Free Fair Play by Deirdre Martin

pulled into the station. “They’re macho, arrogant and rude. With the exception of their own mothers, they treat women like second-class citizens.”
    â€œWHAT!” He was yelling but he couldn’t help it. Disbelief was losing the battle to outrage.
    â€œYou heard me.”
    â€œHave you ever been out with an Italian guy?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhen?” he challenged.
    â€œIn high school.”
    â€œSo you dated one stupid goomba in high school who treated you badly and you write the rest of us off? Give me a break!”
    â€œThe train’s here, Michael, I have to go.”
    He watched as she stepped onto the train and slid into a seat right by the window. Unable to contain himself, he walked up to the train car and began pounding on the glass.
    â€œYou’re wrong, Theresa.”
    The doors rolled shut and the train slowly began moving. Michael moved along with it.
    â€œYou’re wrong! Not all Italian guys are Tony Soprano!” he shouted, still banging on the window. She had reached into her bag and cracked open a book. Maybe she was ignoring him, but the other passengers were staring. “You think you can stereotype me ?” He was jogging along side the train car now. “Wait and see, Theresa! I’m going to make you see what you’ve been missing! I’m going to wear you down until you agree to coffee with me! I! AM! GOING! TO! WEAR! YOU! DOWN!”
    He halted, catching his breath as the train sped out of sight. Macho, arrogant and rude? How dare she say that to him! He couldn’t believe it. Suppose he’d said all Italian women have big hair and get mustaches after the change? She’d have cut his balls off! But it was okay for her to lump him in with every stupid paisan who ever drove a Camaro and wore a gold horn around his neck? Talk about unfair.
    Well, he had a mission now, didn’t he?
    A challenging, off-ice mission.
    Turning up the collar of his coat, he bounded back down the subway platform steps and hailed a cab to take him to his own apartment in Park Slope. He was going to prove to that narrow-minded, cynical woman that not all Italian men were created equal. He was also going to draw the real Theresa out of hiding for more than a few seconds at a time if it was the last thing he did.
    The question was how?
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    â€œTook your vitamins this morning, huh?”
    Michael turned from where he was pulling up his jeans to see van Dorn watching him from his own locker across the room.
    â€œBite me,” said Michael, zipping up his fly.
    â€œIf I did, at least I’d be using all my own teeth.”
    Michael suppressed a smirk as he slid a long-sleeve T-shirt over his head. “All that proves is you’re not a pro yet, kid. I wouldn’t go bragging about it.” That seemed to shut van Dorn up—for now.
    This morning at practice, Michael had kicked ass on the ice. So much so that Ty commented on how focused he seemed. The irony, of course, was that his mind was on the Theresa problem the entire time. Who knows? he thought as he finished dressing. Maybe his anger over her refusing to give him the time of day was something he could channel into being a “more productive” player. It certainly seemed to do the trick this morning.
    â€œHey, Mikey,” called out backup goalie Dennis O’Mal ley, clad only in a towel, which was threatening to fall to the floor at any moment. “Wanna grab a bite?”
    â€œNah, I gotta talk to Gilly about some stuff.”
    â€œYou free tonight?” O’Malley continued.
    â€œYeah, why?”
    â€œVH-1 is having some party and they invited a couple of us to come down. You game?”
    â€œSure. Leave the vitals on my answering machine and I’ll see you there.”
    â€œCool. Ciao.”
    â€œCiao, Denny.”
    He dragged a comb through his still-wet hair, then went in search of Kevin Gill, the team’s captain. Kevin had