Chapter 8 – The Minnesota Miracle Kids

When he went to the ice rink to meet his new J.V. team, Ted Orion knew what would have to happen. The kids were probably going to hate him, but he needed to be the bad guy and lay down the law and let them know a change was about to come; they weren't going to like it, but they needed to prepare for real life, and he wasn't going to stand for any disrespect, either, from them, especially after he heard the original District Fivers showed up to orientation day late, through the backdoor of the theater, crashing into the curtains wearing roller blades. He wondered whose idea that had been. But he could guess. He had to clarify that he wasn't there to be their friend. Once practice was over, they could have fun and be a family. But when it was practice time, it was time to work.

He got a first glimpse of them – some Ducks were missing; Jesse Hall and his brother Terry and their family moved away to Ohio due to his dad getting a better job out there the previous season, and Dean Portman decided he didn't want to go to Eden Hall if Bombay wasn't the coach. Ted could see the kids horsing around with a lasso, with Dwayne roping them up as they skated around, trying to avoid getting roped – whoever got caught was out.

These were the Minnesota Miracle Kids, Team USA, and the USA Mighty Ducks – Gordon's little golden children, his babies, the family he'd created for himself over the years. Gordon had turned the keys over to him, giving him complete control to do as he wanted. Having the keys to the house now, he needed to set some new rules.

Ted could see they were laughing and having fun, but fun needed to come after the hard work, and he couldn't have them practicing this way. They wouldn't learn to protect themselves by skating away from a lasso.

Sighing, he prepared himself for what had to happen. Skating out onto the ice, he stopped just as the captain – Conway, Charlie – collapsed, the rope tied up around him as he fell at his feet, glancing up slowly, only to see a purse-lipped Coach Orion standing there, arms crossed over his chest, not at all amused by their childish display.

"My name is Coach Orion," he said sternly, his voice moving into his "coach" voice, the same tone he used whenever he spoke to his old J.V. team, many of whom were on Varsity now; he watched, unamused, as Charlie slowly got up and onto his feet, watching him in surprise – he knew Charlie recognized him as a player of the North Stars. "You can call me 'Coach' or 'Coach Orion.'" When Charlie stood up, he stood maybe a few inches shorter – he could tell the boy would grow to at least his height when he got older, and he wasn't going to stop growing any time soon.

Charlie stuck his hand out to shake his. "You can call me 'Charlie,'" he said, smiling only slightly, but when he saw Ted was in no mood for formalities or kidding around, he pulled his hand away. Even the Ducks' chuckling went away just as quickly.

"That must be what that 'C' on your jersey stands for, huh?" Ted asked him. "It sure doesn't stand for 'captain.'"

Russ Tyler spoke up. "Sorry, Coach. We were just messin' with you, ya know?" Ted turned to glance at him – knew from Russ's records that the kid came from central LA, from the thick of what some would call "the hood." The kid was clearly determined to be on good behavior and keep his scholarship, not at all wanting trouble. But Ted remained firm and stern as he looked at every single one of them.

"Hey, Bombay gave him that 'C,'" said Goldberg, all decked out in Philly pride.

"And I respect that," Ted said, meaning every word of it – he did respect Gordon's decision to name Charlie the captain; he was sure Charlie was a great leader, no question, but he wanted to see Charlie earn it under his leadership. "But that's the past. This is my team now, and I'll be selecting the captain."

"You gotta be kidding me, right?" Charlie asked him, and Ted instantly internally recoiled, not at all liking this kid's attitude; he was a far cry from the innocent-looking child he saw when the boy played in the Peewees, the youngest Ducks member at age ten years old in a group of eleven-year-olds; there was a jaded bitterness there that hadn't at all been present in the boy when Ted had first seen him play many years ago in Peewees.

"I mean, you're the rookie here," Charlie continued. "We've all been together for four years."

The other Ducks murmured in agreement; Ted could see how Charlie influenced them, and it instantly reminded him of Bombay, the cockiness and arrogance, but it also reminded Ted of himself, of how he could get just about anyone to listen to him and follow him; it was why he'd been named captain of the Varsity team by the time he was in his sophomore year of high school. Even looking at Charlie's blue eyes, which seemed so similar to his and Bombay's, Ted was convinced that somehow, someway, he and Bombay possibly had a long-lost connected relative who made a love child with Charlie Conway's mother – his personality was like the two of them morphed together.

Sure, it was easy for Charlie to say that now. But he wouldn't be saying that after he started to play at the high school level.

Not at all breaking eye contact with the boy, he said, "Okay, Charlie, laps." He needed to get this kid to stop talking out of his behind and start following some orders. "Right now."

Charlie begrudgingly removed the lasso from around his neck as he asked, "How many, Coach Orion?"

"I don't recall saying," Ted replied, not at all liking Charlie's attitude at this point – he wasn't quite sure what happened to the boy that made him this way; he could only begin to wonder who lit a match under this kid's ass to turn him into someone who could go from carefree to moody and defiant. The kid was a hurricane – that was the best metaphor Ted could conjure up.

