Free Panic in Pittsburgh by Roy Macgregor Page B

restlessness of the fans, who had come out in the open air of winter to cheer for a bunch of twelve-year-old hockey players. They expected more, and, as luck would have it, Nish was about to give it to them.
    One of the advantages of having the Panthers play this way – staying back, hardly ever forechecking – was that it gave the Owls’ good puck-carrying defensemen, Nish and Lars in particular, but also Sam when she wanted to, plenty of space in which to set up and begin a rush.
    And if you handed Wayne Nishikawa opportunities like that, he would seize them.
    Travis watched the game slowly turn in the Owls’ favor. First Nish and then Lars would come up over the Owls’ blue line and hit center with the puck, all the while watching for a break play in which they could send a forward in.
    Nish gobbled up the puck in the right corner and skated quickly to the back of the Owls’ net. He stood, stickhandling, just as Billings had done on the opening goal, but none of the Panthers fell for it. They stayed back, the closest checker doing figure eights around the Owls’ blue line as he waited for Nish to make his move.
    Nish came out on the left, stickhandling slowly and looking far up ice. Dmitri knew the look, and Travis saw him dash, quick as a weasel, across center.
    Nish had the puck on his backhand, and it seemed he was about to pass over to Lars, but instead of doing as the Panthers expected, Nish launched a high “football” pass that went right over the heads of the two Portland players backing up at center and landed with a slap on the ice right in front of Dmitri.
    Dmitri flew in on the right side, and Travis felt like he didn’t even have to look. Forehand fake, backhand, puck roofed so hard the goaltender’s water bottle spun like a top through the air, spraying water as it slammed into the boards.
    Travis looked at Muck, who was leaning in to say something to Mr. Dillinger over the din of the crowd.
    “We needed that,” Muck shouted. “Now they
have
to play.”
    Travis knew what Muck meant. The Panthers could no longer play the kind of game their coach had them playing – everything geared to defense, just hoping to hang on long enough to win 1–0. With the game tied and the outcome in doubt, both teams would need to score, which meant that the Panthers would have to unleash their offensive skills.
    Travis looked across the ice to the Panthers’ bench and swore he saw big Yantha lightly clip Billings on the back of his helmet. Billings nodded, smiling.
    How strange, Travis thought. They had just been scored on, and yet they seemed happy. Maybethey needed that goal just as much as the Owls did – a goal that would make everyone play the game the way it was supposed to be played.
    Attack hockey.

21
    Nish had come to life on the Owls’ back end. Beet red in the face, sucking air like a vacuum when he was on the bench, bent over and puffing hard between whistles, Nish was the total hockey player, no longer the buffoon. He was never anything in between, thought Travis. The Owls had either the best player on the ice or the worst, and his name was likely to be Wayne Nishikawa.
    Sarah put the Owls ahead 2–1 just before the end of the second period, when she swooped up the ice, slipped around a backpedaling defender, and cranked a slap shot in off the far post. The crowd at Heinz Field erupted with a roar that was almost deafening. Travis had to cover his ears as he watched the replay on the big screen and heard again the roar of appreciation. It was one of Sarah’s prettiest goals ever.
    Between periods, no one in the dressing room said a word. The Owls were exhausted. Nish’s face was completely out of sight as he leaned forward and pushed his face into his shin pads. His hair was soaking wet.
    Travis walked around the room touching the shoulder of each one of his teammates. He didn’t have anything to say, but he wanted to show he was with them. Lars looked up and smiled and nodded. Nish never