I didn't know there were female hockey players, but I'll accept this as more proof that I don't know everything. The day after Team USA made the semi-finals, USA Hockey decided that they wanted new ads trying to get more kids registered across the country. Every team that was going to play in the medal round scheduled gruelling practices for New Year's Day, which meant that Brad was unavailable until 5pm yesterday, at which point we went to dinner. We were interrupted in the middle of dinner by Carey Moore, Peter Ashby and Spencer Kraft who joined us and monopolized the conversation at the table. Now today, USA Hockey is filming its new television marketing ads with Brad in his Team USA blues and young female hockey superstar Samantha DiDiomete in her Team USA whites. Together they look like the Superman and Wonder Woman of American hockey and it all makes me feel a little sick.
I ought to feel good about it. Samantha DiDiomete is 19, an Olympic silver medallist, a Women's World Hockey Championship gold medallist and a Women's World Junior Championship gold medallist. She's an inspiration to young girls who love hockey but think it's a boys' domain where they don't belong. But she's way too close to Brad for my liking. She may be another in a long list of female hockey pioneers but she's tall, blonde, athletic and stunning and after spending the last few days on uneasy footing with Brad, my jealousy has kicked into overdrive.
What's even more irritating is how good they are together. The first part of the ad involves her coming in on him, pulling a move to get around him and firing a goal into the empty net. The next part of the ad involved Brad powering past her and firing a goal into the empty net at the other end of the ice. The third part of the ad involves the two of them standing at centre ice trying to stare each other down. But they can't do it without breaking into laughs. The first take, she sticks her tongue out at him and he starts chuckling and skates away for a second to gather himself up for the next take.
This time he makes a snarling face at her and she breaks into a giggle fit. She's got more than two years on him and she's an Olympian and yet he manages to turn her into a giggling school like he does every other woman under the age of twenty. On the third take, she reaches up with her stick and taps the front of his cup making him laugh once again. He shakes his head and has to take a few strides on his skates to collect himself again. On the fourth take, just as they think they've got the shot, Brad leans forward and gives her a kiss on the cheek. She breaks into another giggling fit, the director yells "cut!" and every one takes five minutes.
I hate it. They look good together which is what really sucks about it all. Last year the two of them were in USA Hockey's advertising campaign. Her the shining Olympian back from the 2018 Olympics, him the World Juniors silver medallist and 2020 NHL Entry Draft top prospect. The golden boy and the sexy Amazon; the ad campaign was credited for registering 15,000 new hockey players (4,500 of them girls) in the last year. They stand there talking to each other as the crews adjust the cameras and microphones for another go at the head-to-head shot at centre ice. I don't know what Brad is saying to her but she's laughing and playfully punching him in the shoulder an awful lot. They do the final take of the centre ice scene before doing the last scene of the two of them speaking into the camera.
This is USA Hockey's dream scenario; the two of them getting romantically involved. It tells boys that hot girls love a hockey player (which is true). It tells girls that it's possible to be both an athlete and feminine (something the culture refuses to believe is possible). It's also a dream scenario for their agent, Kate Henderson, who's a former Team USA Olympic gold medallist in hockey in her own right. It's a marketing bonanza for her. Both of their stocks rise overnight, their pay-outs in outside endorsement deals hit eight figures, it's great PR.
Now you know why I'm worried. They're done filming the ad. The director thanks the two of them and they skate off the ice toward the dressing rooms. "How are my two favourite clients?" Kate greets them as they step off the ice.
"Cut it out, Kate. We both know you represent NHL hockey players and they make you a lot more money." Brad grumbles with a very reserved look on his face.
"Hey, you're going to want to be very nice to me when I tell you what my source at NHL Central Scouting just told me." Kate greets Brad with a friendly peck on either cheek before extending the same greeting to Samantha.
"What's up?" Brad looks her in the eye.
