Chapter 197: Patty XXIV

Chapter 198: Patty XXIV—The Balance of Power

 

            “This one’s gonna hurt!”

            “Shut up!” Patrick snapped at the posts, sick of their taunting him all night. It was drilling through his brain, he could feel the cold of their displeasure, their power over him. It had to end sometime, why shouldn’t it be here?

            The posts made no reply and Patrick skated out to meet the shooter, Saku Koivu as he was coming on a break away. The Fin cracked the puck into a high shot which Patrick wasted no time in meeting with his catching glove and he felt a sudden, bleeding pain in his palm. That shot stung! He felt his eyes fill with tears as he dropped the puck.

            Saku scrambled for it and Patrick tossed his body down to meet that second shot and he felt it on his chest where it popped out again. Koivu again had the shot and he tried to slide it around Patrick and he threw his arm out, snagged the puck and tucked it against his body.

            The whistle blew.

            Patrick closed his eyes. “I’m getting to old for this,” he moaned.

            “I told you.”

            Patrick squeezed his eyes shut tighter, didn’t answer them, felt the throbbing pain in his hand. He sighed and sat up slowly, slid off his catching glove as the referee took the loose puck. He saw a red welt on his palm, but he could still wiggle his fingers. He would be okay.

            “Sting you there Patty?”           

            Patrick looked at Rob Blake, shook his head, grinned at him. “I am fine, it is nothing.”

            He leaned into the posts. “Is that all you have?” he whispered.

            “Of course not!” the posts replied. “Just wait.”

            Patrick glanced at the scoreboard, tied at three halfway through the second period. He had made twenty seven saves this far into the game. Three goals were not acceptable on thirty shots.

            “I can do it without you,” Patrick said, “I have before, I have it within me.”

            “Yes but would you want to?” the posts replied.

            Patrick laughed and ran his hand over the crossbar. “Why can’t we play nice today eh? Why should we be fighting?”

            Silence.

            Patrick rolled his eyes. “Fine then,” he said.

            A silly childish game out of hand? To be honest Patrick wasn’t quite sure what this phenomenon was. He knew that he heard something, sometimes his teammates did, sometimes they didn’t, he only knew that it was there. The posts he liked to think of as a friend, he didn’t listen to or obey half of the things they told him to do. Sometimes he didn’t do things they suggested on principle. He knew that the posts liked to think that they owned him… dominant little bitches….

            Ten saves in the next five minutes, five for him and five for Theodore. Patrick was out of breath when he snagged the puck in his throbbing, painful catching hand and held it aloft for this crowd to see. They had been screaming for a save that Theodore had made, stacking the pads and stopping Peter Forsberg. The rebound had gone to the stick of a Montreal forward who had the pumped up crowd screaming as he coasted almost unmolested down to his end. He would want to blast that puck; Patrick had thought to himself, he would want to pop my water bottle. He had caught it and now he took the pleasure in fisting that puck to the audience, showing them what he still had.

            Patrick grinned, looked at the puck as he tossed it to the ref. It was moments like this that he played for. He felt another cold chill over his skin, heard some faint whispering. He saw the other players on the ice looking around and shrugging. They were feeling it too, it was the cold breath of something awakening….

            “Not a great defensive game today, eh?” the referee said.

            Patrick shrugged. “It keeps us sharp, yes?” He patted the crossbar affectionately and the referee watched his hand and smiled, laughed and shook his head.

            “You’re insane, if you don’t mind my saying,” the referee said. “Just don’t let it get out of hand tonight I think you’ve had enough attention lately as it is.”

            Patrick ran his tongue over his lips and as he took a squirt of water into his mouth he looked over the audience, he felt another cold draught blanket his body.

            “You’re so melodramatic!” The posts declared.

            Patrick giggled and squirted some water on the crossbar. “Cool down,” he said.

            “How dare you!” The posts exclaimed.

            A new face off, minutes left in the second period…. There they go… Patrick hunched forward, squinted, the shot was taken… Patrick smiled, there was the red light, there was the sound of disgust from the audience he saw his teammates hugging. This was fun… He couldn’t imagine allowing more than three goals tonight; he just didn’t feel like it could happen to him. Yes, they would win it. He could feel it.

            “It won’t last!” the posts pouted.

            “What,” Patrick said, “You want them to beat me? You want to feel that nasty little puck slide over your….”

            “Stop being vulgar!”

            Patrick grinned; the play was coming to him. A shot, rebound sent to Tanguay who failed to clear it, yanks down a player… whistle… penalty called…

            Patrick glanced at the clock saw there was fifteen seconds left… if they entered the third period with a lead they could build upon it. Patrick bobbed his head, checked his positioning, he felt right.

            PING!

            Patrick closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose, he heard the crowd scream, the horn blare and he knew the red light would be flashing. How the hell did that get by him? He hadn’t even seen the shot, he knew he had been in a great position to stop it. He hadn’t even been screened.

            “What the hell was that about?” Patrick howled and he didn’t care if it was obvious that everyone in the building could see that he was yelling at the crossbar. “Wouldn’t you rather win the game?”

            “Patty calm down!”

            Patrick turned around; saw Joe’s face, serious, almost irritated.

            “But they… they…”

            Joe didn’t look as if he cared.

            “Oh nevermind!” he snapped.

            Patrick felt blissful, calmer, much more pleased in the third period when Tanguay and Keaner each scored goals about a minute apart from each other to put them on top in the game 6-4. Now they were in a brilliant position to… to….

            “Shit!” Patrick muttered as he saw the play breaking down all around him. He slid from side to side as the puck was being passed back and forth between Montreal players his eyes were smarting from being held open; he didn’t even want to blink. There was Footie, blessed Footie! Patrick felt some comfort as he saw Adam with it and then his heart jumped when he saw a Montreal forward yank Foote down and take the puck and shoot it.

            Patrick gasped as he shot his left pad out, met the puck with the toe of his skate. It bounced off and thankfully Derek Morris snapped it up and he began to skate it out of the zone. Everyone began following him and Patrick yelled at the referee, “He was yanked down! Are you blind?”

            “He should learn how to keep his feet,” the referee yelled back as he was skating away.

            Patrick felt the anger boil. “Fuck you!” he hollered.

            The referee stopped dead in his skates, glared at him and blew the whistle. Patrick swallowed and felt his stomach boil

            “Now you will need some help,” the posts gloated. “You can’t allow a goal and save face.”

            Patrick narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t answer. He watched as Scott Parker skated into the penalty box to serve the two minute unsportsmanlike penalty for him.

            “Just watch me,” Patrick whispered.

            “I can’t wait,” the posts replied.