Free Down to the Dirt by Joel Thomas Hynes

for sure why he turned it down. Quebec weren’t doin’ so bad that year and he could always have finished his schoolin’ some other time. Some says he was afraid of gettin’ swallowed up, that he’s more content being the hot shot on the home ice here rather than being a face in the crowd up there. But I don’t think that. That’s only jealous talk. Rolly’s a pretty humble fella. God knows what was goin’ through his head at the time.
    Big Frank Lowe is our assistant coach. He don’t say much. He’s a gruff, crooked presence for the most part. But he knows hockey and he keeps a close eye on the game. His son, Little Frank, is on our team. Little Frank’s a decent defenceman, but he’s a bit on the heavy side. He loses his wind pretty early in the game and don’t ever seem to get it back.
    Shit, only six minutes left now and we’re still down by one. Little Frank comes huffin’ and puffin’ up to the bench lookin’for a break. I looks up towards Rolly and he nods for me to go on. As soon as I hits the ice the whistle goes. Offside. Face-off behind enemy lines. That’s what we likes to see. I takes the face-off myself. Before the puck drops I hears shoutin’ from our bench. It’s Big Frank. He’s up in Rolly’s face growlin’ and cursin’, and then he walks back to the other side of the bench. That’s odd. The puck drops and I misses it. Shane Maher swoops in and saves it. He passes it over to the left-winger. I finds an opening and positions myself in front of the net. I picks up the pass from the left, fakes a shot, passes it back to Shane, he shoots and he fuckin’ scores! What a goddamn play. She’s all tied up with over four minutes left. We can win this game. One side of the arena is howlin’ for blood and the other side is hootin’ and whistlin’ and clompin’ for joy. Nothing like it.
    Face-off. Little Frank comes back on the ice to replace a defenceman. When the puck drops I pulls it back to my skate and kicks it up the ice between the other guy’s legs. Rolly showed me that. I darts forward and picks it up again before anyone knows what happened. And then I takes a vicious shot to the ribs from the butt of someone’s stick. Fuckin’ Kieran Maher! Still pissed at me for knockin’ him down I s’pose. He leans towards me with a big stupid grin on his face and grunts something at me. Sounds like he called me a little queer. I drops my gloves and gives him a good hard shot to the throat. No sense goin’ for his face when he got the mask on, I’d only tear the shit out of my knuckles. I slugs him again and down he goes. That’s another way to tell the twins apart, on or off the ice: Shane’s the best kind, but Kieran, he’s a sly little shit.
    The whistle blows and I makes my way over to the box without being told. A cheer goes up on the enemy side of the bleachers. Applause for the referee. Kieran’s mom has a fewmore words to say to me too. I don’t know what she’s so loopy about. She’s got a son on each team. One of ‘em’s going home a winner for Christ sakes.
    Two minutes for roughin’. Four and a half minutes to go and I’ve left the team shorthanded. Keith skates past the box and gives my helmet a crack with his stick. He’s fuckin’ askin’ for it.
    I hangs my head and tries to catch my breath. I glances over at the bench. Rolly shakes his head at me. He got no time for fightin’ on the ice. He says if you can’t settle your scores with a good clean hit, wait for the bastard outside the rink after the game. But it’s hard not to lose your head out here when your blood is pumpin’ and some asshole starts playin’ dirty, callin’ you names.
    I tries to focus on the game. The puck ricochets into our end. Little Frank is just standin’ there, lets it go right past him. He dawdles down into the corner to pick it up but the other guy is comin’ up strong behind him. Our goalie gets to the puck in the nick of time and shoots it back up the ice. Rolly calls