"The midterm reports on the top prospects for the next NHL Entry Draft are due to be released next week once the World Juniors wrap up here. My source at Central Scouting says your stock has risen as high as being the fourth ranked North American skater and that you could get as high as second depending on how the medal round goes over the next few days." Kate peaks one eyebrow at him. "Now tell mama how much you love her."
"Kate, I don't know what I'd do without you." Brad gives her a quick hug. "Hey, you two have been properly introduced, right?" Brad indicates between me and his agent. "Kate Henderson, this is Sasha Rabb. Sasha, this is Kate." I shake Kate's hand. Samantha clears her throat behind Brad. "Oh right, Sasha Rabb this is Sam DiDiomete. Sam, this is Sasha."
"Nice to meet you." She extends her hand to me and beams a bright white smile.
"Yes, nice to meet you, too." I smile politely. The two of them head off to the same dressing room and my paranoia kicks in for a second. "Brad, I think you're headed to the wrong room."
"No, my stuff's in here." He says before checking the mark on the door.
"I thought male and female hockey players dressed in separate dressing rooms?" I question.
"Normally, that's true. But the Canadian team is doing a charity skate here with some kids from a Toronto hospital so; they needed a couple dressing rooms. And there was only two of us, so it seemed kind of stupid to take up two dressing rooms." Brad explains with a typical steady tone and cool logic.
"Besides, I've been playing this sport for fourteen years; you think he's got anything I haven't seen?" Samantha jokes as the two of them step into the dressing room. I'm not naïve; I know that hockey dressing rooms at this level have showers so that players can wash the sweat out of their hair after games. That's what has me worried. After hearing about the "ranch hands" at the Kitchener games, my jealousy started and then Samantha on the ice and now…the same dressing room…I know this sounds like nothing so, maybe I should explain.
I don't know what Brad looks like with his shirt off any more, I used to but the last time I saw him like that would have been like the summer between Grades Nine and Ten. But I know that you get naked to shower and I know that she'll be naked and he'll be what every teenage male is…which is to say, a horny idiot. So, to put it simply, I'm a little worried that the two of them screw in the shower in the dressing room. Yes, I know I sound like a jealous girlfriend and I'm not his girlfriend. Hell, I'll even admit that I'm bordering on the obsessive here and I don't like that. I don't like sounding like some horrible heroine from a Tammy Wynette medley but the last thing I needed on this vacation was competition; real or imagined.
It takes about twenty minutes or so normally to get your gear off after a game. Then eight or so minutes in the shower and a few minutes to change, I've got a half hour to kill. I sit on the bench and stare out at the ice. Back in high school, Brad and I would sit on the bench for hours before a game. We'd talk about anything and everything from the strategy of the game to Socrates and Thomas Aquinas. I could curse at him in Russian and he'd brush me off in French. I sit here and watch the guys from Team Canada do a charity skate for some terminally ill children in conjunction with the Make a Wish Foundation.
A member of Team Canada, in full battle dress as my dad calls it, comes over to the bench. "Hey, little lady, you get lost?" He asks me.
"No, I'm just waiting for a much more impressive hockey player." I reply, trying to brush him off.
"Now, slow down there, I'm Trevor Wood. You might have heard of me, number one ranked OHL skater in the preliminary draft ranking, expected to be the number one ranked North American skater in Central Scouting's midterm rankings. Two goals and five assists at this tournament. What more impressive hockey player could you be waiting for?" The guy in the red sweater and black helmet challenges.
"Let's see. First in OHL scoring at the Christmas break, first in total points at the OHL Christmas break, Alternate Captain of the Kitchener Rangers and six goals to go with seven assists in this tournament." I flash a sarcastic grin. The Team Canada coach tells me that they need the bench to let the kids rest. I move up to a seat a few rows behind the bench and continue to just stare out over the ice. After a few minutes I feel a hand rest on my shoulder and I look up to see Brad. "Hey, I think I need to ask you a few questions."
"Shoot." He takes a seat next to me.
"I know how this is going to sound, but you're going to have trust that I don't mean it that way. I'm your buddy, remember?" Those last words kind of hurt me to say but it'll shut off the part of his mind that will want to overanalyze everything.
