Hockey Night in Transcona (Lorimer Sports Stories) - Softcover

Danakas, John

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1550285041 ISBN 13: 9781550285048

Publisher: James Lorimer, 1995

Synopsis

Cody Powell has graduated from playing pick-up hockey on the streets of Winnipeg to skating with his community club team, the Transcona Sharks. Coach Brackett is impressed with Cody's speed and stickhandling ability, and promotes him to the team's first line.

Unfortunately, Cody takes Stu, Coach Brackett's son's, spot. Cody is worried that coach is too hard on Stu, and that Stu has as much right to play on the first line as he does. As the pressure to win games mounts, Cody is torn between loyalty to his coach and loyalty to his friend.

Hockey Night in Transcona is a story about the conflicting pressures young hockey players face in their quest to succeed. [Fry Reading Level - 4.0

About this title

About the Author

JOHN DANAKAS is the author of four children's novels, all published by Lorimer. Hockey Night in Transcona was an Ontario Silver Birch Award finalist. Curve Ball, Lizzie's Soccer Showdown, and Hockey Heroes are all Canadian Children's Book Centre "Our Choice" selections.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1 Cody Powell picked up the puck off the boards at centre ice and flew towards the opposing net. His skates pumped hard, shooting ice shavings into the cold air, and his stick handled the puck expertly, as if the puck were somehow magnetized to the blade. Beneath his blue and red Jets jersey, his heart pounded with the excitement of the goal he could sense he was about to score. At the blue line, Cody spied a defender looming tall in a yellow Penguins jersey Ryan Miller. Instantly deciding to try a tricky deke, Cody sliced the blades of his skates sideways into the ice, came to a split-second stop directly in front of Ryan, twirled around in a tight backward arc, the puck still on his stick, and took off in the opposite direction, leaving Ryan with his legs tied up in a knot. This is going to be a play for the highlight tapes, Cody thought, smiling to himself. He swayed his hips from side to side, once again building up momentum, and in a second came face-to-face with the goaltender, Ernie Gaines, who had slid out of his crease to challenge Cody. Cody faked to the left with his shoulders, then poked the puck with his stick to the right, sending Ernie sprawling onto the ice face-first, lifting his glove in a last-ditch effort to make a save. Cody measured up the puck on his backhand and with the force of his powerful wrists raised the puck towards the net. The puck zoomed past Ernie's outstretched glove and crossed the line. A goal! As his teammate, Mitch Porter, patted him on the back, Cody threw up his arms in celebration. Closing his eyes tightly, he could almost feel the applause of the fans wash over his body. Meanwhile, Ernie kicked his goalpost in frustration, sending up a tinny clang that jarred Cody from his reverie. In an instant, Cody was no longer in Winnipeg Arena, having just scored a picture-perfect goal in front of a crowd of thousands of cheering fans. He wasn't even, he admitted to himself, in Lord Strathcona Arena winning a game for the Transcona Sharks in their twelve-year-olds' community club league. Those were mere fantasies. No, he was on a crummy outdoor rink two blocks from his home, and the only sound in the air other than the reverberating clang from the kicked goalpost which was actually an aluminum garbage can dragged onto the ice from the adjacent back lane was the clatter of train cars switching tracks at the nearby CN rail yard. "I'm freezing my butt off," Ernie grunted as he retrieved the puck and slid back to the other boys. Ernie was wearing winter boots. Playing goalie all the time, he'd never learned to skate. "Can we call it quits already?" "Yeah, let's get going," Mitch agreed. His breath turned to vapour in the cold December air. "I have some math homework to do." The four boys were using only half the ice surface of the outdoor rink. They had a net set up along the centre line Cody and Mitch's goal and two garbage cans Ryan and Ernie's goal in front of the rickety boards at the end facing the CN yard. "It is getting kind of late," Cody put in, figuring maybe it was best to just go home. As much as he loved playing hockey, what was the use playing two-on-two pickup games all the time? The Transcona Sharks, in their official turquoise and grey uniforms with the players' numbers and names printed across the backs, were the real thing. They hosted games in their own arena and travelled across the city and even the province to play other community club teams. They had been the City East runners-up last year. If only his mother were willing to put up with the cost of letting him sign up! But she wasn't. She kept reminding Cody that there was only so much money to go around now that she and his dad had divorced. Cody whacked his stick against the ice at the thought. It just wasn't fair. Just then Ryan skated back to the other boys, joining them in a huddle around Ernie and his garbage-can goalpost. "Let's play just a little longer," Ryan begged, even though he lived farthest from the rink, in a new house in the east end of Transcona. "I'm still having fun." His parents wouldn't let him play organized hockey, either. They had a different reason than Cody's mom, though: they were afraid their son might get injured. As a result, Ryan also had to satisfy himself with these after-school pickup games, which, at his parents' insistence, he played wearing all the