Body Check (2 page)

Instead, Vic and his father looked at each other for a second.

Quickly — so quickly that Brent wasn’t sure what he had seen — the man nodded to his son. And the son’s grin got even wider.

T
ed slowly got to his feet. He shook his head, as if he had been a little stunned, and looked at Coach Maxwell. “I’m okay,”
he said.

“Go to the bench and sit a minute,” said the coach. “Let’s make sure you’re all right.”

As Ted slowly skated to the side of the rink, Brent asked him, “You sure you’re okay?”

Ted nodded. “I just slipped, that’s all.”

“How’d it happen?” Brent asked. “It looked to me like Vic ran into you.”

“Maybe we got tangled up a little bit,” said Ted as he left the ice. He looked to make sure that Vic wasn’t too close by.
“I mean, the guy isn’t the most coordinated athlete, is he?”

“So it was an accident?” Brent asked. Vic still hadn’t come to see if Ted was okay.

Ted sat on the bench and rubbed his arm. “Huh? Sure it was an accident. I mean, what else could it have been?”

Brent, who had seen the look that passed between Vic and Mr. Seabrook, wasn’t so sure. But he didn’t say anything else.

Once it was clear that Ted hadn’t been injured, practice continued. Later on, the coach set up a three-on-two drill, where
a center and two wings tried to get a shot on goal against two defenders. Brent, playing right wing on one squad, thought
he might be able to get in behind Cam, who was defending. But Cam saw Brent try to move in on the goal and made a quick recovery,
getting his stick on the center’s pass and poking it away.

“Good move,” Brent admitted. “Thought I had you there.”

“Good anticipation, Cam,” called Coach Maxwell. “Nice poke check!”

Mr. Seabrook clapped his hands. “Way to hustle, fella!”

A little later, Vic was in another group, as a defender. Barry, a speedy wing, got past Vic and looked like he might have
a breakaway goal opportunity. Vic
lunged for him, and Coach Maxwell stopped the action with a whistle.

“That’s what we call hooking, Vic,” he said calmly. “In a game, you’d have gone to the penalty box for two minutes, and the
other team would have a power-play opportunity.”

“Aw, come on!” Vic said. He was going to say more, but his father broke in, sharply.

“Vic!
Never argue with your coach.”

Vic looked at the ice and muttered, “Yeah.” He didn’t look happy.

“We’ll talk about this later,” said Mr. Seabrook, glaring at his son. He looked at Coach Maxwell. “Sorry, Coach.”

The coach nodded. “Play on,” he said.

Brent went over to Cam, watching from the sideline. “What did you think of that?”

“Think of what?” asked Cam.

“What just happened.” Brent leaned in closer and kept his voice to a whisper.

Cam shook his head. “Huh? Vic was out of position, and when he tried to recover, his stick caught Barry’s leg. You never saw
anyone called for hooking before?”

“I don’t know. First he knocks Ted down, and then
he hooks Barry. And did you hear Mr. Seabrook? He wasn’t angry at the hooking, just that Vic talked back to the coach!”

Cam stared at Brent. “The guy’s a bad skater. He probably ran into Ted by accident. Then, he didn’t play his position right
and made it worse by doing something stupid. He’s a bad hockey player, is all. I bet Vic won’t get much ice time in games.”

Brent said, “I think what happened to Ted
wasn’t
an accident. Also, I think Mr. Seabrook saw it and liked what he saw.”

Cam let a second go by. Then he said, “That’s pretty heavy. You tell anyone else?”

“Unh-unh,” answered Brent, “just you.”

“Good. If you’re smart, you
won’t
say anything to anyone else. I think you’re totally out of line.”

Brent asked, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Cam replied. “You’re saying Vic’s a goon and Mr. Seabrook is worse, and you don’t have much to go on. Do you?”

“Well… maybe not.”

Cam nodded. “We know Vic’s clumsy, that he’s a bad skater. He bumped Ted by accident. Hooking Barry was just bad hockey.”

“I guess,” Brent admitted.

“And nothing Mr. Seabrook said or did
proves
he’s a creep. Right?”

Brent sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I’m not being fair.”

Cam smiled at his friend. “If it was me coming into a new place, I’d hope nobody did to me what you’re doing to these two.
Give them a chance.”

“All right,” Brent agreed. “I will.”