"Hey, we've been friends since we were three, you can ask me anything." He playfully bumps my shoulder with his.
"Well, I just overheard Nolan speaking with some scout yesterday trying to get a read on your personality and they said something about 'ranch hands'. I was just wondering…"
"If I've played indulged a few cowgirl fantasies?" Brad picks up my train of thought.
"I think we're in danger of overextending the metaphor." I comment lightly.
"Twice last year." He answers honestly, his head hung and shoulders slumped. "The first time, it was like a week after I got to Kitchener. As tough as the American media can be on me the Kitchener media was tougher. My first game was a Friday night, we played Sarnia and I had a goal and two assists. We won 5-1. Sunday afternoon we played Windsor, I scored two goals and added three assists and we beat Windsor 6-5. When I got back to school Monday morning, the monkey was off my back and I was riding a pretty good wave. I was miles from home, I didn't really know anybody, I was living with strange billets that I didn't really know and when this one girl told me that I should come over and that her parents weren't going to be home, I figured what the hell."
"So, she was your first." I question and he seems a little uneasy. "She wasn't your first?"
"Well, you see, last year at the World Juniors in Calgary, USA Hockey wanted to do some promo spots so they brought out Sam and we spent a day even longer than today out on the ice. It was late when we wrapped, we went back to the dressing room. I don't know how it happened; we just ended up showering at the same time." I cut him off there.
"Brad, a man and a woman never just end up showering at the same time. At least one of them makes a conscious decision and it's the one who enters the shower second." I point out.
"Well, that would be her." He answers. "It kind of happened fast, you know, well not that part…I mean; I don't know if that part happened fast or not, at least not comparatively…What I mean is that I was showering, she was showering, I checked her out then she checked me out. I don't really remember what immediately followed that but the next image I have of that evening was her pressed up against the tile wall of the shower moaning and her legs wrapped around my waist."
"Okay, I may have gotten more information there then I would have ever needed to hear in this lifetime." I force a chuckle but it's only to distract from the shock on my face. "How do you know that you don't have…I mean with diseases and pregnancy and all that…"
"Well, pregnancy's fairly easy to detect and condoms are a pretty good helper in that regard." He comments. "Besides, I got one physical when I got to Kitchener, another before the OHL season this year and another one when I showed up to prep camp for Team USA halfway through December. I've been told three different times by two different doctors that I couldn't be more physically fit and healthy."
"Yeah, but I'm willing to bet that you didn't have a condom in your hockey bag last winter in Calgary." I point out, raising my voice as I get up out of my chair.
"No, you're right; I got lucky on that one." He replies calmly and coolly. "I was sixteen and I screwed up." The fact that he's admitting to some kind of fault only makes it worse because I can't take out my frustration on him. "Are you okay?"
"No, but I'll get over it." I have to. It's not like he committed a cardinal sin or anything. We weren't dating, hell we hadn't spoken in two weeks when this happened. "Why didn't you and she, I mean you're Mr. and Miss USA Hockey. You've got everything in common, she's tall and you're tall; she loves hockey and you live to play this game; and apparently the two of you have had sex, so you're physically attracted to one another, why didn't you…"
"Date?" Brad questions. "When were we going to do that? I play hockey forty hours a week, so does she. I go to high school; she goes to the University of Ohio. Yeah, we share an agent but we'd get to see each other what? Six or seven times a year, you can't maintain a relationship on that." He gets up and walks over to me on the steps. "Now, do you want to head back to the hotel or not?"
"Yeah, let's go." I nod and we head for the door.
It's the next day and I'm still not quite able to get my head around this whole new picture I have of Brad Ross. So, I'm now doing everything I can to help fill out this new picture and when the guys from Team USA came to me with the idea of pulling a prank on Brad, I couldn't sign on fast enough. The idea was to get Brad to do something stupid and I had just the idea. I gathered the team together and camped them outside Brad, Carey and Ashby's hotel room. Using a key-card, I slip into the hotel room while Brad is having a shower.
