Chapter 3: Footer I--Hit and Retaliation

Chapter 3: Footer—Hit and Retaliation

"Hey, Footer," Peter Forsberg whispered into Adam Foote’s ear. "Look at Mike Modano over there. I think he’s checking out the captain."

Footer frowned and looked at Forsberg as if he were mad. "What?" he said.

"Seriously," Peter said, "Look at him!"

Foote looked at Peter, his mouth twisted to one side. Peter looked serious, in fact his icy blue eyes were quite worried looking. So Footer looked over at Mike Modano. Shit! The Swede weren’t lying, Modo was grinning like a horny school-boy, gazing at Joe Sakic, watching the captain’s every move.

"Shit," Foote said with a laugh, looking at Foppa’s earnest nod, "You ain’t lying! Modo’s nursing a boner over there. What’s up with him? I didn’t know he was a candy-ass."

Forsberg shrugged. "I didn’t know either," he said, "I just looked over there and saw that......you’d think the guy would at least have some modesty."

"Yeah," Foote said, "Should we tell moi capitain?" He said the last words with a playful arching of his eyebrows and a wink.

"Naw," Foppa said, "Saks has enough to think about during a game, maybe we should just handle it....you know....Adam Foote style."

Footer laughed. That wicked glint was starting in his eyes. The one thing he loved most during a game was an assignment. The other D-men could think about the game, the goalie could handle the shots. All Footer wanted in life was a star player, a soft as pudding finesse man, a muscled stallion of a power-forward, to slam into a corner and make him beg for mommy. That was his job.

He always relished games against Mike Modano, slamming that horse of a man into the boards and hearing him cry out as he hit the ice. Now that he caught Modo imagining flagrante delicto with his captain, this would be a whole lot more fun.

"Aye boys, aye boys, what’s up, what’s up?" The voice was monotone and there was no spacing between the words. Foote looked down at Mike Keane who had skated up to them. He had that same dead-pan, mouth hanging expression he must have been born with. "Looks like you’re checking out Modo, what’s up what’s up?"

"Is he a fairy?" Foote asked him.

Keane stared at him a bit, as if he hadn’t heard him. His bright blue eyes brightened a bit. "Why? You shopping, love-muffin?"

Foote scowled in disgust. "No!" he snapped, "but you must know you were his teammate. It looks like he’s got a hard-on for Joey."

Keane sniffed and flicked his head towards Modano. He sniffed again and looked at Sakic who was stretching on the ice, in perfect view of Modano. He looked back at Foote. "Well can ya blame him Footie? Joe is a good-looking man."
Foote raised his eyebrow. "Mike!" he laughed. "Come on!"

Keane closed one of his eyes and shrugged. "I’m not a quilting bee gossip," he said, "It seems like that don’t it? Either way, Patty sent me over here, from where we are it looks like you two are pointing and giggling at Modano like love-sick pussy-cats. It’s real embarrassing, if we can see it, everyone else can so knock it off aye?"

With that, Keane skated away.

Foote looked back at Forsberg. "Great," he said, "We look like fags."

Forsberg smiled wolfishly, displaying his perfect teeth. Foote couldn’t help thinking that if they weren’t on the same team, that’s the first thing he’d damage on him.

Mike Modano exhaled a squeal of air like a deflating balloon when Foote crushed his body against the glass. "You like it rough!" Foote laughed as Modo looked up into his face with a violated calf’s eyes. He clutched his stomach and slid to the ice. The whistle blew.

"Heh heh," Hinote giggled, "Much more of that and they’re gonna toss ya Footer. You got a vendetta against Modano tonight?"

Foote grinned as he sat down on the bench next to him, he had just returned from his third roughing penalty of the game. His first one was still his favorite, five minutes into the game he had slammed Modo into a corner and stuck his gloved finger in his ear and one up his nose. The surprised Modano had shoved Foote away, hugging himself and swatting at him like a cornered cheerleader.

"Footie!" Coach Hartley barked into his ear, his palms squeezing his shoulders, "Cut it out! I like your aggression but keep it clean!"

"Ya coach!" Foote gasped.

"Hey, hey, hey," Keane muttered to Foote, "knock it off! It’s getting tougher to swim out there, every Star is retaliating."

"Come on, Keaner!" Foote said, "You know it’s more fun!"

