Disclaimer: I don't own nuffing! Nuffing at all. All this stuff belongs to Disney and I don't think I can be bothered to make up any OCs. This is complicated enough!
A/N Heya. I'm actually feeling incredibly guilty about writing this fic. To any fans of my other MD fic posted, don't shoot me! I really did mean to update this weekend but I got distracted… I reckon I might have a mild case of writer's block – it's not the point that I can't finish writing the other one, it's the point that I was having no inspiration whatever and I don't enjoy forcing myself to write.
This one is a bit of a concession to tell y'all the truth. I watched D1, D2 AND D3 on Friday night (sad, I know) and I wanted to try out this idea.
Banksie lovers do not get your knickers in a twist just yet! I like Banksie so I am not gonna be turning him into a nasty vampire or anything like that later on. You've got to give the story time to develop!
Review if you want more because I'll get disheartened if you don't – poor lickle me! If you didn't like it then please, flame away but make them constructive PLEASE!
Well, here goes *Deep Breath*
"Hang on!" Bombay rose from the bench amidst Hawk supporters angry boos, incredulous as he saw one of the District 5 kids steal the puck and make his way across the ice.
The breakaway was the first sign of any talent the coach had seen in his brief acquaintance with the young hockey team and hope made an appearance for the first time in his mind, as the young boy skated shakily to the Hawk's end of the rink, just managing to keep in front of the approaching black jerseyed players. Maybe this game wouldn't be a total humiliation for him.
The fat boy next to him looked up at him, cynically, "That's Spazway. He'll screw up."
Bombay kept his eyes on the skater as he neared the goal. Without coming to a halt, the boy lifted his hockey stick and swung. Bombay groaned as his practiced eye took in the kid's stance and the over-enthusiastic swing at the rubber puck, his hope disappeared as soon as it had come: there was no way that the kid was going to score.
Sure enough, not only did the boy miss the puck entirely but the ensuing momentum from his clumsy swing made him lose his balance, fall and slide across the ice, coming to a halt, unceremoniously, by crashing into the wall.
Bombay sighed, angry and exasperated, and sat down; the fat boy giving him an "I told you so" look, not helping his temper one little bit.
Charlie thumped his gloved hand on the ice, frustrated. He got up unsteadily, embarrassed at making such an idiot out of himself. The team sure weren't going to let him forget this one in a hurry: it was one of his more dramatic screw ups.
A huge force crashed into his back and he smashed into the boards again, his unprofessional padding having little effect in protecting his small body from the harsh punishment. The Hawk, #9 Banks, held him pinned against the boards for a moment, before giving him one last shove and skating off to the cheers of the Hawks and their supporters, leaving Charlie to slither to the floor, gracelessly, as the final whistle blew.
Slowly he got back to his feet, cautiously checking around him to make sure there were no more avenging Hawks on his case. Hugging the wall, he made his way painfully to the team's box and got off the ice thankfully.
The new coach gave him a contemptuous look as the rest of the team gathered around him.
"Nearly, Charlie, next time it'll be in," Connie said, encouragingly.
"Yeah right, Moreau! Once a spaz, always a spaz, hey, Spazway?" Karp said, nastily.
"I didn't see you do any better, Karp," Jesse retorted. "At least Charlie actually managed to get it up the other end."
Karp mumbled something about being a defenseman, not a scorer, but he slumped back down on the bench, unwilling to get into a fight with the fiery boy.
"Tough check, man," Guy slapped him on the shoulder, making the other boy wince.
"The Spaz-Meister gets decked by the #9 jersey."
"Shut up, Averman," Charlie said, taking his helmet off.
"What the hell are we going to about #9, guys? The bastard totally nailed Charlie," Peter said, angrily.
"Not totally," Charlie said, indignantly.
"He's a Hawk, man. What can you do?" Terry asked, dejectedly, ignoring Charlie. "They're all ten times bigger than us and pretty damn violent if their hockey play is anything to go by."
"They're not that big," his brother answered. "We could take them."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I am perfectly happy with my life at the moment…" Goldberg thought for a moment, "…with the exception of me still being goalie. Now that's a good question. Why am I still goalie?"
"It's pretty simple physics, man," Peter said, impishly, "You're the fattest player so you take up the most room in the goal, meaning that it's harder for the puck to get by you."
"Apart from when he wasn't actually in the goal! Did you see when he…" Guy was interrupted.
"SHUT UP!" Bombay had had enough of the bickering.
All the District 5 players were shocked into silence. Charlie sat down, anticipating a long tirade from their Coach. They had yet to find a coach who had said anything encouraging after seeing their first game.
"That was pathetic! I've never been more ashamed in my life and I'm not even playing! Did you come to this match to actually play hockey?" his voice was hoarse from the exertion of yelling.
"I knew there was something we forgot!" Peter exclaimed, sarcasm dripping from his words.
"Do you think losing is funny?" Bombay couldn't fathom these kids. At their age he would have done anything to have won.
