AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm back! Sorry for the long time between updates. I have carpal tunnel and my MS Word was down for awhile, so it was hard to type. But now I'm back in full swing. The story's about halfway done.
A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER TEN – BACK TO BASICS
Michele was appalled at the teams' performance in school the next day in school. She almost always had to ask Dwayne, Portman, Fulton, and Connie to pay attention. But now her reliable ones-Ken, Julie, Adam, Kaley, and Charlie-were spacing out. "Spacing out" wasn't the right word. They were falling asleep at their desks.
"Luis." Michele crouched by Luis' desk. "Luis, wake up."
Luis' eyes flickered open. "Oh, sorry," he mumbled sleepily.
Michele stood at the front of the classroom and folded her arms. "All right, out with it: why are you so tired today?" She demanded.
"Captain Blood made us practice last night," Averman managed through a yawn.
"Captain Blood?" Michele asked.
"Coach Bombay," Julie clarified. "He made us practice until two in the morning."
"Yeah, and then he gave this whole long speech about winning," Portman put in. "It was all he talked about."
"He told us at our first practice that hockey should be fun and not just about winning," Kaley said tiredly. "But he sure didn't act that way last night."
Michele had to agree with what they were saying. But she didn't verbalize it. "Everyone, go up to your dorms," she said. "You need to rest."
Sighs of relief rose from the team as they stood up. Michele made another executive decision. "I'm also canceling your practice."
The team gave a weak cheer as they headed for the door. As they did so, Michele stopped Adam. "Adam, are you OK?" She asked.
"Yeah," Adam said unconvincingly. "I'm just tired."
"You were holding your wrist a lot today," Michele observed. "Is it all right?"
Adam rubbed his wrist. "Sure, Ms. MacKay," he said uncomfortably.
Michele nodded, deciding not to press the issue further. "All right," she said, letting him go.
As soon as the sleepy Team USA was gone, Michele went outside and grabbed a taxi to the arena. This had gone far enough. She was going to the wait in the team's locker room and confront Gordon.
At two-thirty, Gordon entered Team USA's locker room. "OK, kids, let's move!" He called. But there was no response. "Team? Hello?" Gordon poked his head around the corner. The place was desolate.
"I cancelled their practice."
Gordon turned around. Michele stood in front of him. Her arms were crossed and she looked decidedly unhappy.
"What?" Gordon asked. "Why?"
"They needed a day off," Michele stated simply.
"I need them here to practice!" Gordon argued.
"They need to rest," Michele countered. "Gordon, you've been running these children ragged! They're falling asleep in class! They're calling you Captain Blood!"
"I am preparing these kids for battle!" Gordon said, beginning to get angry now. "We win the gold, we go on to bigger things."
"Bigger things?!" Michele exclaimed. "Gordon, it's a game! You said it yourself, games should be fun!" Her voice dropped an octave and became more neutral. "Remember?"
Despite Ms. MacKay's orders to rest, Team USA was on UCLA's soccer field doing calisthenics.
"Coach Bombay's not here, so why do we have to be?" Fulton asked.
Goldberg stopped his stretching. "I say mutiny. Who's with me?"
"Goldberg, I'm too tired for mutiny," Dwayne yawned from the back row.
"It's not like we can't use the conditioning," Julie pointed out.
Portman gave her a disdainful look. "Speak for yourself, babe!"
"Her name's Julie, not Babe," Adam protested.
"Don't tell me how to talk, Rich Boy!" Portman gave Adam a rough shove.
"Leave him alone!" Charlie dove in the middle. This could get out of hand fast.
"Hey, Team USA! What are you gonna do today, a million jumping jacks?" It was the black kid who'd been picking on Team USA at the games. Charlie thought he'd heard someone call the kid Russ.
"You know, I'm getting sick of you!" Jesse yelled.
There goes Jesse shooting his mouth off again, Charlie thought.
"And I'm sick of seeing the USA represented by a bunch of wussies!" Russ countered.
"Too bad you can't back up that mouth!" Jesse shouted.
"My boys can take you anytime, anywhere," Russ boasted.
"I bet you ain't even got no boys!" Jesse shot back.
"I got 'em waiting!" Russ said. "Why don't y'all come with me and play some schoolyard puck?"
"Do you have clearance, son?" A security guard asked.
"Come on!" Russ said, ignoring the guard. "Are you coming or not?"
As the guard pulled Russ away, Team USA huddled together. "He's bluffing," Jesse said.
"Yeah, me too," Portman agreed. "Let's stay here."
"Maybe he's serious," Connie suggested.
"Yeah, and think of what wimps we'll look like if we don't go," Kaley pointed out. "Even if he's just bluffing, we'll look like complete sissies if we stay here."
"And we'll look like chumps if he's not serious," Julie countered.
Charlie straightened. "I say we go. Let's run, before we lose him."
Team USA followed Russ all the way from UCLA into the ghetto. Soon the nervous Team USA was facing a bunch of tough-looking black kids, headed by James, Russ' brother.
"My little brother Russ here tells me you're getting your butts kicked," James said to Team USA.
That got Jesse mad. "Well, your brother's got a big mouth!"
James looked at Russ and smiled. "He does, doesn't he?"
Russ gave an innocent grin.
"Anyway," James turned back to Team USA. "We thought we'd play y'all and see what you got."
"Yeah, we know you can talk to the press and sign autographs," Russ said.