I've got to be quiet and careful about this so that he doesn't hear me coming. I slowly nudge open the bathroom door and the steam hits me in the face. I'm trying to block out images that flood my mind from last night's discussion with Brad. Just the notion of sex in the shower, the steam, the acoustics, the water and the accompanying slipperiness if that's a word. I make sure the door creaks behind me and I hear him shout over the water. "Is there anyone there?!" I start whistling and his head pops out from behind the shower curtain. "What are you doing here?" He questions and I hold up his boxers on the tip of my right index finger. "You wouldn't!" He charges and I nod with a wicked grin on my face. I gather up the remaining towels in the room along with his bathrobe.
I move out of the bathroom and he bounds out of the shower after me. He's got his hands covering his crotch as he runs which makes the sight all the more amusing. This may be the wrong time to comment on it but all that time he spends on the ice and in the gym has him more toned and ripped than I've ever seen or would have thought likely after only a year. I dash out the door and just as he's about to bound out into the hallway naked and sopping wet, he thinks twice and hides behind the open door, just poking his head around the edge. "Aha, I have the upper hand!" He dashes back into the room to look for his clothes. It'll be to no avail, the guys cleaned the drawers out in preparation for this prank. After a frantic minute, the head pokes back around the door. "Okay, seriously give me my clothes back."
"NO!" The crowd cheers at once and Brad looks annoyed.
"Come on, guys. This isn't funny." Brad tries to look stern and keep the grin from forming on his face.
"I gotta disagree, Cap'." Carey takes a picture with his phone. Brad turns his eyes to me with that pleading puppy dog look. Normally, I would melt and just give in but I'm a little annoyed with him right now. These guys want something that they can hold over his head. So, he's either gonna have to step out from behind that door or give them something else. I see him take a deep breath.
He looks at me and develops a cold stare. He licks his lips. Once again he looks like the Big Bad Wolf eyeing Little Red Riding Hood. "My God, you've got a body." He says in a voice so deep I'm not sure I recognize it. The hallway goes dead silent; you could head a pin drop or a dust bunny cough. "Wiggle that hot little ass on over here." He says and I swear to God every jaw in the hall just dropped. I can't help but move toward the door. I don't know why I am but my legs seem to have developed a mind of their own. When I'm within arm's reach, he loops an arm around my waist, hoists me up off the ground, into the hotel room and closes the door behind him.
"What the hell was that?" I demand, my hands firmly on my hips.
"Me getting my boxers back." He smiles quickly, reaches out and snatches them from my hand. Then something happens that tells me he's way too comfortable with me. His other hand drops from the part of anatomy he was attempting to hide from view and I get the full Monty. My jaw drops again and I gasp. I will soon kick myself for doing both those things. "What?" He questions, pulling his boxers up around his waist before looking back down to realize what he'd just done. "Oh crap, I'm sorry, that was well, crass I suppose."
"It was…" I'm trying to avoid words like big or huge, "…something."
"I'll take that as a compliment." He chuckles, pulls a sheet off one of the beds and proceeds to dry his hair.
"Speaking of compliments, what was with all the bad porno come-ons in front of the guys out in the hallway?" I saunter toward him standing in front of the bed.
"I needed to distract them and get you close enough that I could get my boxers back." He replies with a smile. "Plus I figured after that talk we had last night, you'd be thinking about sex almost as much as I have been so I just added up two and two. It came out to four and I went with my plan."
"So, that hot little ass and great body stuff, I should just accept it as a ploy or were you being serious?" I ask tepidly.
"I guess we'll never know." He replies coyly and I head for the door. "Hey Sash!" I turn to face him. "Think you can get the rest of my clothes from the guys?"
It's finally time for the Russia game. Normally the IIHF eschews large ceremony for the medal round games and normally that's fine because the host countries don't like the expense but USA Hockey is trying to show off its program. This is a Wednesday evening USA-Russia game that's being broadcast on NBC because the television directors are on strike and there's no Bowl Game tonight. They've got the Russian and American teams entering from opposite ends of the rink, the house lights are down and there's are spotlights with colour mock ups of the Team USA logo and the Team Russia logo shining on the ice at either end.
