Ice Time by David Skuy

ridiculous.”
    McGill had his arms crossed, and he was leaning against the wall. He’d barely moved while Floyd ranted. Blywood nodded slowly. Barker had a satisfied smile on his face. Most of Rocket’s teammates looked grim.
    “You’re all too full of yourselves and too full of your NHL dreams. If we don’t start winning, you won’t be going anywhere. Coach Landry and I talk all the time, like every day, and if you guys jerk me around, you’ll be so buried in the minors it would take Sidney Crosby ten years to dig you out. Do we understand each other?”
    A few guys murmured, “Yes.”
    “Good,” Floyd said. “This isn’t a charity. The playoffs mean money — and I like money. I like to win, too.” He pointed at McGill. “Coach Mack, you wanna talk strategy? C’mon, Stella. You have to get ready.”
    “Sure, Ray-Ray,” she cooed. “Bye-bye, boys.” She flicked her fingers in a half wave and offered a toothy smile before leaving.
    So, Ray-Ray was Stella’s pet name for Floyd. The Racers were a strange team.
    McGill looked at his watch. “We don’t have time for strategy. Play our game and we’ll be okay. Hard in the corners and safe with the puck in the first period. You boys know how to play.”
    The goalies led the players out. Rory hung back with Rocket.
    Rocket slapped his friend’s pads. “Welcome back to the game,” he said.
    Rory grinned and slapped Rocket’s pads back. “Bring it, bro.”
    “Bring it.”
    Rocket held his arm out toward the door. “After you.”
    Rory went ahead. Rocket breathed a sigh of relief. He had a stupid superstition about being the last player out for a game. He’d been doing it for too long to stop, and he was afraid of what might happen if he did.
    The crowd cheered as the Racers came onto the ice, music blasting away. Rocket hopped onto the ice, tore across the red line and made a beeline down the boards. There wasn’t much time for a warm-up. The goalie was scraping his crease furiously.
    Men began to unroll a red carpet leading from the door to centre. Then Floyd and Stella walked out. The horn sounded, and Rocket headed to the bench. He was on the fourth line, so he went to sit in the middle. Barker was behind him. Time to try Rory’s advice.
    “Hey, Coach, any pointers for my first game? I got to admit I’m a bit nervous, and you have a lot of experience—”
    “You want some advice?” Barker said. “Rookies should shut up and do their jobs.”
    Rocket’s stomach sank. Barker moved away to talk to Kaufman. That sure hadn’t worked. Wrong time, probably. Stupid to ask right before a game. He’d work him at practice. Right now, it was time to show he was a good teammate.
    “Let’s go, Racers,” he said loudly. “Our puck all game.”
    Rory was starting with C.C. and Goldsy. They were standing across the Racers’ blue line.
    “Please join international recording star Stella Getty-Floyd in the singing of our national anthem,” the announcer said.
    Rocket stood up. Stella started to sing.
    He looked around to see if this was a joke. She was terrible. How could she be a star? He sang better than that — and he couldn’t sing. The players kept it together, aside from a few smirks. When she was done, the crowd let loose with a huge cheer. Rocket figured they were clapping because it was over.
    “Now, we’ll have the ceremonial dropping of the puck to mark the forty-first season the Racers have been part of the Floyd family. We’re honoured to have in attendance Racers president, chief executive officer and executive general manager Raymond Floyd,” the announcer said.
    C.C. and the Ravens’ captain skated to centre. Floyd dropped the puck. C.C. pulled it to his skate, took off his glove, picked it up and gave it to Stella. She gave him and the other captain big hugs. Both captains shook Floyd’s hand. Floyd and Stella walked back along the red carpet, waving to the crowd. The music started up, and the crowd began chanting,
“Go,