The Boys of Winter (Miracle)

Broken Wings

Feb. 3, 1980.

Dragging his hockey bag off the bus, only one thing crossed his mind. In fact, his mind only had room for one thing in its current state. It was currently 11 P.M., and the team had just finished an exhibition game up in Warroad, MN. The town was so far north that the eastern guys joked that it was practically Canada. Right now, with the weather they were experiencing, it sure felt that way. 

He was exhausted, more so from the travel than actual gameplay, and could not wait to greet his bed in the apartment he shared with his line mate. There were only two games left until the Olympics, yet he constantly feared that he was about to burn out. Oftentimes, he wondered if he should have just finished college and turned pro. 

In this moment, however, none of that mattered. Nothing was valuable enough a thought to have when all he needed was some sleep. His eyes were barely half open as he struggled to carry his equipment towards the small charter plane that promised to get him home. Trudging along through the blizzard, he was completely caught off guard when he felt something hit the back of his head and sting with the cold. 

"10 points!" Koho called out while throwing his arms up, resulting in applause from some of his teammates. "I told you boys I was a sharpshooter."

"Oh yeah? I don't see you hitting the net like that, Koho," Bah jeered, shoving his teammate towards a snow pile up.

He was so tired that he didn't even have the energy to get angry at his teammates. They did this kind of stuff all the time, and usually he enjoyed it, but this time he had zero patience. As he reached the base of the aircraft, he shoved his bag under before making his way inside. It was reaching negative temperatures, but despite being from the Midwest, this was not something he ever adjusted to. The snowball that was now dripping down his back didn't help, either. 

Searching for a particular person rather than an open seat, his heart raced when he heard a loud whisper, 

"Mark!" 

Looking towards the back of the plane, he spotted his line mate motioning towards the empty seat next to him. "Saved you a seat. My company is a hot commodity, so you're lucky you made it in time."

Usually the pair would engage in some sarcastic banter, but Mark simply lacked the brain capacity to develop a witty response. "I just want to get the hell out of here." In times like this, he was grateful for Robby's friendship, as he knew Mac would understand and leave him alone, unlike most of his teammates. 

"Shouldn't be too long now, Minneapolis is a quick flight..." Rob replied, shifting his gaze towards the window. "Damn, it's really coming down out there."

At this point, Mark was far too tired to be concerned. As all his teammates began to settle, he closed his eyes and prepared for the journey home. The small aircraft, a DC-9, resembled a WWII plane. Soon, it began taxing down the Warroad runway. 

Noticing that the vehicle was not picking up speed, Mark opened his eyes as the plane came to a halt. Just as he made eye contact with Rob, the pilot came over the intercom. 

"I'm afraid the aircraft has too much weight to take off on this short of a runway. We're going to have to lighten our load."

After a plethora of groans from the team, Mark sat back, hoping that this would get resolved as quickly as possible. Ultimately, Herb decided that some of the team's equipment would get driven to Thief River Falls, where the pilot said the plane would have enough runway space to takeoff for Minneapolis with everything on board. 

Once trainer Gary Smith loaded up a rental van of hockey gear and set off, in the middle of the blizzard, the aircraft was finally able to take off. It wasn't very long before the team reached their unexpected stop.