First they read out the Russian line up and the Russian players skate out from the tunnel to their blue-line. In typical fashion, they read the players from the team who aren't starting and then they read the players who are going to be in the starting line-up. After all the Russians have lined up on the blue-line they start calling the players from Team USA. My favourite part is when they get to the starting line-up.
"Starting in goal for Team USA, wearing number thirty-five from Ohio State University, Adam Petrecki!" A short dark haired goaltender skates out from the tunnel to the Team USA blue-line. "Starting of defence for Team USA, wearing number eight from the University of Michigan, Cam Cross! Also starting on defence for Team USA, wearing number twenty-four from Denver University, Peter Nielson!" The two defensemen skate out and join the rest of their team on the blue-line. "Starting at left wing for Team USA, wearing number ninety-four from the Kitchener Rangers of the Ontario Hockey League, Carey Moore!" Carey skates out to join his team at the blue-line. "Starting at centre for Team USA, wearing number ten from the Erie Otters of the Ontario Hockey League, Peter Ashby!"
I look down and see a small collection of smoke forming along the floor of the Team USA tunnel. I look up at the TV and realize that it's a smoke machine filling the tunnel to add a little more theatre to this entrance. "And starting at right wing for Team USA, wearing number seventy-nine from Kitchener Rangers of the Ontario Hockey League, the Captain of Team USA, Bradley Ross!" Brad walks through the smoke like some mythical warrior about to enter the field of battle. He skates over to the blue-line to join his team. After the ceremony is dispensed with, the two teams send their starting lines out to take the opening face-off. The puck slaps against the ice and the game has started.
I've been told that Team Russia can be both the easiest and toughest team to dispense with in the tournament. Brad says the Russians play a one dimensional game most years, if you shutdown their offensive attack you can control the game but in order to do that, you've got to take the body to them. Some times the Russians have great goaltending which adds another element to their game but this isn't one of those years, since the Canadians beat them 7-1 in the round robin and the Russians only squeaked by the Czechs 8-6 in yesterday's quarter-final. The Americans set a bone-rattling pace early on. Carey Moore lines up the Russian player, Kurapov, and checks him over the boards and into the Team Russia bench. When Nolan White and Marty Schaefer step out on to the ice for Team USA, the pounding being laid on the Russians is taken to a whole other level. At the end of the first period, the game is still a scoreless tie but the Russians are feeling a lot of developing bruises as they head to the dressing room.
In between periods, I'm never sure what to do with myself. Today, I'm just sitting in a seat a few rows up from the Team USA bench and someone plops down next to me. "Hey, I thought I recognized you." She says, I look over and see it's Samantha DiDiomete.
"Hey." I say without any enthusiasm. "I figured you'd be schmoozing with the USA Hockey people.
"Nah, I can't stand them most of the time." She comments lightly and I just roll my eyes. I think she notices. "Did I do something to offend you?" She asks.
"No, it's just…" I answer. "It's tough to explain." I relegate my explanation to that but she's still trying to look me in the eye.
"No, it's not. Brad told you what happened last year." She chances but I'm sure my body language gives me away. "Listen, it was nothing serious."
"Yeah, so he tried to say." I comment flippantly.
"It wasn't and if it's any consolation, you're definitely getting the upgraded model this year." She laughs and I furrow my brow.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Well, last year he was two inches shorter, he was bean pole skinny instead of well…and he was a first timer." She starts to explain. "Now, I know that the media likes to treat him like he's some kind of Superman but do you imagine that he was really anything special his first time?"
"You're saying he was…" I'm not sure how to end that sentence.
"A mere mortal, only average, for once in his life." She chuckles. "A 5.5 out of 10." She adds for further clarification.
"Wow, really?" I can't help but smile.
