The next day, real practices began. I sat in the penalty box with a playbook as I watched the guys practice. The lineups went in a rotation and I noticed this lineup had a player difference, the same number of player, just one of them wasn't supposed to be on that line. It didn't seem like a problem and the puck was moving around nicely...until the out-of-place player in gray took a cheap shot at Robbie, who went down hard. The play stopped and everyone skated over to Robbie.
"What did you do that for?" asked Phil Verchota, as he looked at Robbie, who was holding his face on the ice.
"Nice hit OC," said some players from the bench as the Grey player got a satisfied smirk on his face.
"Better tell your boy to keep his head up and he won't have to worry about it." Robbie was off the ice and punching him in the face almost before he finished his sentence. None of the players seemed to know what to do, besides cheer. I looked over and saw my dad and Craig watching the fight. I had to stop it. I wasn't gonna see Robbie getting beat up and possibly kicked off the team. I got up and quickly walked out on the ice and over to the fight.
"Danielle...," my father said sternly. One look and I got the message. They had to work this one out themselves. Well, I was gonna help somehow.
"Robbie," I yelled from the sidelines. "It's not worth it!" I could see his face was bleeding. I was making no progress as the two went at each other again, fists flying. "Robbie, just let him go!" Grey guy landed a hard punch right square in Robbie's face and the two of them went down on the ice, looking grotesque and slightly pornographic.
"That Boston jack ass," I heard Mark say under his breath. So that was it. He was from Boston. But Robbie wasn't the kind of guy to hold a grudge if Boston would have beat us. I puzzled over it for a while before I was yanked back to the real world.
"Who do you play for?" I heard my dad ask Robbie, and only then realized he had been talking.
"For you, here at the U." I knew this wasn't the answer dad wanted, but he then turned to the guy in gray, A.K.A. That Boston jack ass.
"Jack O'Callahan, Charlestown Mass., Boston University." not the right answer. I sighed.
"Over here." Dad said, nodding towards a player in Brown.
"I'm Ralph Cox, I'm from wherever's not gonna get me hit..." there was laughter all around and the rest of practice went well.
I was pushing the towel cart down the hall to the laundry room when I heard someone behind me.
"Dana!" I turned around and saw Robbie running toward me, with a slightly bandaged nose. "Do you wanna come down to the O'Riley's for a drink? I'm buying. Some of the other guys are going too."
"Sure," I said, and we made our way down the street to the local bar. I might have been 21 but I got REALLY hung-over on my birthday and hadn't touched alcohol since. Robbie got me a coke. We were talking about hockey and other things when Mark came over.
"Dana," he said after a few minutes of idle chatter. "Some of the guys want to meet you, but don't want to introduce themselves." I smiled and walked over to the table with him.
"Guys, this is Danielle Brooks."
"Dana."
"Dana, right. Dana Brooks. Dana, this is Mark Pavelich, Buzz Schneider, Ralph Cox, and Jimmy Craig." I shook each ones hands.
"Anyone here not a mortal enemy of Boston? I want to be introduced." I asked, sitting down next to Jimmy, who chuckled.
"Coxie, you're cool with them right?" Buzz asked and Ralph nodded. I jumped out of my seat and dragged him out of his.
"So introduce me, weren't you listening?"
"Hey Rizzo! This is Brooks' daughter Danielle."
"DANA!" I cried, getting some weird looks from the Boston boys. I smiled sheepishly. "Go on."
"Dana, this is Mike Eruzione, Dave Silk, and Jack O'Callahan." I shook their hands just like the other guy's but when I came to Jack I couldn't keep from making a comment.
"So, if you don't mind me asking, why'd you flatten Mac at practice today?" I asked, sliding into the booth next to him.
Rizzo gave me a don't-go-there look, but it was too late. Jack scooted away from me a little and turned to face me. 'He gets nervous when I get close, file that somewhere' I thought.
"You're from Minnesota, right? Then you know we played you at the '76 playoffs."
"So?" I didn't get it, "come on, you can't be that sore of a loser."
Dave Silk's face was turning red from the effort of not laughing.
"Your boy over there cheap shots me; I got kicked out of the game-"
"And we win the national championship." I finished. "Hmm, three years is an awful long time to hold a grudge, sort of pathetic, don't you think?" As I walked away, I heard Dave's laughter hit the bursting point and Rizzo's beer come out his nose.
"What exactly did you say?" Mark (Johnson is Mark from now on and Pavelich is Pav) asked.
I smiled serenely. "I called him pathetic."
