contrast from the unusually warm December night. As I inhaled the artificially cooled air, it tried its best to steal my breath away.

I took a minute to take in the atmosphere; tonight was the broomball finals – a chance to take home the coveted championship trophy but even more importantly, it was chance to beat down our rivals and have bragging rights over them for the year. A small smile crawled across my face as I slowly walked around the near side of the rink and towards the dressing room. At the last minute I glanced up at the bleachers and was surprised to see my girlfriend Janice wasn't there – normally she would be bundled up with a cup of hot coca in her hand. Must be running late I thought as I grabbed for the door handle. No time to worry about it now.

I stepped inside the locker room, the scent of sweat was overpowering – along with the smell of success and failure that had settled inside these four walls since the building's beginning. Oddly, the smell was comforting – one couldn't help but feel slightly like a warrior as they geared up – readying themselves for battle, to go face-to-face with their enemy at center ice.

I sat down in the far corner, next to the goalie equipment that belonged to my uncle. I looked around but was unable to find him in the sea of white and red jerseys – most of my teammates were over six foot – which made it particularly hard for my 5'9" frame to see my uncle's 5'6" one. He was in his fourth year of broomball, while I was nearing the end of my first. Together, our offensive and goaltending skills had lead our team to its very first finals appearance in their nine year history. The season hadn't been a complete fairy tale though; we had lost two blowout games earlier in the year to the Blackouts – the team we happened to be facing in less than fifteen minutes. I shook the thoughts of those losses from my head as I began to slide my gear on – trying to get the best "game face" on that I could.

I waited a few minutes longer, as John came back and finished putting on his equipment – afterwards we both headed out onto the ice to get a few minutes of practice before the game started. As we stepped out into the much cooler rink, I checked the stands once more – and there she sat. But something was different, I couldn't tell what – maybe she was sitting in a different section than normal? I shrugged it off, as I couldn't be sure and proceeded onto the ice.

John made his way to his net as I slid my helmet down, grabbing one of the broomballs and placing it down on ice. I was still trying to get use to the size of them - I was much more used to the tennis balls we had used for street hockey – this ball however, was the size of a cantaloupe and was nearly impossible to aim.

"Take some shots on me; I need to get warmed up," John said - his voice muffled behind the blue and yellow goalie mask.

I positioned the ball the best I could with the "broom" and fired off a shot, high and wide.

"Shit!"

The ball slowly rolled back near where I was standing, I took a run on it and WHACK – this time it skidded across the ice but was wide left – missing the goal by at least five feet.

"I hope you don't shoot like that in the game," John joked as I let out a loud sigh. As I jogged over towards the ball, doing my best not to take a header – I looked up at the scoreboard – the buzzer was about to go off and it was about to be show time.

"I see Janice made it tonight – how are things going there?" John asked as I tapped the ball in front of me, heading towards the net.

"I guess we're fine – I don't know, I haven't really had time to talk with her about it," I responded – I shot a look back and nearly did a double-take. She was sitting third row up from the bottom, but she wasn't sitting alone. Whoever she was sitting by was wearing black, I squinted – still not able to make out the face – but I knew whoever it was, they were playing for the other team.

"Hey, why don't you take a few more shots?" John attempted to keep me on the opposite of the rink from Janice and the mystery guest – but I couldn't.

"Hold on, I will in a sec..." ERRRRR, I was cut off by the buzzer. Shit, I won't be able to tell who it is now – but after every period we switch sides. That was the best I could do for now, although the sight was burning a hole in my brain – I had to refocus, it was just going to have to wait.

As the starting line-ups began to make their way to center ice, I watched as the guy talking to Janice jumped up and headed around towards the bench. It was too far away to make out the face, but I could see the number... 16. Who the hell is that? He must be new. Maybe I was overreacting – that's probably what any sane person reading my thoughts would have thought – but with all the problems we had been through in the past few weeks – I couldn't take chances, especially not tonight.

Again I did my best to shake the distracting thoughts away with little success. I stood to the right of the face-off, glancing at the ball, the scoreboard and Janice – one after the other, after the other.