Coach Maxwell often used the end of practice to work on power plays and penalty killing. When a player is called for a foul
and sent to the penalty box, usually for two minutes, the opponents have a one-player advantage. In that case, they’ll go
to a power play. The team with the penalized player will try to “kill” the penalty and not give up a goal while they’re down
a player.

“We’ll use the umbrella formation for a power play today,” the coach said. He put Ted in the middle of the rink, just in front
of the blue line that separates the team’s offensive zone from center ice. Brent and Sandy, another wing, went to either side
of Ted, and two other forwards set up near the goal, one on each side.

“The idea is to make quick passes between the pivot and the wings,” said the coach. “You may force the defense
into an error and create an opening for an outside shot. Or maybe one of the guys near the goal might be left open. If so,
get him the puck.

“The problem is, there’s no one back on defense except the goalie. If a defender intercepts a pass, he might go all the way
and maybe score a shorthanded goal. Be careful with your passes. Now, let’s put a defense out there.”

He placed four defenders, including Cam and Vic, in a diamond formation, with Cam by the pivot man, one defender on each side,
and one player in front of the goalie.

The coach said, “Think of zone defense in basketball. Each defender guards an area. Don’t overload one side, or the offense
can pass to where the defense is thin and get a shot. If you get the puck, just shoot it down toward their goal. Make them
use penalty time skating back to recover it. The idea of penalty killing is to deny them shots on goal for two minutes. I’ll
give Ted the puck and call time after two minutes — unless there’s a goal. Ready… go”

Ted slapped a pass to Brent. Brent saw that the forwards near the goal weren’t open, so he passed back to Ted, skating down
the ice as he did. Ted fired a
backhander to Sandy, who tried to get the puck to Brent. But Cam darted forward, took the puck, and rocketed it down to the
other goal, forcing Ted to retrieve it.

“Good D!” called Coach Maxwell.

“Way to go!” added Mr. Seabrook.

On their next try, Cam made a mistake and skated directly in front of Chip, the goalie, blocking his view of the play. Brent
flipped the puck to Ted, who sent a lightning-fast puck to the wing just left of the goalmouth. He slipped the puck past the
goalie’s stick for a goal.

Coach Maxwell whistled, and play stopped. “You have to stay in the zone you’re guarding, or problems happen. Cam, you see
what went wrong there?”

Cam nodded, grinning sheepishly. “I went too far across and got in Chip’s way.”

“Okay, that’s how we learn,” the coach said. “Let’s get another group on the ice.”

“Coach, if you like, I’ll take these guys to the other end while you work with the rest,” offered Mr. Seabrook.

“Okay,” said Coach Maxwell.

Mr. Seabrook went to the end of the rink with the first group. He gave Ted the puck to start play. Ted and the two wings passed
the puck around, looking for an opening, but the defenders stayed put, and no shots were possible for the first thirty seconds.

Ted sent the puck to Sandy, a good stick-handler. Sandy moved in on Vic, hoping to bring Vic toward him so he could pass to
a player near the goal or take a shot himself. But Vic suddenly charged Sandy, who was caught by surprise. Before Sandy could
pass or shoot, Vic rammed him with a shoulder and raised forearm. Staggering, Sandy avoided falling but lost control of the
puck.

Brent waited for Mr. Seabrook to say or do something about the obvious foul. Mr. Seabrook clapped and said, “Way to hustle,
guys! Let’s set up again.”

It looked to Brent as if Sandy might speak up, but he didn’t. Nobody else said a word. Had Brent been the only one to see
it?

He decided he’d better say nothing. Without someone to back him up, he didn’t want to make trouble. But this time, he was
sure. Vic committed a foul, and Mr. Seabrook —
Coach
Seabrook — did nothing.

A little while later, Coach Maxwell called, “Okay, that’s it. Let’s stretch.” While the players stretched, the coaches talked
quietly.

Afterward, Coach Maxwell said, “Starting tomorrow, Coach Seabrook will spend part of every practice working with the defense
and goalies while I stay with the forwards. He was a defense specialist in his playing days. Coach, care to say anything?”

Mr. Seabrook smiled brightly. “I’ll only say that I look forward to working with you boys and helping you be winners.”

Winners.
Somehow, this didn’t sound right to Brent. Coach Maxwell never emphasized winning. He stressed teamwork and doing your best
Winning was nice, when it happened, but was that really the bottom line?

As he changed into his street clothes, he didn’t take part in the usual locker-room chatter. He was still quiet when he and
Cam went to wait for Cam’s mother to pick them up.