necessary equipment. "But I can hardly see the puck it's so dark," Mitch whined. "Next goal wins, then," Ryan suggested, readjusting his shoulder pads. Tall and thin as a rail, he was always making sure his equipment was on right. Cody had a feeling Ryan was just as afraid of injuring himself as his parents were. "You've got to be kidding!" Mitch answered. "The score's thirty-three to twenty-six. We're ahead by seven goals." Sometimes it seemed to Cody that what Mitch enjoyed most about these games was keeping score. He'd make a great sportscaster someday, that was for sure. "So what?" Ryan retorted. "You want to get home fast, right? Well, it shouldn't take too long to score one goal." "Next goal wins, huh?" As Cody repeated Ryan's suggestion, he took off his toque and ran a hand through his brown hair. It might be fun to play under pressure, he thought, just like the pros and the Transcona Sharks in their important league games. "You're on!" The pinpoint freckles around his nose danced as his mouth formed a smile. The two pairs of boys retreated to their ends of the rink to plot their sudden-death overtime strategies. Cody took off his battered and faded old hockey gloves, jammed them between his legs, and traced the pattern of the play he was planning on the palm of his hand. Knowing Mitch would much rather be at home right now in the warm comfort of his room, arranging his collection of sports cards which included a Sidney Crosby rookie and an Edmonton Oilers Wayne Gretzky Cody tried to make the play as simple as possible. Mitch wiped his fogged-up glasses with a tissue he had pulled out of his parka pocket and took a close look. "If I win the faceoff," Cody explained, "you move forward to pick up the puck and I'll skate wide right. Then you pass to me and head to the net." He was pretty confident he'd win the draw. His dad had taught him a trick where he held the stick backwards with his left hand and pulled at the puck rather than poking it. "If we lose the faceoff?" Mitch retied the hood of his parka over his head to warm his chilled ears. "Get back into net as fast as you can and I'll backtrack to intercept the man with the puck." Cody straightened his back. He was of average height and weight, with an athletic build. "Got it," Mitch said. The boys took their positions: Cody and Ryan poised for the faceoff, Mitch and Ernie hanging back on defence, ready to turn into goaltenders if the puck moved towards them, or into forwards if their teammates controlled the puck up ice. A north wind blew suddenly across the ice and stung Cody's face. What I wouldn't give to be able to play in an indoor arena, he thought again. With no referee to drop the puck, Cody and Ryan simply placed the blades of their sticks flat on the ice, the puck in the spot dead centre between the two blades. Then they raised their sticks and knocked them against each other. Once, ready. Twice, set. And three to… The faceoff never happened. Just as Cody and Ryan were about to jam away at the free puck, a series of booming noises echoed over the rink, and the two boys, as well as Mitch and Ernie, turned their heads to see what the commotion was all about. A fleet of cars and minivans had driven up to the outdoor rink and all the noise came from doors swinging open or slamming shut. Cody stood motionless in the bright glow of the headlights, as a stream of kids piled out of the vehicles and strode towards the rink, their skates slung across their sticks. Cody couldn't believe his eyes. As the kids approached the ice, he could make out that most of them were wearing the turquoise and grey uniform of the Transcona Sharks, with the stick-chomping shark emblazoned on their chests. "Hurry up, men!" an adult male voice bellowed from behind the trunk of one of the cars. "Let's get this tryout practice started." In a moment Cody could hear the man's boots crunching over the gravel path leading to the rink. He was wearing a Sharks jacket, the title "Coach" sewn across the right arm. Cody recognized the man as Mr. Brackett, the father of one of his classmates, Stu Brackett. Word around school was that Mr. Brackett had once played junior hockey with a team in Alberta. To hear Stu tell the story, Mr. Brackett would have made it to the NHL if only he hadn't seriously injured his right knee. "This isn't an ideal ice surface, but it'll have to do." Mr. Brackett sliced some chipped ice off the rink with the blade of his stick and flung it contemptuously over the boards into the surrounding snow. "I wish someone had told me the fifteen-year-olds had booked Lord Strathcona Arena tonight." He stepped away from the rink and with a key opened the metal power box on the outside wall of the changing shack. He turned on the rink's lights and the ice surface seemed suddenly brilliant beneath their yellow glare. "I wasn't too sure those old lights would work," he said. "I think they date back to prehistoric times." By now at least a half-dozen of the boys on the team had laced on their skates and jumped over the boards onto the ice. Two pairs of players hauled mesh nets with red steel goalposts onto the rink, while another, slender and brown-haired Cody recognized him as Stu Brackett emptied a canvas bag full of pucks onto the ice. Hard, official pucks, not spongies like Cody and the boys used. The Sharks players each gathered up a puck and skated around the rink working on their stickhandling, entirely ignoring the fact that other players were on the ice right now. They seemed to expect the boys to automatically slink off and make way for them. Cody, Ryan, Ernie, and Mitch stood in