Blood and Ice

Sometimes I feel like a broken record stuck on repeat. Really that only happens for these announcements really. That’s right it is Wednesday again. Time once again to head over to Indies Unlimited and get our vote on. Crazy I know but so much fun.

Anyway, to give a bit of thought on this one the pic this week was of a hockey game. Though I hope you pick that up when you read the story. Sorry, am I being patronizing? I don’t mean to be. Honest I meant to be helpful. I would never talk down to you are anything like that I mean seriously, could you imagine…

Next your going to be telling stories about me kicking puppies or something. I mean it was only that one time a while back and the puppy deserved it and everything. Wait, scratch that. What I mean to say is get your votes in or the puppy gets punted. I mean it this time. Serious… Quit looking at me like that…

Blood and Ice

blood and ice

Photo by K. S. Brooks

I wasn’t there to watch the game, but that’s what I was doing. I was sidelined with an ankle injury that made me miss my first game in six straight seasons.

I don’t like to think of myself as the kind of guy who wants others to fail, but I found my stomach turning every time the rookie goalie replacing me made a save. He was good, and that was bad for me.

I was starting to think about life after hockey. While I was daydreaming about endorsement deals and my own restaurant franchise, a fight broke out on the ice…

Our enforcer had their center in a headlock. They fell to the ice as he dropped his weight into the other. Where the hell was the ref?

Refs and other players gathered around our goal. The wall of bodies blocked my view over there, but no officials caught or made to stop the fight on the other side of the ice.

A few of the other players caught the fight and pulled at one of the refs. He looked toward them and raced to their location, his whistle blasted through the chill air. Even with him gone from the wall of bodies I could see little of what happened at the goal.

EMTs fought their way onto the ice a gurney between them as they skated toward the goal. At the other end the ref pulled our enforcer off the guy flat on the ice. A few players intervened to help the ref keep him at bay. That guy wasn’t moving.

George, our enforcer, left the ice for the penalty box, right next to me. “What the hell happened?” I asked.

The look on his face, I will never forget that look, shock and rage, tinged with sadness. “High sticking,” he said. “Bastard chopped the rookie in the neck. Used his stick like an axe.”

When the group around our goal thinned, I saw the ice, dark color pooled into the goal. The rookie, his first game, and he’s taken from the ice on a stretcher.

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