Cam finally said, “What’s going on? You haven’t said a word since we left the ice.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Brent said.

“Uh-huh,” Cam replied. “Something’s on your mind, I know it. Come on, spit it out.”

Brent shook his head. “Well, okay, but you won’t like it. It’s the Seabrooks.”

Cam rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

Brent described what Vic had done to Sandy. “His father was right there and saw it, and he didn’t do anything.”

“Shoulder checks are legal,” Cam pointed out. “I use them all the time.”

“Not when you use a raised forearm, too. That’s a foul,” Brent said. “That’s what Vic did. Didn’t you see it?”

“Hey, I was busy guarding people,” Cam said. “What about Sandy? He didn’t complain. Nobody else did, either.”

“I know,” said Brent. “But I saw what I saw. This time, I’m right.”

Cam scratched his head. “Okay, I know you’re not crazy. Maybe Vic did what you say he did, and maybe his father didn’t call
him on it. Maybe Mr. Seabrook didn’t want to make trouble for his son, or something, I don’t know. But all I can say is, I
think you should just be cool and see how things go. That’s what I’m
going to do. Maybe everything will turn out to be all right. If it doesn’t, then… well, I don’t know. But for now, why not
wait and see?”

Brent nodded. “Guess you’re right. That’s the best way to go.”

One thing was for sure. He
hoped
he was wrong about the Seabrooks.

W
hen Brent had a problem, he usually discussed it with his big brother, Lee, especially if the problem concerned hockey. Lee
was the star center on his high-school team. He was their leading scorer and was almost sure to be the team captain when he
became a senior next year.

So that evening after dinner, Brent asked Lee if he could talk to him.

“Sure,” Lee answered. “Come on upstairs.” They went to Lee’s room, which had posters on the walls of Lee’s favorite players,
Wayne Gretzky, Bobby Orr, and Mark Messier.

“I figured something was on your mind at dinner when you only had two helpings of chicken,” Lee said. “What’s up?”

“It’s about this new guy on the team,” said Brent.
“Well, him and his father. Cam says I’m making a big deal out of nothing, but I don’t think so. Only, maybe he’s right, I
don’t know. Maybe I’m unfair. Except I haven’t really made a big deal, not yet, anyway —”

Lee held up a hand. “Whoa, slow down! Start from the beginning and take your time.”

Brent explained about the arrival of Mr. Seabrook and his son, and what Vic had done, or
might
have done, that day at practice. He also talked about the way Mr. Seabrook had ignored Vic’s obvious fouls.

“And now he’ll be coaching with Coach Maxwell. When he talked to us, he said he’d help us become ‘winners.’ Coach Maxwell
says that if you give it your best and play as a team, you’re a winner no matter what the score is.”

“Maybe that’s what Mr. Seabrook meant,” Lee suggested. “Is that possible?”

This hadn’t occurred to Brent. “Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t think so. Cam probably thinks that’s the way it is.”

“Cam’s right about one thing, for sure,” said Lee. “You don’t want to go off half-cocked about this. Coach Maxwell would probably
say the same thing.”

Brent nodded. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… I get a feeling about them.”

Sitting on his bed, Lee leaned back against the wall. “Well, I know that there are people in hockey who don’t believe in playing
by the rules, if they can get away with it. Players, coaches, parents, fans — they’re out there. I haven’t come across a lot
of them. A few are bad enough, of course. Still, I don’t think there are a lot of rotten apples.”

“Did you ever meet guys like that — you know, goons — with the Badgers?”

Lee shook his head. “Nope. I heard about teams that were supposed to play dirty, but they were never in our league.”

“How about now? In school?”

Lee thought about it. “There are guys we call enforcers. They’re usually not real good in basic skills. They aren’t fast or
good stick-handlers; they don’t shoot well or get many assists. You know. So they try to make up for what they can’t do by
hitting hard. They’ll slam into the other team, hip checks, shoulder checks, whatever.

“But even enforcers usually play clean. They may be
rough, but they play by the rules. We have guys like that, and you know what? I’m glad. Some teams try to intimidate you early
in games by laying some big hits on you. When you have an enforcer, you can send them a message:
It won’t work. You’ll have to outplay us, because you can’t out-tough us.
Hey, hockey’s a physical sport. You get going really fast, people bang into each other, sometimes people lose their cool
a little. That’s the game, and enforcers have a place in it. But dirty players and cheaters don’t.”