"We can do more than that," Luis defended.
"Yeah?" James challenged. "Let's play."
After much debate, James and Portman decided to take the face-off. Right off the bat, Portman got slammed into the fence.
Aw, man, Portman thought. Glad Kestle couldn't see that.
"Thank you!" Russ took the puck and easily got it into Team USA's goal. "Score one for the ghetto!"
"Hey, Adam!" Luis called for the puck. When he got it, he began speeding towards Team Ghetto's goal. "Whoa!" He cried as he spun out of control and hit the fence.
"Hey!" James said. "Use the brakes, man!"
Brakes? Luis looked down at his rollerblades. Aw, no matter. Even if I know where they were, I couldn't use them.
Charlie tried to hit the puck into Team Ghetto's goal, but it flew over the fence instead. "Oh, no!" Charlie cried as the puck landed on a car parked near the building across the street.
"Don't sweat it," James said. "Happens all the time."
Charlie wasn't convinced. "Excuse me, sir?" He called timidly to the man walking towards the car. This guy's gonna be ticked.
The man looked at the puck on his hood, then up at Charlie. Smiling, he tossed the puck over the fence. Charlie let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you!" he called, hitting the puck into Team Ghetto's goal.
Kaley had been sitting on the sidelines. She loved hockey, but these kids were way too tough for her to play with. Maybe if she just sat back and made as little noise as possible, no one would notice she wasn't playing.
No such luck. "Hey, you!" Russ said, pointing to Kaley. "You've been sitting there the whole time! You get in here and play some puck with us!"
"Uh-uh," Kaley said. "You guys will tromp me. I'm not-"
Russ stopped in front of her. "What's the matter, little lady?" He asked. "You too dainty to play tough with us?"
Kaley was usually pretty shy around strangers, but nobody
called her a little lady. She hated the word "lady." It made her feel like
she was at a ball wearing an evening gown and heels. That prospect didn't
appeal to her at all. And she hated little because…well, she was little and didn't
like to be reminded of it. "No," she said defiantly, standing up and calling
for the puck. "Over here, Fulton!"
Fulton sailed the puck over to Kaley, but Russ intercepted it. Fulton watched as Russ tipped the puck on its side, and then hit it. It went spinning through the air and clanged into Team USA's goal.
"Whoa!" Fulton said in amazement, staring at the goal. "How'd you do that?"
"You like it?" Russ asked. "That's my knuckle puck. It's hard to be accurate, but it drives goalies nuts."
"All right!" Ken cheered as he got a goal in for Team USA.
"You go, Little Man!" Portman stood up and slapped Ken a high-five.
Adam stopped cheering when he saw James advancing on Ken. The bigger boy looked mad.
"Come here, little guy!" James challenged, closing in on Ken. "Yeah, come on! I want a piece of you!"
Ken backed away, looking frightened. Portman and Fulton assumed their bashing positions. But suddenly, James relaxed and smiled. "Relax, OK?" He said to Ken. "I'm just playing with you. But listen, when a big guy comes after you like I just did, you do this: stick," he dropped his hockey stick. "Gloves," he took his gloves off. "Shirt." He pulled Ken's shirt over his head. "Got it?"
Ken grinned. "Sure," he said, then practiced the move on James. "How was that?"
"Nice!" James said approvingly. "All right."
Team USA and Team Ghetto played for another half hour before deciding to go back to their dorms and rest like Ms. MacKay had said. As they waved goodbye to Team Ghetto, Team USA felt like new hockey players. They couldn't wait to put some of their new strategies to work in their game against Germany the next night.
A dejected Gordon Bombay entered his house in Malibu. He and Michele had argued in the locker room for God-only-know how long. The exchange had ended with Gordon storming out. He knew Michele was right-he'd been mistreating the kids. Gordon felt awful.
As he walked across the spit-shine marble floor, Gordon suddenly felt so…fake. This whole thing is just a ruse, he thought, looking around. How many other hockey coaches live in places like this? Besides professionals? I've been neglecting my responsibility to the kids. I'm worse than I was before the Ducks!
The view of the beach suddenly didn't look so picturesque anymore. Gordon would much rather have been at UCLA with the kids, having late-night pizza parties and prank wars.
"This is no place for a coach."
The statement was gentle, but Gordon nearly jumped out of his skin. "Jan?" He asked, turning around. "What are you doing here?"
"I came by to visit," Jan said, sounding as if he lived next door rather than halfway across the country.
"Who's running the skate shop?" Gordon inquired, joining his old friend by the counter.
"We are closed," Jan said somberly. "For the first time in ten years."
Gordon nodded and looked at the floor.
"I saw the Iceland game on TV," Jan said. "Who was that man in the suit with wet hair? Was it raining?"
"It's a style, Jan," Gordon said, but he had to admit he didn't like it very much.
"You looked like you just got out of the shower," Jan stated bluntly.
"You came two thousand miles to make fun of me?" Gordon asked, slightly flustered. "You could have done this over the phone!"
Jan turned to face Gordon. "Gordon, when I told Hendrix about you, I did not tell them about your good looks," Jan said. "I did not tell them you would win at any cost." He paused a moment before continuing. "I told them you were a man who loves the game. I told them you would teach the kids about more than just winning or losing. I told them you were the Minnesota Miracle Man, and only you could teach them to fly. So be that man, Gordon."
"Always around to take me down a notch," Gordon said. "And the worst part is, you're always right."