"Yeah, but he was sixteen, it was a quasi-public place and I've been told I can be a little intimidating, so it's kind of understandable that he'd be nervous and would fumble around a bit. He was better the second time and he was really improved by the third time."
"Second and third times? Hold up. I was only told of one time." I reply. "Actually he only said you two had sex, he didn't say how many times."
"Listen, it was a long couple of days between the semi-final and the gold medal game last year." She's a little uncomfortable. "Every woman who gets near that man knows that he's yours on an emotional level. He just doesn't know it yet. I don't think anyone thinks there's a chance at permanency with him because it's always about you. Even last year, you were all he could talk about. I'm not a threat to you."
"Good to know." I let out a self deprecating chuckle. "So, he was nothing special, huh?"
"No, the first time he needed more guidance than a blind mouse in a maze." She says and we share a laugh. "But he's a quick study."
"Also good to know." I laugh. "Is it really that obvious that I'm in…I mean that really like him?"
"Yeah." She answers with a fond nod. "But the reason he doesn't see it is because he's got tunnel vision. Right now, he's got a bee-line focus on the Draft in June and everything in his life is toward that end. The NHL is a big time thing for the guys in Junior; they don't have the education that the NCAA guys have to fall back on so they've got to be better."
"You're saying that I could stand naked in front of him and he probably wouldn't notice unless I had a hockey puck over my belly button?" I laugh again.
"Well, I like to think he's not that stupid." She comments. "Besides, I think if that boy ever saw you naked, you'd understand what it would be like to be a sea-side village when the Vikings arrive."
"That's a very vivid image, thank you." I laugh and my attention drifts back to the ice as the Russians and Americans re-take the ice for the second period. It's good to have Sam here to explain some of the things I don't understand about this game. Brad's line goes right out against the top Russian line of Kurapov, Ropatov and Fedoreyev. The puck drops and Team USA resumes the physical beating that they laid on the Russians in the first period. Ropatov gets the puck and tries to cut across the middle of the ice but Brad takes two strides, drops his shoulder and buries it into the young Russians chest, sending him crashing to the ice. International hockey outlaws hitting to the head, which is good because so does Junior hockey in Canada so Brad's learned to target his checks to an opponent's chest.
Sam informs me that the Russians have changed their goalie since the high scoring affair they had yesterday and that Russian goalies like to compete with each other and that one goalie getting drubbed the previous day means the other is going to come out like the re-incarnation of Vladislav Tretiak.
"Who the hell is Vladislav Tretiak?" I ask.
"Soviet goalie during the 1970s, arguably one of the top five goaltenders of all time." She answers. As we near the end of the second period, the shots are 28-26 favouring Team USA. The American defence has made sure that the Russians get only long distance shots in on goal whereas the Russian goalie has stood on his head to prevent the Americans from scoring. Near the end of the period, the Russians have a power-play and are working the puck around the top of the offensive zone. The Russian defenseman tees up a slap-shot but the American defenseman Nielson lays himself down in front of the shot and takes it off the top of his foot.
The puck slides over to Ashby and the referee blows the play down. Nielson is down hurt on the ice. Everyone on the Team USA bench is standing to see what's wrong. The Team USA trainer slides on his sneakers out to Nielson to check out his foot. "What do you think it is?" I ask Sam.
"I think he broke his foot." She answers. We watch as it takes the trainer a few minutes to get Nielson to his feet before taking him back over to the tunnel and straight into the Team USA dressing room. The rest of the period goes on without event and going into the second intermission, it's still a scoreless tie.
"Who has the advantage going into the third period?" I turn to Sam.
"Team USA is going to miss Nielson but you gotta think that the Russian goaltender can't keep this up much longer. It's about even but you've got to give the edge to Team USA." She explains. The two of us talk school and music and other stuff for the eighteen minutes of the intermission Was I justified to be a little jealous of her? Maybe a little bit but you know what? She's a really great person, so I can't knock Brad's taste.
