Free Body Check by Deirdre Martin Page B

the boys at Kidco and pass it off as an act of community service,” he quipped, although he wasn’t sure she heard him, since he was already half way up the aisle to his seat, where he fully intended to stay put for the rest of the trip.
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    â€œOhmiGod, did you see that?! What was that thing he just did, that thing with the puck? What was that?”
    Janna waited for the savage roar of the crowd at Met Gar to die down before answering Theresa’s question. It was a Saturday night, and the Blades were playing their number one rivals, New Jersey, on home ice. Alexei Lubov, number 55, had just scored the first goal only ten minutes into the game. Enthusiasm was high among the sold-out crowd, which was renowned for its loyalty to the team as well as its vociferous voicing of both delight and displeasure. Janna gazed around the overheated arena at the sea of electrified faces and found herself catching a spark or two, excitement surging through her as she felt the crowd’s energy.
    Maybe it was because she was beginning to understand what happened down there on the ice, or maybe it had to do with knowing the players personally, but she was actually starting to like hockey, and to appreciate the consummate skill and talent that went into playing at the professional level. Not that she’d ever tell anyone this, apart from maybe Lou, and her brother and father. She imagined telling her mother and sisters, and could just picture the Amazon trio peering down at her in soul-withering condescension. As for Robert—well, fuggeddaboudit, as Theresa’s uncle Carmine would say. Robert would sarcastically ask her if she’d been knocked in the head by a stray puck, or had undergone a lobotomy without telling him. It was one thing to do PR for a hockey team, quite another to care about the sport itself. What was it he always said? “The masses are asses”? God help me, Janna thought, mortified. Theresa was right. Comfortable or no, she really had to ditch him.
    â€œWhat you saw him do is called a ‘deke,’ ” she explained. “It’s when the player with the puck kind of fakes to get around the enemy, or else tricks the goalie into moving out of position.”
    â€œSo that’s why he moved the puck to one side and then quick-shifted to the opposite direction,” Theresa observed excitedly.
    â€œRight.”
    She turned to Janna. “How do you know this stuff?”
    Janna shrugged. “Oh, you know, just from watching the game.”
    Theresa nodded solemnly, impressed, and returned to eyeing the action down below. Janna came close to telling her the truth—that she’d gone out and bought a copy of Hockey for Dummies which she studied religiously—but decided against it. It was much more fun having Theresa think she was a sports genius who could spout hockey lingo at will.
    Janna looked to the ice now, too, her eyes invariably seeking out, as always, the jersey bearing the number 29. Ty was at center ice in face-off position, waiting for the puck to be dropped. She saw his lips moving, and deduced he was probably trying to provoke his opponent in an effort to get him off his game. Janna knew from hanging around the locker room that he could have quite a mouth on him when he thought he needed to; she didn’t want to think what he was probably insinuating about the other guy’s mother or sister. Ty won the face-off, and then all the bodies on the ice were in motion, a manic, ruthless ballet of might and speed that was nothing short of exhilarating.
    It dawned on Janna, as she booed along with the crowd when the ref made a bad call, and cheered when a good, clean hit was made on one of the Jersey players, that she finally thought of the team as “the guys,” just like Lou did. Because that’s who they were: guys, with personalities, likes and dislikes like everyone else. She pretty much knew now whom she could count on anytime to