Page 7 of Offside

The home opener reached the third period tied at two. St. Louis had spent the first forty minutes putting pucks behind us and making us turn for them. Their forecheck came in two men deep, the first forcing the puck to the wall and the second arriving where a defenseman wanted to move it. On a healthy shoulder, I could win that play with reach. I would get one hand up the wall and hold the forward away with the other.

This morning's plan didn't include reaching. Reeves had put it in simple terms. Use my feet first. Keep the right elbow under the shoulder. Move the puck before contact came at me. If the play demanded more than that, make a different play.

The St. Louis winger dumped the puck into our right corner on his first shift of the period. I turned before it crossed the goal line. Three strides got me below it. I checked over my left shoulder, saw their second man coming through the circle, and knew Garrett was behind the net.

I didn't wait for the hit. My stick met the puck on the boards and chipped it behind me. Garrett took it in stride. The first forechecker finished through my back, but there was nothing left to win. I absorbed the contact with both skates under me and kept my right arm low.

Garrett sent the puck up to Hayes. Hayes carried it out.

"Early," Garrett said when we crossed behind the net.

"It worked. We cleared the zone before they could reset again."

He knocked his glove against mine.

On our next shift, their center tried the seam between us. I closed it with two steps. He pulled the puck wide. Garrett held the far post, and their center ran out of useful places to go.

He shot from a bad angle. Kieran caught it against his chest and held for the whistle.

"Bishop," he said as the linesman skated in.

"What, Walsh?" I looked back toward the crease.

Kieran settled back into his crease. "Do that again."

We did the same on the next shift.

Seven minutes into the period, Luca won an offensive-zone draw back to me. The puck arrived too far to my right. I could have reached across and held it in. The old play was automatic. I would catch it at full extension, drag it to the middle, and shoot through the bodies before the winger got out to me.

I let it go past. Their winger pushed for the breakaway, but I was already moving backward. I got inside his line at center, turned with him, and used my left shoulder to move him away from the puck. Garrett collected it behind us and sent it back up.

The crowd wanted a hit. Eighteen thousand people groaned when they saw my six-five and two-forty frame refuse to put someone through the boards.

The puck went the other way, and Theo scored twenty seconds later. I heard Reeves behind the bench. "Good decision, Bishop."

That mattered more than the crowd.

St. Louis pulled their goalie with a minute twelve left. We were up three-two. Six skaters moved the puck around our zone while we held the middle. Their defenseman walked the blue line and sent a shot through two screens.

I couldn't lift the right arm high enough to take away the top half of the lane. I turned and caught the puck on my hip. It dropped at my skates.

Their center reached for it. I put my body between his stick and the puck, but I didn't try to hold it there. One touch off the boards sent it to Garrett. He cleared it off the glass and down.

The horn went before they established the zone again.

Kieran shoved his mask up and skated out of the crease. He tapped the back of my helmet as we joined the line at center.

"Adequate," he said with a grin.

"Your praise is overwhelming."

Kieran lowered his mask. "That was praise, coming from me."

The room was jubilant after our first win. The music came on before half the team had both skates off. Sticks hit the stall fronts. Somebody threw a wet towel at Theo and missed him by three feet.

Luca caught it without looking and dropped it on the floor. "Callahan," he said, pointing his stick toward the abandoned towel.

Theo spread both hands in an appeal to the room. "That wasn't mine."