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Slobbin · 04-25-2017, 05:45 PM

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<center>Johnson “JJ” Jack’s First SMJHL Game – A Personal Account</center>

- Inside Montreal Militia Stadium Away Team Locker Room, 20 minutes before puck drop.

“His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy.
There’s vomit on his sweater already, Mom’s spaghetti.”

I took my headphones off. I was hoping those infamous lyrics would help me throw up this nauseous feeling in my stomach. It didn’t. The ringing in my ears isn’t helping either. I stood up, looked behind me at my locker and saw a piece of stick tape that had the words “Jack Johnson – D” scribbled across it in what I can only assume was crayon. Well, if this is any indication of how “smart” the Militia are, then I shouldn’t have too much trouble tonight, I thought. I felt a tug on my shoulder pads.

“JJ, here’s the roster for tonight.” I turned and saw Robert Phelps, first line forward for my newly joined team, the Vancouver Whalers, standing behind me. “You were assigned to the 3rd line defensive pairing, sorry man. I tried to get in the changes to put you on the 2nd like we had discussed, just didn’t happen in time.”

“Hey man, no worries. I’m just glad to be playing at all,” I said, making my best oh I’m totally not about throw up on your skates face.

Phelps continued, “I know that you haven’t been able to get on the ice with us yet, but I wouldn’t be worried about it. Just skate your game and you’ll do just fine.”

“A-alright. Thanks.”

I sat back down, and breathed a sigh of relief. Alright, 3rd line. Less minutes. Less jitters.

- 14:20 to play in the first period, score tied at 0-0

“JJ WAKE UP AND GET IN THERE!”

I jolted awake, felt a pair of hands grab me on either side and toss my over the boards. I slammed down onto the ice and narrowly missed smashing my nose along with the rest of me.

“Get your head in the game, ya Dick!” screams Hoid Wit, the guy I was supposed to be skating alongside with.

I looked at the scoreboard, still nothing-nothing. I saw Jack Zhang, my opposite for the night, skating towards the right boards, eyes focused on the oppositions end boards. Down the ice, the Militia gathered the puck. I skated into position as they readied their breakout attempt. Wuopio had it on his stick, and moved it over Strathairn, who tried to fire a pass up ice. Jack Dore came out of nowhere and snagged the puck before it got to its intended destination.

Hell yeah!, I thought, and started to skate up ice. Aw, shit was the next thought to enter my head, as Dore’s next move was to give it straight back to the Militia. Vandalay had it on the far side boards behind their blue line and sent the puck up, a tape-to-tape pass over Strathairn into the neutral zone. I was charging backwards, trying to get into position. I made it back, and was the lone defender between Strathairn, Cirocco and our netminder.

Thanks Dore, I thought to myself as I tried to get a read on the situation. Strathairn crossed the blue line and slowed just a bit, Cirocco still on his right but a bit in front of him. He gave it to Cirocco, who sent a touch pass right back. Both of them were charging towards the net, fans were on their feet. Damn, these 13 Militia fans sure can get rowdy, I thought.

And I then I saw it. Strathairn never looked up, and as the puck was coming towards him, he telegraphed his next move. A slight shift in his skates, a turn of the wrist, and I was able to figure out that he planned to move the puck for a 3rd and final time back to Cirocco, who would (hopefully, for them) bury the puck in our net if I don’t do something about it. Unlucky for Strathairn, he was an open book for about 30 seconds, and just as Dore had yanked his pass earlier, I readied to do the same. I dug my skates into the ice, and as their momentum carries themselves towards me, I’m was sitting right where I wanted to be. As the puck hit Stratharin’s stick, he immediately made the pass right onto my waiting stick.

I looked up and saw Thijs MacInnis streaking towards our offensive zone, no defender in sight. I sent the puck along the far boards, and it bounced to MacInnis, who carried it into the zone and fired a blistering wrister JUST high and wide, which made a tremendous sound as it crashed into the glass.

“Aw, PISS!” I yelled.

DeletedAtUserRequest · 04-25-2017, 09:08 PM

+1

Mike Izzy Knights

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dandydoodle · 04-26-2017, 11:32 AM

I am very sorry for spaghetti on your shirt. I hope it tasties good for you.

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