Keane beamed like a troll and the two of them jumped over the boards and onto the ice.

Foote prowled on the ice, keeping his partner Skoula in the corner of his eye. This game was going wonderful, sweat, blood and death threats. It couldn’t get any better than this. Foote grinned, there he was! Modano was circling the ice and there he was, in the corner fishing for a puck. Foote crept up behind him, nudging him on his lower back. "I’m back tasty cake!" he sneered.

Modano looked over the corner of his shoulder, his eyes widening.

"Hey Shit-head!" Darien Hatcher barked at Foote, "Keep it up and one of your boys is gonna feel the hurt."

Foote rolled his eyes and as soon as Modano came out with the puck and tried to speed into a passing lane, Foote drilled him to the ice. The puck flew loose and Danny Hinote picked it up, turning to dash into the offensive zone. Before he could, Darien Hatcher had drove his shoulder into Hinote’s chest and chin, the kid wasn’t expecting it and he flew backwards and to Foote’s horror, he fell into the net. Patty fell into his net and Hinote’s head bounced off the crossbar. He crumpled onto the ice, and didn’t move.

"You asshole!" Foote snarled as he ran at Hatcher. Before he could get a clean punch on him, a swarm of teammates and foes had clumped into a swearing, clawing ball of hate.

The ball quickly dissipated and Foote skated over to the net where Hinote was getting a snap of smelling salts up his nose. Patty was kneeling down by the pair, looking on with large blue eyes. Patty looked up at Foote, his eyes almost pleading. "I didn’t see what happened Foote," he said, as if that would somehow have made things different.

Most of the players had skated back to the bench, called by the coach. Foote didn’t go back. He felt awful. Dammit he never hurt Modano this badly!

Hinote’s eyes fluttered open, childlike and confused. Pat Karns, the trainer, slowly eased Hinote to a sitting position.

"You with us, kid?" Pat said.

Hinote looked at Pat, his bottom lip was trembling and tears filled his eyes.

"What’s your name?

"Huh?" Hinote asked.

Pat frowned. "Where are we?"

"What?" Hinote asked.

"OK," Pat said, "You’re toast."

"Noooo!" Danny moaned. "I’m not ready to die!"

Pat shook his head. "No, kid you aren’t gonna die."

"But, but I peed myself!" Danny whined.

Foote grimaced. Poor kid.

"I’m not gonna die?" he asked again.

"Nope, you’re just gonna have yourself a nice rest." Pat said.

Hinote dazzled with a smile. "Good!" he sighed, "Cuz I’m still a virgin you know."

Foote looked immediately at Patty who was looking back at him. Foote’s mouth dropped open and Patty was grinning. Guys often said the weirdest things under a concussion but this one was the definate prize winner.

Foote skated to Patrick and slipped his hand around the crook of his arm. "Hey do ya think that’s true Patty?" he whispered through Patty’s helmet.

Patrick turned his face to Foote, his right eye fluttering a bit, "Don’t know Footie," he said in his somewhat nasal French accent, "Don’t think anyone but us heard either....never seen him with a girl like that....don’t know."

Foote laughed. "Priceless," he said.

The tense audience broke into applause as Hinote was helped up to his feet, smiling and babbling as he was taken back into the locker room.

The game ended two hours and countless penalties later, 1-0 for the Avalanche.

"Adam I’m not trying to order you around!" Jennifer Foote yelled later on that night in the couple’s bedroom. "I can’t be sitting around and watching your games and seeing you brutalize people like that all the while knowing that sooner or later some goon is gonna clip your right eye out! I’m trying to be practical here!"

"It’s my eye!" Foote growled. "I know what I’m doing and how I’m effective. Will you quit bitching to me about this?"

"Oh," Jennifer cried, "So now I’m a bitch, thank you very much Adam, thank you. I love you, I’m trying to look out for you and I’m a bitch!"

"Dammit Jennifer!" Foote cried out, "Most wives love it when their husbands have a fiery game! Why can’t you?"

"Oooooh!" Jennifer yelled in frustration. She hopped up from the bed and locked herself in the bathroom, her usual cooling off room.

Adam sighed and collapsed back onto the bed. He was still in his street clothes and he could hear Jennifer crying. He stood up from the bed and called through the bathroom door. "Look don’t trap yourself in there honey, I’m going out."

With that he stormed out of the room and out the front door.

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