Little hockey fics
May. 30th, 2019 11:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cmk418Because after last night's game, I woke up this morning thinking about my hockey team and cranked these out.
Binnington
Do I look nervous?
The quote has long since gone viral. He thinks it’s funny the way people have taken it, because, honestly, what do the reporters expect him to say? That he’s shaking in his boots? That he threw up twice that morning in anticipation and might do so again if this game doesn’t get started soon? Fuck them for actually thinking he was going to share something that could be used against him.
Winnipeg got it though. Winnipeg, with their boos every time he touched the puck, picked up on it and chanted “You look nervous.” He read about it after. The boos he’d heard, but down on the ice, the chants became a white noise. They might have well been chanting. “Let’s go Je-ets.” Because it wasn’t his job to pay attention to them, it was his job to pay attention to the puck. Let the noise affect everything else.
He’s now known as the goaltender with ice in his veins. Nothing, good or bad, affects him. Not the mind games, not the bad games where he’s given up more goals than he has at any point in the season, not the players crashing the net- well, there was that one time, but that bastard deserved it, not even Pat Maroon burying the game-winner in double overtime in game seven of the second round. The back-to-back losses still sit there in the back of his mind. He can’t afford to let that happen again.
This is his destiny.
>>>>
Dunn
(a/n Vova = Vladimir Tarasenko)
Every day, it gets a little better, a little easier to see, a little easier to skate. The feeling that his head was waging war on him is lessening. He’s almost there.
Actually, he thought he was there, but tonight, he’s back up here again. Another game spent in the press box with nothing to do but watch. He’ll go out into the hallway and down the elevator to the dressing room if it gets to be too much for him.
He’s in the room when Vova comes in. Nothing major, just a little skate repair and a moment to catch his breath while lacing them up. He looks a bit like Vince around the eyes, the crazy determination to get back out there to do his part. He’s sweaty and breathing hard and Vince is full of jealousy just looking at him.
“Soon, Dunner. We’ll get this for you.”
In the end, he’s back up in the press box watching as the man he would have replaced, Carl Gunnarsson, pots the game-winner in overtime. There’s a part of them that wishes he was down there, but until he’s a hundred percent, he’s happy just to be on the ride.
>>>>
Gunnarsson
(a/n - Factor = Ryan O'Reilly)
Clang! The puck rings off the post.
Damn it, Carl thinks, then he’s moving onto the next play because there’s no time to sulk about missed chances and horrible puck luck. He imagines a glint in the Finnish goaltender’s eyes on seeing him denied. A fraction of an inch and things would be different. He would be the hero.
Hero of the moment, that is. There’s still too much time in this back-and-forth game to think it’s over until it’s over.
This could be his last chance though. Dunner’s getting ready to come back. Who wouldn’t want the more offensive-minded guy with the young legs out there? If it’s for the good of the team, he won’t fight it, but he still has plenty to offer.
It seems that he’s been forgotten in the shuffle. Everything’s been about JayBo and Steener and their many, many years without getting close to the Stanley Cup. He’s been playing this game for ten years, almost six hundred games, and this is the closest he’s ever been to seen that dream realized. He doesn’t expect fanfare for it, he’ll just quietly continue as he always has.
Rask meets his eyes as they leave the ice at the end of the third. The goalie flashes a smile, as if knowing that he got away with something. What he got was lucky, thinks Carl.
“All I need is one more chance”, he tells Berube. The bathroom might not be the most picturesque spot for a guarantee, but Chief reacts like Carl has just made one.
In the overtime, the puck never seems to leave the Boston zone for very long. Carl gets the puck, sends it over to Factor, and then it’s back on his stick and he fires.
In the next instant, it’s chaos. He raises a stick as if it’s just a normal goal, but then as his teammates surround him, he realizes that it’s bigger than that, it’s bigger than him. He’s given a city their first Stanley Cup Final victory.
They’ll never forget him.
Binnington
Do I look nervous?
The quote has long since gone viral. He thinks it’s funny the way people have taken it, because, honestly, what do the reporters expect him to say? That he’s shaking in his boots? That he threw up twice that morning in anticipation and might do so again if this game doesn’t get started soon? Fuck them for actually thinking he was going to share something that could be used against him.
Winnipeg got it though. Winnipeg, with their boos every time he touched the puck, picked up on it and chanted “You look nervous.” He read about it after. The boos he’d heard, but down on the ice, the chants became a white noise. They might have well been chanting. “Let’s go Je-ets.” Because it wasn’t his job to pay attention to them, it was his job to pay attention to the puck. Let the noise affect everything else.
He’s now known as the goaltender with ice in his veins. Nothing, good or bad, affects him. Not the mind games, not the bad games where he’s given up more goals than he has at any point in the season, not the players crashing the net- well, there was that one time, but that bastard deserved it, not even Pat Maroon burying the game-winner in double overtime in game seven of the second round. The back-to-back losses still sit there in the back of his mind. He can’t afford to let that happen again.
This is his destiny.
>>>>
Dunn
(a/n Vova = Vladimir Tarasenko)
Every day, it gets a little better, a little easier to see, a little easier to skate. The feeling that his head was waging war on him is lessening. He’s almost there.
Actually, he thought he was there, but tonight, he’s back up here again. Another game spent in the press box with nothing to do but watch. He’ll go out into the hallway and down the elevator to the dressing room if it gets to be too much for him.
He’s in the room when Vova comes in. Nothing major, just a little skate repair and a moment to catch his breath while lacing them up. He looks a bit like Vince around the eyes, the crazy determination to get back out there to do his part. He’s sweaty and breathing hard and Vince is full of jealousy just looking at him.
“Soon, Dunner. We’ll get this for you.”
In the end, he’s back up in the press box watching as the man he would have replaced, Carl Gunnarsson, pots the game-winner in overtime. There’s a part of them that wishes he was down there, but until he’s a hundred percent, he’s happy just to be on the ride.
>>>>
Gunnarsson
(a/n - Factor = Ryan O'Reilly)
Clang! The puck rings off the post.
Damn it, Carl thinks, then he’s moving onto the next play because there’s no time to sulk about missed chances and horrible puck luck. He imagines a glint in the Finnish goaltender’s eyes on seeing him denied. A fraction of an inch and things would be different. He would be the hero.
Hero of the moment, that is. There’s still too much time in this back-and-forth game to think it’s over until it’s over.
This could be his last chance though. Dunner’s getting ready to come back. Who wouldn’t want the more offensive-minded guy with the young legs out there? If it’s for the good of the team, he won’t fight it, but he still has plenty to offer.
It seems that he’s been forgotten in the shuffle. Everything’s been about JayBo and Steener and their many, many years without getting close to the Stanley Cup. He’s been playing this game for ten years, almost six hundred games, and this is the closest he’s ever been to seen that dream realized. He doesn’t expect fanfare for it, he’ll just quietly continue as he always has.
Rask meets his eyes as they leave the ice at the end of the third. The goalie flashes a smile, as if knowing that he got away with something. What he got was lucky, thinks Carl.
“All I need is one more chance”, he tells Berube. The bathroom might not be the most picturesque spot for a guarantee, but Chief reacts like Carl has just made one.
In the overtime, the puck never seems to leave the Boston zone for very long. Carl gets the puck, sends it over to Factor, and then it’s back on his stick and he fires.
In the next instant, it’s chaos. He raises a stick as if it’s just a normal goal, but then as his teammates surround him, he realizes that it’s bigger than that, it’s bigger than him. He’s given a city their first Stanley Cup Final victory.
They’ll never forget him.