Charlie sighed but otherwise did as he was told, but not without shooting him filthy glances in between. But Ted wouldn't waste time on Conway's attitude problems, not when he had a group of kids he needed to discipline.

"Now, you all listen up, and listen good," he said sternly, glancing at every single kid in the room, remembering their names and faces – he picked out Julie with her dirty blonde hair braided down her back, looking like an older version of his daughter, Connie with her long, dark hair and soft baby face wearing a jersey for the Minnesota Moose, Averman with his curly red hair and glasses, Goldberg who was heavyset and heavily tanned and looking like a walking billboard for the Flyers, and he could also pick out Banks, who looked like a younger version of his mother, Allyson, who'd been homecoming queen in Ted's freshman year at Eden Hall, all the way from his blond hair to his face. They all looked at him, intimidated, their mouths shut, faces pale with unease, their eyes following his every movement.

"We are here for one reason and one reason only," he continued. "You know what that is? It starts with a 'W.'" His gaze landed on Averman, who decided now was the time to start cracking jokes.

"To win, Coach Orion, sir!" Averman yelled at the top of his lungs, but only a few of the Ducks snickered uncomfortably while some looked at Averman as though they hoped he'd just shut up. But Ted wasn't about to tell Averman to shut up – he wouldn't lie if he said Averman slightly amused him; the kid had some charm and was witty. Besides, at least he answered, even if he was partially joking. Ted had to fight back a grin; he swallowed his amusement and continued.

Ted cleared his throat, fighting back laughter, and said, "No." Everyone instantly stopped laughing. "To work!" He watched as Averman blushed fiercely, turning as red as his hair. "High school hockey is very hard work." He'd given this lecture to Riley and Cole in Riley's freshman year, only for Riley to turn against him and fight him, running off to Daddy to get him on Varsity even though he didn't deserve to be on Varsity. The only difference here was that he knew the kids were listening to him, some of them nodding in agreement. "And it all begins . . . with defense. I've seen your tapes. I know you can score goals. I just don't know if you can stop them."

"Hey," laughed Goldberg, moving forward and locking eyes with Ted. When he saw Ted wasn't kidding around, he added a soft, "Sorry, sir."

"You're not kids or little ducks anymore," Ted continued, "so I'm not gonna treat you that way. You're gonna learn to play two-way hockey: offense and defense. It's gonna take one thing. It starts with a 'W.'"

"To work, Coach Orion, sir!" Averman piped up, and at this, nobody laughed. Even Ted was losing his patience with Averman's jokes.

"Wrong," Ted said sternly. "Will. It's gonna take real will . . . if you want to play in my barn. All right. Count off. Let's climb the ladder."

The kids all counted one, two, three, and within minutes, Ted had them start. He put Goldberg in first to see what he had, and he instantly saw Goldberg was slow, lazy, and out of practice – Adam Banks shot against him first when Ted had them line up in front of the net to take their shots for a warm-up, and yes, Goldberg blocked one against Banks, but when Germaine followed up, he scored easily. Dwayne then followed it. When it was time for Goldberg to pick up the pace and move, he did not move fast enough. He remained slow and sluggish in the net, not at all covering the open areas of the net – how the Ducks lasted this long with him, Ted didn't know.

Ted shook his head, not satisfied with what he saw. Goldberg had grown so complacent in his role, so comfortable that he grew cocky, and he got so caught up in his own cockiness that he let it get into his head. Even Averman scored against Goldberg. But when Kenny did a trick maneuver from his figure skating days and knocked Goldberg over, Ted fought back his laughter, pursing his lips together tighter.

"Hey, Baryshkinov, knock that off!" Ted ordered at Kenny, watching as Goldberg struggled back up to his feet slowly. "Goldberg! When's the last time you practiced?"

"Well, uh . . ." Goldberg stammered, "we don't practice, per se. We either play or play around. You know, have fun. You know, that thing that makes you smile and laugh."

And that was the problem; all Goldberg had to say was just that. None of them took practice seriously. Granted, Ted didn't expect them to take themselves seriously all the time, but when it was time to work on their strengths and weaknesses, it wasn't the time for jokes. He thought up something he could do to make practices fun afterward, maybe have them scrimmage for fun or play "dodgeball" if the training was arduous (they were fourteen, after all, they needed some enjoyment out of it to blow off some steam), but he would save that if he saw them work really hard to improve after a few weeks.

Afterward, he wanted to see what Julie the Cat could do. Ted shot Goldberg a stern look, and he watched as the boy said he'd shut up now. Watching Julie, Ted saw her block every shot. She was so fast, so lithe; it was like watching a lynx pounce on its prey, and she was so graceful despite wearing those heavy pads. He watched as she blocked her teammates' shots, apologizing each time she did – she was a sweetheart, a trait that he saw in his own little girl, but she was also no-nonsense and focused and determined. He felt his anger swell up – the fact that her talent had been wasted in the Junior Goodwill Games was a crime because she was an absolute beauty to watch in front of the net; it was like she was from another planet. He needed her to be the first one in the net and get the cat out of the bag because nobody put Baby in a corner, not in his arena. It didn't matter to him that Connie and Julie were girls – they had that grit and that will; they were fierce and independent, and he wanted to see them empowered.