"Not at first but after you've got used to it – yeah," Averman said, after a moment's solemn consideration.
"You deserved exactly what you got out there with an attitude like that." The Coach turned to Charlie, "And that swing! Were you actually thinking out there? You don't swipe at the puck, you send it! Do you know anything about hockey?"
"Maybe if you actually did some coaching instead of taking calls in your limo…" Charlie muttered, upset by the man's words. He had tried his best, what more could his Coach ask of him? A goal, perhaps? a little voice in his head piped up. He grimaced and looked down at the floor.
"Charlie!" the loud cry came from the stands.
He looked up quickly and turned. His mom was waving at him through the glass, frantically gesturing at her watch.
"I gotta go," he muttered in the general direction of his angry Coach, and stood up. "My mom's gotta get back to the diner for her next shift."
Bombay looked at the young boy and felt a fleeting regret about his angry words. To tell the truth, the kid had done well and had shown the crowd that there were indeed chinks in the Hawks' armour. "I'll see you tomorrow, then, Charlie, at the practice," he said in way of an apology, controlling the anger in his voice, knowing it was unfair for him to direct it at the boy.
Charlie looked up at the Coach and shrugged.
"Yeah, maybe. Bye guys, see you around," he said to the rest of the team as he turned and made his way to the changing rooms to collect his stuff.
***********************
"Well…" Coach Reilly let the silence stretch as he looked at the assembled players, "I think we could have done better, Hawks."
Adam Banks looked across at his teammate and mouthed "Conway". Scott Larson nodded, darkly. Adam sighed and looked back at his Coach, knowing exactly where this was leading.
"I thought it was going to be a good game, and it was…" the Coach looked around, making sure that he had all the players' attention, "until the end. That breakaway made a total mockery of our defence. If the others see what one boy, one lousy kid from District 5 at that, can do then they'll start thinking they can do it too. And I will not let that happen! That league title belongs to us and I will not let anyone endanger that. You've gotta be tough, you've gotta want it real bad and you've gotta be willing to crush them!"
He gestured to Adam, "Like Banks, here. He crushed them on the scoreboard and he crushed that little shit who couldn't even skate properly against the boards. WHAM!" he slammed his fist into his palm, making a few of the boys jump. "If you were all like Banks, all as determined, we wouldn't need to practice."
Adam felt pleased by the compliment but vaguely uncomfortable at the same time. He didn't enjoy being the person that the Coach used to encourage rivalry in the team: Reilly believed it made them play better.
"But, unfortunately, you are not all Banks and therefore we do need to practice. 6am, here, tomorrow morning."
The Hawks shuffled restlessly in their seats, the bolder ones making noises of protest. Banks was silent. It was Sunday tomorrow and he had planned to have a proper lie in, as, he was sure, had the others. They saved the Sunday practice till the afternoon to give the team some rest; this was obviously their punishment for letting Conway have a shot at the goal.
Reilly glared at his team, "Just be glad the kid didn't score. If he had I would have made it two hours, starting at five." He paused, "Don't blame this on me. You guys having a practice at 6 means I have to be there too, don't forget. If you want someone to blame, blame that kid from District 5."
He stormed out of the changing room, slamming the door behind him.
There was a brief silence after he had left as all the Hawks looked at the floor. Adam could have laughed at the angry expressions on their faces and at the tense atmosphere, but he knew it would only be asking for trouble from McGill. He stood slowly and broke the solemnity by moving to his locker and slamming it open. Suddenly, as if they had only just become aware of the fact that they were still wearing their hockey gear, there was a hive of black activity as all the Hawks started getting changed, all complaining mutinously about the early practice.
Larson leaned against his locker, the one next to Adam's and started pulling off his gloves, slowly, "So what are we going to do about Conway?"
"What d'you mean?" Adam asked, distractedly, as he pulled his jersey over his head.
"Surely you're not just going to let him get away with taking your Sunday morning away from you? Hell, I'm not!"
"Well what did you have in mind?" Adam stopped taking off his pads to listen to the boy, interested.
"We go find him after practice tomorrow and we explain to him exactly how we feel about him interfering with our practice schedule."
Adam grinned and nodded, "We'll show him that he can't mess with the Hawks."
"Damn right! He'll learn he can't get away with making the Coach angry with us," Larson said, darkly.
A/N Don't you just love the word "darkly"? It's like almost knife wielding psychopath but not quite!
Could anyone tell me if I've got the name McGill right? I meant the guy who smashed Adam into the goal in D1 – the nasty big brute.
Also, for all you diehard fanatics out there who've got the script to the movies remembered off by heart, the dialogue and stuff are not going to fit in exactly with what actually happened. It's my story so I make the rules! *nods head decisively*.
Would really appreciate any feedback. You know you wanna…
PS I will be updating Defiance is a Hard Game soon. I promise I won't leave y'all in the lurch.