And then the ball was dropped, the whistle was blown and I saw ball speedily making its way towards me. As I felt it hit my broom, I looked up ice – number 23 was barreling towards the net, a good three feet ahead of the closest opponent. And I slammed the backside of the ball with my broom – sending it a little wide, but close enough to my teammate that he was able to settle it and fire off a shot that ricocheted off the post.

I watched as it dribbled back behind the guy who shot it, I made a break for it and slammed it – it sailed past the net and hit off the glass behind it – fuck – I couldn't concentrate good enough to shoot accurately.

I stood there for a minute, not moving – watching as the other guys on the ice nearly wrestled with each other to get the ball. We kept it in their zone for the better part of two minutes before they hit it down ice and attempted to make a change. I was too preoccupied with watching for number 16 to come off the bench I didn't see my cousin coming with a full head of steam, he plowed over me, sending us both to the ice and the ball to his teammate who took a ripper that zinged just over my uncle's shoulder. With a loud buzz, the person running the scoreboard clicked a button and just like that we were down 1-0 with seven minutes remaining in the first period.

"Damn, you okay?" my cousin asked me as he helped me up from the ice – I didn't grab his extended hand, instead I flopped myself back on my feet the best I could – and I saw him, standing behind a few of the other players. Everyone was making their way back to the center line – ready for the face off. As I got into my spot, I watched as he backed off towards the goal – he was playing defense – that was good.

As the referee blew his whistle and the ball hit the ice, I ignored it and jumped across the line – turning to glance behind me, I saw my defense had everything under control – me and the other forward made out way past the defense and into scoring position as the other brought the ball into the offensive zone.

I turned to see Mr. 16 standing beside me – waiting for me to get the ball. I felt the frustration building – a wave of hot anger flooded my body for no good reason. I took a deep breath and made a sudden turn. Dropping the stick, I shoved him – sending him reeling on the slippery ice. As he attempted to keep his balance he reached out and caught a piece of my jersey – sending me crashing down on top of him. I heard whistles and people yelling – but it sounded a thousand miles away as if I was locked behind a giant metal vault. I drew back my fist and aimed for something not protected by hard metal – his midsection.

Wham, wham – two hard shots slammed into his slightly protected abdomen. He let out a grunt as the second one connected with force. After being momentarily stunned by he unexpected push and fall to the ice, he began to regain his bearings as he positioned himself to throw a punch of his own, first trying to unlatch my helmet. But he was too little, too late – by the time he had one strap undone and I had landed three more barely effective punches – I was being ripped off of him and thrown to the ice. I felt someone throw a knee – I assumed as warning that went unseen by everyone else, including the ref.

As I lay there gripping my sides, trying my best to regain my footing – the arena began to come flooding back into focus. I could see the 20 or so people in the stands whistling and laughing, I could see number 16 being held back by his teammates while the rest of my teammates were back behind the center line, none coming to my aid. Just as well.

I finally made it to my feet and walked slowly towards the bench – and then I heard it, coming from much closer than I expected. It was Janice, on the player's side of the arena. She was standing at the boards, just to the side of the Blackout's bench. She was screaming but I could barely make out what she was saying – obviously she didn't like the scuffle that had broken out. But fuck it, I just ignored her and jumped over the boards, coming to rest next to a few of our "bench warmers" who were laughing.

"Justin, what the fuck was that all about!?"

I didn't even turn around, what was the point? Was I supposed to deck her too? That was probably the wrong thing to ask myself at that exact moment. But she kept on yelling, and finally a few of my teammates stepped in and asked her to return to the bleachers. Good enough, now I didn't have to get myself riled up anymore. Shit, I probably wasn't even going to play the rest of the game as it was - no need to get my ass kicked off the team.

The first period came to a close without seeing me get back on the ice – there were no coaches in broomball, substitutions were done by the honor system – once you got tired or had been out there for a few minutes, you checked yourself out and a fresh pair of legs came out. Apparently the rest of the team had brought it upon themselves to put me on permanent bench or at least an extended stay on it for now.

The second and most of the third went the same way. Me, Phil and Ricky sat there basically twiddling our thumbs as we watched out team go back and forth, and by the time the five minute mark came around in the third period the score was tied 4-4.

