Free Panic in Pittsburgh by Roy Macgregor Page A

defense.
    Billings did something unusual then. Instead of mounting an attack, he skated back into his own end, stopping behind his net and softly stickhandling while staring down the ice as if he were calmly looking out over the river.
    The crowd roared with impatience. It might have been the roar, might have been Billings’s seeming lack of focus, but whatever it was it caused Simon to rush hard at Billings on the forecheck.
    This, of course, was exactly what the smart little Portland defenseman wanted. As Simon came drifting around the Panthers’ goal, Billings clipped a pass to himself off the bottom bar of the back of the net. Simon went flying by, and when he tried to turn to steal the bouncing puck, he lost an edge and went spilling into the corner.
    Billings was already at the blue line when Simon regained his skates. Billings floated a pass up to Yantha, who knocked it down with his glove at the Owls’ blue line and, with a quick leap over Lars’s stick, was in clean with the puck. A shoulder deke and Jeremy went down, his pads opening just enough for Yantha to slip the puck in the five-hole.
    Travis watched the scoreboard flick up the score: 1–0 Panthers. The scoreboard showed a full replay – they had cameras here, covering several angles! – and Travis had to wonder if it would have been different if he’d been on the ice instead ofSimon. He knew Billings’s little play off the back of the net. He didn’t think he would have been fooled. But who knew for sure? It was unfair to think the goal was Simon’s fault. Maybe it was Lars’s fault for playing the puck instead of the man. Maybe it was Jeremy’s fault for letting his five-hole open up like the Zamboni doors.
    Maybe it was no one’s fault. Maybe it was all about credit – credit to Billings for making the play, credit to Yantha for finishing it. What was it Muck called it? Yeah,
puck luck
.
    The Owls fought back hard through the opening period. But they had trouble breaking through the neutral zone, as the Panthers coach always had a winger dropping back and only rarely did they forecheck.
    Travis had a new vantage point to see Muck at work. He’d always been either on the ice or sitting on the bench in front of Muck. And Muck so rarely yelled or said anything at all that Travis realized he hardly knew what his coach did during an actual game. Now Travis was standing behind the players’bench with Mr. Dillinger and Muck – and he was seeing his coach in a whole new way.
    Muck hated “trap” hockey. He didn’t even like the old saying that good defense was good offense. He liked to say, “Good offense is good offense – period.” He liked to call his style of coaching “attack hockey,” meaning you always pressed forward. You took care of your own end, you lived up to your defensive responsibilities, but you always looked for the moment to attack and score.
    Muck wasn’t a numbers guy, and he wasn’t much of a chalkboard guy. “You’re not building a house,” he used to say about coaches who were always diagramming plays in the final minutes of games, “you’re playing a game.” Muck often said that the most important thing to understand in hockey was that “things happen” out there, and much of play is reflex. You know your position, you know your responsibilities, but you must always be ready to take advantage of the unexpected. It could be a lucky bounce. It could be the puck coming off the glass or boards oddly. It could be an opponent losing an edge or making amistake. It could be an opposing defenseman joining the rush when he or she should not have joined. You see an opening, Muck would say, you race through it.
    The Panthers were doing none of this. Travis could hear the Portland coach telling his players what to do: “
Dump it in!
” “
Stay back!
” “
Stay with your man!
” “
Chip it out!
” “
Don’t let them through!
”
    It didn’t make for a great game to watch, and Travis could sense the