A/N: Hey everyone. Just so you know I'm trying to make this story and interesting blend of the movie, true events, real history, good country music, and outtakes, with a little bit of my own creative license. Like I said in the summary the rating will go up in later chapters, just to be safe. I promise nothing too graphic.
To explain some confusion about the end of the last chapter: Herb knows that he has the job, and he's hiring Faye, because I said so, and if he didn't it'd be a pretty boring story.
Two
It was the middle of June and these hockey players were pouring into the ice rink in Colorado Springs in shorts and t-shirts with loads of gear weighing them down. Ha, ice hockey in June, who would have thought. Herb asked me to help checking the guys in because I was just so friendly. I was at a table in the lobby with three other women taking names and handing out numbers. It didn't take me long to find exactly who I was hoping to see, or rather he found me.
"Faye, Darling!" I heard a friendly voice call through the crowd. I knew who it was right away; only one person could ever get away with separating my first and last names like that.
"Buzzy!" I laughed as he pushed through the crowd to get to my table. "Hey."
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
"Coach asked me if I could give him a hand with managing the team," I answered.
"And you said yes?" He mused.
"And miss out on an opportunity like this?" I reminded him, "Spending time with my best buddy from the U!" Buzz smiled back at me. "Here's your number," I offered. "Now you better get in line to have your picture taken, and then go see the equipment manager back by the lockers. Good luck Buzz!"
"Thanks," he answered, giving me a thumb's up as he walked away. "Next!" I called out. A much taller guy approached me and dropped his stuff next to the table.
"Mike Eruzione, Boston University," he explained. Mike Eruzione. That was a name I had heard Buzz mention once or twice. I flipped through my roster to check his name off.
"Number, picture, lockers," I explained pointing to each station. "Good luck, Mike."
"You too," he answered gathering his things. My eyebrows knitted together.
"What?" I asked in confusion. He looked back at me, realizing what he had done.
"I mean 'thank you'," he corrected himself before moving on.
"Jannie," I called out, waving over to another friend from the U. "Long time no see," I said playfully.
"Oh my God!" He continued sarcastically. "There was a three week period when I thought I'd never see you again!"
"Here's your number," I told him. Of all the crazy things I've ever seen these players do, I was not expecting him to jump over the table and scoop me up into his arms and try to eat my face. He slobbered all over cheek, to tickle me with his mustache, because he knew well and good that I hated it. I was shrieking and giggling until he set me back down, but it was so crowded and noisy that nobody noticed.
"Get outta here," I ordered, jerking my thumb in the direction of the photographer. I watched him head over, and I knew he was watching me in the corner of his eye as the photographer asked his name. I stuck my tongue out at him to get him to smile, and he burst out laughing as the flash went off. He shot me a look as I went on with what I was doing.
Once everyone was checked in, I decided to go watch a little bit of the tryouts. I crept quietly into the rink, pulling my light jacket up over my shoulders as I made my way down the stands to sit a few rows behind the advisory staff.
I watched one of the goalies closely. He looked like some serious competition for Jannie, and I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. I took a moment to remind myself that Herb was going to choose the players that he was going to choose, and not necessarily all my friends. Actually, it wasn't even that this guy was making more saves then Jannie would have, it's just that the way he did it was so fluid and natural, you couldn't help but notice this kid in goal. He had something on his mask. I couldn't help but smile excitedly when I realized they were little shamrock stickers.
After the scrimmage, one of the boys crouched down in a shoot the duck position, skating backwards, holding his hockey stick like a rifle. I laughed, that must have taken some serious coordination. I know I had a hard enough time moving in a forward direction in the upright position on skates.
I got up after a few more minutes and decided to go see Uncle Herb and start going through some of the boys' paperwork. I found him with Coach Patrick up stairs. They booth greeted me warmly before I grabbed a stack of papers and sat down.
"What's this?" I heard Coach Patrick ask as Herb handed him a sheet of paper.
"Twenty-six names," Herb answered. "The tough part's going to be getting it down to twenty before opening ceremony."
"This is the final roster," Craig started up. "You're kidding me, right? This is our first day, Herb. I mean we've got a week of this. What about the advisory staff? Aren't they supposed to have a say in this?"
"Technically, I guess," Herb answered. "I don't know."
"You're missing some of the best players." Craig protested.
"I'm not looking for the best players, Craig, I'm looking for the right ones," Herb answered.
"You've Jim Craig to back up Steve Janaszak?" Coach Patrick asked.
"Which one is Craig?" I asked curiously. Herb pointed across the ice to shamrock boy before turning back to Coach Patrick
"Other way around."
"What?" I asked surprise. It looked like Coach Patrick shared my confusion.
"Other way around," he asked. "I'm sorry; didn't Janaszak just win you a Junior National Championship?"
"Jannie is solid goal keeper," Uncle Herb agreed. "But we're not playing for the Junior National Championship."
"You know people I've talked to say Craig's game had been off since his mom died." Coach Patrick said. I grimaced slightly, knowing all to well what the loss of a parent can do to you.
"Did they ever see him when his game was on?"
I stood at the top of the stairs as Coach Patrick read off the list of names Herb had given him:
"Hughes. Ross. Auge. Delich. Horsch. Strobel. Christoff. Morrow. Suter. Ramsey. Janaszak. Christian. Pavelich. Verchota. Baker. Harrington. Schneider." I couldn't help but smiling to myself knowing that I'd hopefully be spending the next seven month with one of my best friends. "O'Callahan. McClanahan," another smile.
"Silk. Johnson. Craig. Cox. Eruzione," Craig finished. "And that's the roster for now, the rest of you guys, thanks for coming out." A large group of the boys got up to leave as the rest congratulated their fellow teammates.
I was very surprised to see Timmy Harrer among the boys leaving, but I was also a little relieved. He wasn't a bad guy, he was one helluva hockey player for sure, but I didn't like him. He asked me out one time, and I said no—I don't date. He wasn't very polite about the rejection. It was pretty cute watching Jannie hold Buzz back thought.
"Take a good look around boys," I jumped hearing Uncle Herb from behind me. All the boys turned to look between us—well there goes my goal of remained inconspicuous. "Cause they're the one's getting off easy. We're putting a few of you on reserve, in case someone gets injured or their game goes to hell. The final roster will have twenty names on it, so more of you are going home. Give ninety-nine percent; you'll make my job very, very easy. I'll be your coach; I won't be your friend, if you need one of those you can talk to Doc or Coach Patrick." I couldn't help but be relieved that he didn't explain my presence as I followed him down the stairs.
"Congratulations," I heard Coach Patrick speaking as we made our way out to the parking lot. "Before you go pick up one of these. You've got a little homework to do...before you celebrate." I smiled craftily remembering the lengthy psychology test Uncle Herb had shown me earlier.
I had climbed into the car and shut my door when Walter Bush came running out of the building.
"Herb!" He called. "Herb, hold on a minute."
"Hey Walter, how we doing?" Uncle Herb asked.
"I think we got a problem here Herb," Walter went on. "I've got a room full of people up there who want a say in this and you've already picked the team." Uncle Herb shut the door, shutting off the sound of their voices.
I frowned to myself, as I watched them carrying on. Walter looked pissed. It went on for a few minutes, but in the end it looked like Herb had won. He got back in the car, looking a little flustered, and we drove back to the hotel.