Finally one of the players came running over towards the bench and hollered my name. It had felt like days since I had last played, I was almost caught off guard. He dove over the boards completely out of breath as I hopped over and raced towards the ball – eager to make up for my mental lapse earlier and win us the game.

Before I could make it to the ball, though I was checked out of the way as two of the Blackout players scooped up the ball and passed it back and forth. Our defenders were no match,the only thing between them and a 5-4 lead was my uncle John. They deked him left and tried to go high but he reached his glove up and snagged it out of mid air, keeping us in the game. He waited for a second before passing it to our defense as they made their way back towards the other goal; I re-positioned myself in scoring position and saw number 16 heading my way. I gritted my teeth, trying to concentrate on the game and not to worry about the asshole that was now ten feet from me and closing.

The ball was perfectly passed between our defender and center, leaving the center free to rush up the middle of the ice – it was him, number 16 and me in front of their goalie. He faked the shot and then passed it to me between his legs. I swung with all my strength – praying this wouldn't be one of those wild, off-target shots. When I heard the end of the stick hit and then the sound of the ball swoosh the back of the net a second or so later – I let out a sigh. We had done it, and with an ERRR it was cemented. Barring a miracle goal, we would be the 2009 broomball champions.

I looked up on the scoreboard to see the 5-4 score and the .24 seconds left on the game clock. There wasn't even really a point on having the final face off, you could barely blink an eye in that time – let alone score a goal. I began to make my way through the mob of Blackout players.

"Lucky goal, faggot."

I heard someone mumble. I looked over to see number 16 standing there, the only one facing me. Wait, what did he just fucking say to me? I stepped over to him and got in his face. To my surprise he repeated it, this time loud enough for everyone to hear it. He had crossed the line there, you couldn't attack a guy's manhood in front of his teammates and not expect him to retaliate.

So, as fast as I could I popped his helmet off his head and decked him right in the mouth. A lucky punch that caught him right in the teeth and like a classic boxing movie, sent him going one way and his mouth-guard going the other. He fell back on the ice and all hell broke lose. By the time it was all said and done – helmets, gloves, sticks and blood were all over the ice – it was like one of those bench clearing fights you see in the NHL or MLB – just without the play-by-play announcers going nuts.

Eventually the police arrived which was silly, you never saw that type of shit in professional sports but then again, this didn't happen too often in professional sports, well unless you were a Piston's fan. They broke everything up and did their best to increase the peace, sending each player to their respective locker rooms.

I changed as fast as I could, I wanted to talk to Janice before she left – I needed to find out who number 16 was – it was kind of funny that I STILL didn't know who he was after all the bullshit... just kind of.

She was standing right there as I stepped out of the locker room and again she came at me screaming, "What the fuck was that all about, Justin?"

I didn't know where to start.

"I saw that guy with you before the game – shit, I think I even saw you rooting for him." ... was the best I could come up with.

"Yeah, so?" the scowl on her face grew.

"Well, what was I supposed to fucking think? You haven't been very trustworthy lately."

"You're kidding me right, you do know who that was, right?"

The way she said that pissed me off, how the hell was I supposed to know everyone that she talked to – I had never seen the guy before, how was I supposed to know she wasn't fucking him?

I stood there, saying nothing – waiting for her to finish what was on the back of her tongue.

"He's my cousin, you asshole! See, this is why we can never work – you must think I am some kind of tramp; I'll fuck anything with two legs. So do me a favor and go fuck yourself!"

And with that, she took a few steps back and turned – pushing the door open and walking away. I didn't want her to leave but I knew there was nothing I could say to make her stop. So, I did the only thing I could do – I watched her get into her car, start it and screech off.

I stood there for a few minutes before my trance was interrupted by the sound of a pair of swift moving footsteps. I looked up to see Janice's cousin (complete with his bloody lip) and one of his larger teammates walking directly at me – and by the look on their faces, this wasn't going to be one of those 'what happens on the ice, stays on the ice' type of conversations. As that thought came and went, they were only a few feet from me – I gritted my teeth and braced myself for what was about to come...

- THE END -