quiet shock and amazement at their end of the rink. More and more Sharks players hurdled the wooden boards, like an invading army in one of the old war movies Cody used to watch with his dad. Soon the four boys were surrounded by a sea of fast-moving turquoise and grey jerseys. Cody felt, suddenly, as if he and his friends were somehow in the way. But this was their rink, where the boys played each day after school and on Saturday mornings, too. They couldn't just give it up. But what exactly were they to do? At the same time, Cody couldn't help admiring the Sharks players. They glided across the ice in smooth strides and made precise passes that echoed loudly in the night air. What a team! Cody would have given anything to be able to play with them. "We were here first!" Ernie muttered to his buddies. "I say we don't budge until we're good and ready." Ryan couldn't help chuckling. "A few minutes ago you were so cold you wanted to run straight home." "Well, I'm not cold anymore," Ernie said. In the next instant, he intercepted a pass from one of the Sharks players that was aimed across ice and cleared the puck to the far boards. "We were here first," he snarled, loud enough for a few of the Sharks to hear him. "Hey, what's the idea?" the Sharks player who now had to chase down the puck called out. His red hair flowed out from behind his helmet. "We're trying to practise here, you know!" "And we're trying to play!" Ernie answered back. His round black face was fierce. The Sharks player snickered. "You might want to go home then and pick up your skates," he taunted. "That's if you own any, of course." Before Ernie or anybody else could think of a reply, the player skated away in a flash. Cody felt bad for Ernie. Even though Ernie couldn't skate, Cody knew how good a goalie he was. He rarely lost sight of the puck and possessed great reflexes. In fact, he loved goaltending so much he'd scouted garage sales across the city with his mother last spring to pick up all the goalie equipment he needed. Cody wished he could show these Sharks that he and his friends were no slouches when it came to hockey. In the next moment, almost without thinking, Cody raced to the pile of loose pucks at centre ice and, snatching one with his stick, streaked down the left wing towards the far net. As Cody picked up steam, the Sharks player who'd just insulted Ernie emerged to defend the net. The player tried to squeeze Cody away from centre ice and into the boards. But Cody kept his head up and deftly slipped the puck between the defender's legs. Then he slithered past the player, like someone sneaking through a door about to be closed in his face, stretched out his stick with his right hand to pick up the puck, and rocketed towards the goalie. The heavier weight of the hard puck on the blade of his stick sent a thrill through his arms. With a quick flick of his wrists, he drilled the puck into the upper right-hand corner of the net, just over the goalie's glove. Cody looked back at his buddies. They were cheering wildly. He smiled. Then he turned to the Sharks player. "Ernie would have stopped that one," he remarked quietly. The Sharks player was silent at first. Then he opened his mouth. "Nice play," he said. "But real league hockey's a lot different than the shinny you guys play." "Not too different, I bet," Cody commented. Inside, he was hoping word would get around the Sharks team that he was a player they could really use. By then Mr. Brackett had come onto the ice, standing tall in an expensive-looking pair of skates and long black hockey pants with a white stripe down the side. "I'd ask you boys to join us," he began, looking over Cody, Ryan, Mitch, and Ernie, "but you're not properly equipped." Cody noticed the coach roll his eyes at the sight of his old gloves and moved them behind his back. "You're certainly welcome to stay and watch, though." "Thanks, but no thanks," Ernie shot back. "It's up to you, boys," Mr. Brackett said, forcing out a smile. "But this is our second-to-last tryout and we have to get cracking. The season begins in two weeks and I need to have chosen a full squad by then." With that he shoved out a leg and skated to the other end of the rink, where a bunch of players were working on their wrist shots. Cody couldn't help thinking that he'd give almost anything to have a chance to impress this coach. He belonged on the Transcona Sharks. "Let's get out of here," Mitch suggested. "Who needs the fuss?" "I'd like to stay and watch," Cody cut in. "I mean, this is a real league team tryout. I think it'll be interesting. We might even learn something." "Yeah, right," Ernie mumbled. "Maybe Cody's right," Ryan said. "I wouldn't mind watching a real hockey practice." "Naw, I'm going home," Ernie said. "Me too," Mitch dittoed. After Ernie and Mitch had left, Cody and Ryan skated off the ice and tramped through the hard-packed snow around the rink to a spot just outside the boards at centre ice. Their skates left narrow crisscross slashes in the snow. Cody pulled his toque farther down over his ears and loosened the laces on his skates to relax his ankles. Ryan took off his helmet and propped it on the butt of his stick. In the distance smoke billowed out of the CN shop's smokestack. "I wish Mr. Brackett would lend us that key to the power box," Ryan said. "If we could turn on the lights ourselves, we could play all the ...

Edition details

• Publisher: James Lorimer
• Publication date: 1995
• ISBN 10: 1550285041
• ISBN 13: 9781550285048
• Binding: Paperback
• Language: English
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 115