Team USA comes out for the third period and I see Peter and Carey lining up for the face-off but I can't see Brad anywhere on the right wing. Sam taps me on the shoulder and points to the USA defence and I see Brad set up on the blue-line with Nolan White. Apparently, the USA coach has subbed in his team's best scorer to fill in on defence in the absence of Nielson. "Why's Brad playing defence?" I ask.
"They scratched their seventh defenseman before the game. Brad's a big guy and a fantastic skater. They play him on the point on the power-play anyway, so it's not like he's without experience in the position." Sam explains. The puck drops and the Russians control the play but Brad and Nolan go right to work on the blue-line. The Russians come charging at them but Brad stands at just over 6'3" and Nolan at almost 6'5" and that's without skates or pads on, so the Russian attack is quickly blunted and the play is sent back up ice the other way.
The play goes on at this pace all period. The Russians attack and the American defence holds them off. The Americans counter attack and they run into a large Russian wall in the form of Yuri Arduchenko, the Russian goaltender. With five minutes left in the period, the Americans are leading the shot count 47-29 but the game is still scoreless. It seems like it would take a corps of Navy cryptographers to solve Arduchenko at this point. The Americans and Russians evenly trade off penalties in the third period and with only two minutes left now, it seems like we're bound for overtime.
The Russians finally manage to pin the Americans down below their blue-line with forty-five seconds left, the Russians are pounding shots toward the net but American players are getting whatever part of their body or equipment in front of the puck that they can. The puck is bouncing around the American defensive zone like a pinball until it somehow ends up on the stick of Nolan White. Nolan takes a quick look a fires a pass up the middle for Brad and Brad takes off at full speed for the Russian goal. It becomes a foot race between Brad and the only Russian player with the speed to catch him, Ropatov.
Brad's got about a step and a half on the Russian who's trying desperately to catch him. They cross the Russian blue-line and Ropatov makes one last desperate attempt to stop the play. He takes a giant two handed slash and lands it right across Brad's lower shins, tripping him up. Brad tumbles to the ice and the referee, instead of calling for a penalty, points to centre ice. We understand why when we all look up at the clock and notice that there is exactly 3.3 seconds left on the clock. The linesman takes the puck and places it at centre ice. Brad gets up and skates back to his own blue-line. The Russian players gather at the Russian bench, the American players collect at the American bench. The American goaltender stands like some great stoic statue behind Brad in the American goal. The referee speaks to the Russian goaltender before skating back to centre and speaking with Brad. He backs off toward the penalty boxes on the other side of the rink. The arena is silent for a second before the referee blows his whistle.
Brad takes a few fast strong strides from the blue-line and he takes the puck at centre ice. He starts to break on a gradual curve to his left side. Sam points out in a low whisper that this makes sense given that he's a right handed shot. Brad's speed picks up, as does his handling of the puck as he crosses into the Russian zone. He begins to cut back toward the middle of the ice as he nears the goal. About ten feet out from the net, despite heading in a left-to-right motion Brad fires a shot on net. It rockets passed Russian goaltender Arduchenko and into the upper left hand corner of the net. Team USA leads 1-0 with 3.3 seconds left in the game.
Brad rushes back toward the American bench and leaps into the crowd of players that are there waiting for him. They know they're headed back to the gold medal game. The Canadians beat Sweden 6-0 earlier in the day, so facing Canada on Friday night may or may not be a good thing. The face-off that's coming is almost a formality. Ashby wins it and draws it back to Nolan White. White takes a few strides, crosses the redline and fires it down into the Russian zone. Time runs out.
The two teams coolly line up on their respective blue-lines just as they started the game. This time they're awarding the players of the game. No one is surprised when Arduchenko wins the award for the Russians. When Brad's name is called for Team USA, the arena erupts into rapturous applause. 12,000 fans are on their feet clapping for him as he skates over to accept his award. I've watched him play hockey since he was really young, but I don't think I've ever felt really proud for him until right now. Maybe that's a terrible thing to say, I don't know. The Americans line-up together again and belt-out The Star Spangled Banner at the top of their lungs, almost drowning out the PA system
On Friday night, they'll play for gold.