Two Minute Penalties
by be287m

Inspired by Frank Downey’s “Curse of the Bambino.”

--Game One--

They lost.

I shook my head in disbelief one more time.  I was still sitting on the locker room bench, mentally replaying the game, when Sandy came out of the shower.

“What’s wrong Liz?”  she asked.  “We played pretty well despite the loss.”  She was surprisingly upbeat for the losing goalie.  Of course she had stopped 38 shots.  Too bad there had been 40.

“You played well!  Your offense sucked.  Only 14 shots?  C’mon!”

Sandy smiled at my reply.  “Maybe I should get out of the goal and show them how to skate,” she mused as she started getting dressed and packing her gear.

She probably could too.  Sandy had always been a jock—it probably came from following her dad, a local sportscaster, around on his job for so long.  We’d met playing little league soccer.  She’d found her passion—ice hockey—a few years later.  Now she was the top goalie in our league and the only woman goalie.  She played well enough that most people forgot she was female.

Including the janitorial staff unfortunately.  After the games, she always had the women’s locker room to herself.  At the beginning of the season, a male janitor had ‘forgotten’ she was in the building and came in while she was in the shower.  He hadn’t been too hasty in beating a retreat when she started yelling at him and so she’d asked me to start coming to the games and standing guard while she cleaned up afterwards.

I hadn’t minded.  The games were a lot of fun to watch.  I sat with a bunch of the other player’s friends and we got boisterous, cheered loudly, and generally had a good time.

That’s where I met Steve.  His roommate was a winger on the second line and he was a die hard hockey fan.  For the Red Wings.  A phrase that here in Colorado was followed by the word “Suck!”  Hell, any given parking lot had at least one “Red Wings Suck!” bumper sticker on a car somewhere in it.  How he survived sports bars during the playoffs was a testimony to the general good nature of Colorado Avalanche fans.

Unfortunately, he was also damn cute.  He had a devilish carefree charm that seemed cocky at first blush, but on second blush had something deeper behind it.  Somehow he seemed to notice everything around him and know exactly the level of playfulness he could get away with.

He’d noticed me first, no doubt.  I’d noticed him when my beer had suddenly been refreshed during a post-game party that Sandy had taken me too.  I knew it had been close to empty and reached for it to take a final swig and then nearly spilled the surprisingly full glass.  When I looked up, his deep blue eyes were laughing, though his lips betrayed only the smallest of smiles.  We started talking and I found out about his hockey obsession and the fact that he rooted for the wrong team.  I teased him and tried to flirt, but he seemed oblivious.  Eventually we drifted other directions in the party and talked to other people.  Thereafter, we’d see each other at Sandy’s games and kid each other a little about our favorite pro teams.  Eventually we started sitting next to each other but somehow the conversation never got much beyond the game at hand or the latest NHL news.  By the end of the season, I still didn’t know much about him other than he was definitely single and worked long hours as an engineer.

The trouble started in the playoffs.  Sandy’s team had made it, which thrilled everyone.  At the pro level, so did the Avs and the Red Wings.  For a while it looked like they might meet in the semi-finals.

He teased me about that.  “You ready for your Avs to get beat by my Red Wings again?”

“No way.  The Avs would pull it together to beat the Wings.  They looked good against Dallas and the Wings never should have lost to Nashville.”

“Want to bet?” he asked.

“Sure!  When the Avs beat the Wings, you buy me dinner!”  I figured that was a no lose bet.  I’d be able to find out if he was interested in me as more than a buddy or not.

“Hmmm.  Okay.  I’ll take you out to dinner.  But when the Wings beat the Avs, you owe me an hour after dinner.  Anything I want.”

There was a confidence and a power in the way he looked at me while he said that that made me have no doubt that he had some definite ideas of what he wanted.  That sent a shiver down my spine.  My knees held up though.

“Within reason,” I said.  He smiled and nodded his head.

“Agreed.”

But then Calgary pulled off the upset of Vancouver and the Avs were headed to the Shark Tank in San Jose.

“So what do we do now?” I asked, while we cheered Sandy’s team on through the first round of league playoffs and the upset appeared imminent.  Steve got that devilish look in his eye.

“Let’s change the bet to the number of games each team wins or loses.  For each game the Avs lose against the Sharks, you owe me two minutes of anything I want.”  Again, the calmness in his eyes quickened my pulse.

“And when the Red Wings lose?” I asked.

“What do you want?”  He was inscrutable.

“I want to know more about you,” I said.  “You owe me a story about your life every time the Red Wings lose.”

He smiled, but stopped just short of laughing.  “Agreed.”

The first game between the Sharks and the Avs fell on the night of one of Sandy’s games.  I brought a walkman radio and tried to discreetly listen while we cheered Sandy’s rather spectacular play.  Unfortunately, both games were losers and I appreciated how Steve didn’t rub it in as the Sharks pretty handily slapped the Avs around, 5-2.  After Sandy’s game, he walked me to the locker room door.

“Two minutes,” he murmured, then reached out and took my hands and squeezed them.  He then released me and without a word turned and left.  I rubbed the back of my hands where he’d touched me.  Then I headed inside to see how Sandy was doing.

That’s when it hit me.  I owed him two minutes.  Of anything he wanted.

I was still mulling that over when Sandy indicated she was ready to go.  We’d have to see what happened at the next game.

--end Game One-- 
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