He ended the practice by having them do a scrimmage, and once he called an end to the practice, he had his roster sheet completely written up. Based on what Ted had seen, Banks was getting bumped to Varsity. But Charlie needed to earn his captain's position. Russ was going to the third line; he needed more discipline, and he needed to learn to stop being so cocky. Charlie was no doubt going to be on the first line, along with Fulton; they were going to be his starting line-up, with Julie as the starting goalie, and he'd make Goldberg a defensive player along with Fulton, but Fulton needed to get out of his comfort zone and start shooting from the right; he'd even put Russ in as a potential defense, too. Even Luis would be third-line until he learned to control his speed.

The kids were all sore, hot, sweaty, and tired, but Ted followed them into the locker room as they all collapsed to the benches, exhausted. But he needed to make something else clear to them.

"Eden Hall requires you to maintain a 'C' average to compete," he said as he walked past the kids, pinning the roster sheet to the wall. "I believe that's a bad rule. I don't want any 'C' players on my team. I want Bs or better, or you're going to be riding the pine pony. Now, you've got fifteen minutes after each practice to clear this locker room. You've got homework to do. Oh, and one more thing. Stay clear of the Varsity until we play them in the J.V.-Varsity showdown." He caught the looks on the kids' faces – they kept staring back at him, expressionless, but he was serious.

This year, the J.V.-Varsity exhibition would be taking place the final week of September (like it did every year), as they were scheduled to play the Blake Academy Bears on Friday the eighth, the Coon Rapids High School Cardinals on Saturday the sixteenth, the Stillwater High School Panthers on Saturday the twenty-third, and then the Minnetonka Preparatory Barbarians on Sunday the twenty-fourth, with the J.V-Varsity showdown taking place Friday the twenty-ninth, a day before they were supposed to play an away game against the Duluth High School Cubs.

"You got that?" he demanded finally.

As he left the locker room, he was met with quiet nods.

He came home that night to Bella's cooking. After taking Lucy home from her mites club hockey meeting, he entered the house and was greeted by the scent of Bella's oven-baked salmon, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob.

He entered the kitchen, smiling at the sight of his wife and her expanding belly – she was about eight months along and due to give birth in either late October or early or mid-November. He was glad they would be a family of four in a few short months, and he'd finally get his boy, though he was torn between naming the baby Hans or Theodore.

"Hey, Belles, man, that smells so good," he commented, kissing her hello. She could tell his smile was forced because concern flashed over her face as he sat down at the table. She walked over and gently massaged his shoulders to alleviate the tension.

"How'd the practice with the new team go?"

"Gaffney's been wasted this whole time," he said, not even trying to hide his anger at the thought. "I still can't believe it. And Conway . . ."

"Gordon's boy?"

"Yeah, he's Gordon's, all right. He inherited everything, including Gordon's attitude," Ted explained. "He's not going to be easy for me to deal with; I can tell you that right now."

"He can't be that bad." It was so like Bella trying to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but Ted's desire to do just that was wearing thin, especially after how Charlie behaved during their first meeting.

"That little brat called me the rookie because I just got there." Ted looked at his wife incredulously. "I knew he wouldn't like someone else coaching him other than Bombay. But I didn't think he'd be so arrogant – he's not the kid we saw in that Peewee state championship four years ago. He's changed. Something happened to him. But let me tell you if he doesn't clean up his act and quit behaving like a brat . . ."

"You've got to give him a break, Ted. He's just found out his old coach is leaving them in your hands. He and Bombay share a bond. Put yourself in his shoes. He probably sees it as his dad leaving him."

"I'm trying, but he doesn't make it easy to," Ted said weakly.

"Well, you've got to try and understand him more," Bella pressed, her hands digging into his shoulders a little harder, deepening the massage – she'd given him many of those after he came home from home games with the North Stars; she knew how to hit every pressure point and somehow knew what helped him relax without him having to tell her. "The only way that's gonna happen is if you make him see that he can trust you."

"How?"

"By showing him in your own way that you care," Bella said. "And don't write him off just yet; you've got to give him a fair chance, just like he has to with you. Let him adjust. Maybe he just needs some time."

"How much time?"

"I can't say because I don't know him. But you know three other people who do. It wouldn't hurt to reach out to at least one of them."

"I can't talk to Bombay about this, Belles. Just like how I can't have those kids cry and moan to him whenever something doesn't go their way."

"Then talk to Hans, sweetheart. He'll know what to do."

So, Ted has met the team.

As for the way I dated the games and when they took place, I had to go back and look at the calendar for September and August of 1995; I knew I needed to create what would be a realistic practice and game schedule and set things up so that it feels real, given the kids have hockey practice on their very first day of school which tends to be orientation day, that's a time where team try-outs would typically be if the coaches were selecting new members, especially in the pre-season, but given they were all there on scholarship to play, their roster slots were already filled, so that part might as well be skipped, especially since the Varsity team's slots were already filled up.