The Sound of Silence (Miracle)

The Sound of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend

I've come to talk with you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence

October 30, 1979

After the US defeated the Flint Generals in a whopping 15-0 victory, the media following the game was nothing short of crazy. However, the media usually called out the 'big' names: Johnson, Craig, McClanahan, O'Callahan, and Eruzione; which was why Mark was surprised when he'd taken one step out the arena door and heard "Pavelich!".

Now, he was darting to the team's bus like a frantic mouse running from a cat. Some of his teammates loved the spotlight, Eruzione and Craig seemed to never get enough. Then, there were guys like Johnson and McClanahan, who enjoyed treating interviews like a competition of providing the most complex and descriptive answers to questions. But Mark had despised the flash of a camera and crackle of a microphone for as long as he could remember.

Scrambling around teammates already giving interviews, Mark had thought that he was homefree when a reporter stopped him dead in his tracks with a camera light that made him feel like a deer in headlights. "Pavelich, can you explain to me what was running through your mind when you completed a hattrick tonight?"

Freezing up, Mark had spotted the closest person, which happened to be Rob McClanahan, walking toward the bus. Grabbing the Minnesotan's arm and thrusting him into the spotlight, he whispered, "Help. Me."

Glancing at Mark, he began rambling on about the premier quality of the Flint Generals's Arena's ice and how the Bloomington Ice Arena should be on the same level of standard. Blocking the reporter from getting to Mark, he began a list of complaints about how the olympic team should be better funded. Seizing the golden opportunity, Mark sprang for the team bus. Dashing up the bus's steps, he knocked into John Harrington.

"Easy there, buddy. You're safe from the evil camera monsters now. You know, you should be thankful that they even want to talk to you. Nobody ever asks for Harrington."

Chuckling, Dave Silk spoke up, "That's because you suck."

"Well, you swallow, Silky," John spat back, causing the inhabitants of the bus to burst into laughter.

As the two got caught up arguing, Mark scurried to the back of the bus, where he settled himself and took out his guitar. Strumming on the strings, he awaited for his teammates' usual song requests.

As the remaining boys piled onto the bus, Dave Christian called out, "Hey Pav, can you play some Bob Dylan?"

"Aw, he did that yesterday!" Jack O'Callahan complained. "Do some Simon and Garfunkel, Pav."

"Sing Homeward Bound," Rob suggested, turning around from the seat in front of Mark. "Because I can't wait to get out of this hell-hole."

"I'm sorry, but weren't you just ranting to a reporter about how nice this arena was?" Mark Johnson questioned from the seat next to Rob.

"It's called theatrics. And for that reason Pav should adhere to my request," Rob spat.

With that, Mark began strumming his guitar to the methodical melody that was "Homeward Bound."

"I'm sitting in a railway station, got a ticket for my destination.
Mmhm.
On a tour of one night stands, my suitcase and guitar in hand.
And every stop is neatly planned for a poet and a one man band.
Homeward Bound. I wish I was.
Homeward Bound.
Home, where my thought's escaping;
Home, where my music's playing;
Home, where my love lies waiting silently for me."