The Boys of Winter (Miracle)

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

November 27, 1979

"Alright boys, this is the first game on home turf that we've had in awhile. It's alright that we started out rusty in the first period, but let's get it back now!" The captain's voice beamed, as the team mentally prepared for the second period.

"We're down by two goals," Mac groaned, massaging his temples. "No offense Rizzo, but I don't think an uplifting speech is the remedy for our shitty performance."

"Don't worry, Robby! I'll put in some goals for ya!" Neal squeaked, acting out his goal celebration.

"Brots, is that your goal celebration or your imitation of a dying cat?" OC chuckled from the corner of the room, where he was currently nursing a hurt shoulder.

"If you actually celebrate like that, I wouldn't be surprised if the referees subtract a goal from us," Robby spat, rolling his eyes.

"Ah, come on now, Ricky, don't be so pessimistic! I bet we're going to have a great second period," The Wisconsinite proclaimed from across the locker room.

"If by great you mean 'so horrible that we embarrass ourselves and never want to play hockey again', then I agree," Steve Christoff mumbled with his head in his hands.

"Don't you go jumping on the Mac train now too, Riff!" The Wisconsinite retorted. "We have enough negativity from him already!"

"I don't know, man. I kind of agree with them. We lost our last three games against the Canadians. What makes you think it'll turn around now?" Silky quipped, a look of uncertainty overtaking his face.

"Come on boys, let's get rolling!" Craig Patrick called into the USA locker room, signally it was time for them to take the ice yet again.

As the team proceeded onto the ice, the Wisconsin defenseman mumbled to Mac, "This is going to be a great twenty minutes of hockey. You'll see."

Winking, he stepped foot onto the ice and began skating laps. Looking up at the scoreboard, he felt little worry about the zero that stood below USA.

As the horn blew, Herb called out, "Starting line is up, let's create some options now!"

As the teams lined up on the face off, tensions were so high that the air would soon be lacking
oxygen. Once the ref dropped the puck, Mark Johnson shot it over to his right wing, Eric Strobel, who began breaking out on the right side. Feigning a shot, his attempt to pass to Robby McClanahan came up short, and the puck ended up being intercepted by Kevin Maxwell.

As the Canadian forward broke out of his zone, he made a move around Ken Morrow, leaving his defense partner and left wing tailing him two on one.

As USA's defenseman was being shoved off by Maxwell, the Wisconsinite's skate got caught in a crack in the ice. In an instance, another crack was heard, which sent the player down onto the ice in a hurry.

Once Mac had shook Maxwell off the puck, the whistle blew signaling a break in the play. The left wing turned around to find his defenseman sprawled out on the ice, yelping in pain, surrounded by Team USA's four other players.

As he joined the huddle of players, he felt a hard whack on the back of his head. Turning, he was met by Maxwell's glance, and immediately dropped his gloves.

-

Back in the locker room, Bobby Suter heard footsteps coming around the hallway.

"I don't need any x-rays," he called out from the training table, where he was sitting as Doc examined his ankle.

"How about ice?" Bob's glance was met by Mac, who was sporting a black eye.

"Ah, so you got into a fight for me, Ricky? Kicked out of the game, how scandalous! I told you it was going to be a wild second period!"

Making his way over to the table, Rob handed him the ice and quietly responded, "No, you told me it was going to be 'great'. That was not great."

"So you got your ass whooped, big deal. Actually, I'm sure the crowd thought it was magnificent. Definitely a wonderful, memory-filled hockey period."

"Wonderful? Are you kidding me? You're hurt!" Robby exclaimed, motioning to Bob's ankle.

"I may be fractured, Robby, but I'm not broken."

Unable to tell whether Bob was speaking literally or figuratively, Rob assured him, "You are right. You will be better by our Christmas tourney, so you can give that prick Maxwell a piece of payback."

Smiling, Bob took the bag of ice off his ankle and held it against Robby's face. "See, now there's some optimism! I'll gladly punch his lights out, since no one, and I mean absolutely no one, messes with my Ricky and gets away with it."