looked at Muck like he’d lost his mind, but not Travis, and not the rest of the Owls. They knew. They knew because they’d seen Muck do it before. Throw all the sticks in the middle, and Muck would randomly divide them up into two piles. Players knew which team they were on by finding their stick in one of the two piles.
Travis had ended up on the Motors side. With the fans on their feet applauding, Muck signaled to the Zamboni driver, who was standing by the glass, that he wanted a fresh flood.
It was Mr. D who came up with the next idea. When the Owls returned to their dressing room to wait for the Zamboni to finish, they found that Mr. D had set out all the Owls’ original hockey equipment right in front of each player’s stall.
“We were hoping you’d burn this one,” Sam said, kicking the big bag with number 44 on the side – Nish’s bag, the place where, as Sam once put it, “dead rats go to rot.”
Nish shot her his usual raspberry and zipped open his beloved equipment bag, leaned over, and inhaled as if he were in a rose garden.
And it was Sarah who came up with the best idea of all.
“Let’s share the new stuff,” she had suggested.
Travis wished he’d thought of it. The expensive new Bauer equipment the producers had given them was the stuff of any peewee player’s dreams, but the Owls’ own equipment was all in good shape. Their regular socks and jerseys were in excellent condition. They all had nice skates, too, if not the shiny new Bauers all of them were wearing now.
“Let’s do it,” Travis agreed.
The Owls stripped off half of their new equipment and started to replace it with some of their old stuff. Mr. D and Muck carted the new sticks and pants and pads and skates down the hall to the Motors’ dressing room. They also took half of the Owls’ jerseys to lend to the Detroit players who had been drafted to the Screech Owls for this one final game.
Travis loved getting back into his old stuff. It
smelled
like him, not like new equipment from the sporting goods store. It
felt
right as he put on his old shin pads – right, left, right, left – and socks and pants.
The Screech Owls jersey spilled out of his equipment bag when he yanked out his shoulder pads. It fell on the floor and he quickly grabbed it up. He thought about how his grandfather always flew the flag at the cottage, and how his grandfather told Travis that a flag should never touch the ground. A Screech Owls jersey was obviously not a country’s flag, but it was Travis’s flag, and there was no way he would leave it on the ground like that.
But still, he couldn’t put it on. His stick had ended up on the Detroit Motors side. He had been given a Motors jersey and it lay beside him. It was, coincidentally, labeled with his number, number 7, but with different colours.
It didn’t matter, Travis thought to himself. He was playing for this team now. He was playing for all the kids who just wanted to play hockey and have fun and make new friends – not to be twisted and manipulated by a couple of devious television producers who were only interested in ratings. When Mr. D had come back looking for two more Owls jerseys to lend to the Motors players, Travis had surprised himself by volunteering his own.
He pulled the Detroit Motors jersey over his head.
And he secretly kissed the inside as he tugged it down.
The division of sticks had produced two great mixes of players. Travis and Sarah were now both Motors, so they could stay together on a line. But because Dmitri remained an Owl, Travis and Sarah were assigned a new right-winger by Mr. D, who took over the coaching for the Motors until a young assistant Motors’ coach, the only one still in the arena – and apparently the only one not in on the lies – stepped up and offered to take on the role. Once the fake coaches of the Motors had figured out that Inez and Brian wouldn’t be paying them, they’d all left.
The new winger on Travis and Sarah’s line
Travis had ended up on the Motors side. With the fans on their feet applauding, Muck signaled to the Zamboni driver, who was standing by the glass, that he wanted a fresh flood.
It was Mr. D who came up with the next idea. When the Owls returned to their dressing room to wait for the Zamboni to finish, they found that Mr. D had set out all the Owls’ original hockey equipment right in front of each player’s stall.
“We were hoping you’d burn this one,” Sam said, kicking the big bag with number 44 on the side – Nish’s bag, the place where, as Sam once put it, “dead rats go to rot.”
Nish shot her his usual raspberry and zipped open his beloved equipment bag, leaned over, and inhaled as if he were in a rose garden.
And it was Sarah who came up with the best idea of all.
“Let’s share the new stuff,” she had suggested.
Travis wished he’d thought of it. The expensive new Bauer equipment the producers had given them was the stuff of any peewee player’s dreams, but the Owls’ own equipment was all in good shape. Their regular socks and jerseys were in excellent condition. They all had nice skates, too, if not the shiny new Bauers all of them were wearing now.
“Let’s do it,” Travis agreed.
The Owls stripped off half of their new equipment and started to replace it with some of their old stuff. Mr. D and Muck carted the new sticks and pants and pads and skates down the hall to the Motors’ dressing room. They also took half of the Owls’ jerseys to lend to the Detroit players who had been drafted to the Screech Owls for this one final game.
Travis loved getting back into his old stuff. It
smelled
like him, not like new equipment from the sporting goods store. It
felt
right as he put on his old shin pads – right, left, right, left – and socks and pants.
The Screech Owls jersey spilled out of his equipment bag when he yanked out his shoulder pads. It fell on the floor and he quickly grabbed it up. He thought about how his grandfather always flew the flag at the cottage, and how his grandfather told Travis that a flag should never touch the ground. A Screech Owls jersey was obviously not a country’s flag, but it was Travis’s flag, and there was no way he would leave it on the ground like that.
But still, he couldn’t put it on. His stick had ended up on the Detroit Motors side. He had been given a Motors jersey and it lay beside him. It was, coincidentally, labeled with his number, number 7, but with different colours.
It didn’t matter, Travis thought to himself. He was playing for this team now. He was playing for all the kids who just wanted to play hockey and have fun and make new friends – not to be twisted and manipulated by a couple of devious television producers who were only interested in ratings. When Mr. D had come back looking for two more Owls jerseys to lend to the Motors players, Travis had surprised himself by volunteering his own.
He pulled the Detroit Motors jersey over his head.
And he secretly kissed the inside as he tugged it down.
The division of sticks had produced two great mixes of players. Travis and Sarah were now both Motors, so they could stay together on a line. But because Dmitri remained an Owl, Travis and Sarah were assigned a new right-winger by Mr. D, who took over the coaching for the Motors until a young assistant Motors’ coach, the only one still in the arena – and apparently the only one not in on the lies – stepped up and offered to take on the role. Once the fake coaches of the Motors had figured out that Inez and Brian wouldn’t be paying them, they’d all left.
The new winger on Travis and Sarah’s line
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