This is rated PG-13 for
sexual innuendo.
“End Game”
The red light flashes on as
the camera zooms in on the two announcers behind the Sportscenter desk. A
female, dressed in a beige sports coat and white undershirt, folds her hands on
the desk, while her light brown hair falls to her shoulders.
“Hello and welcome to
Sportscenter. I’m Linda Cohn; the guy next to me is a stalker we like to call
John Buccigross.”
The picture focuses on the
man in a dark black suit and tie with a blue undershirt, as a picture of the
Mighty Ducks’ logo appears on the screen to the left of him. “Throughout the
regular season, the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim has ruled a pond known as the NHL.
Amazingly, the Ducks never lost a game until this round of the playoffs, and
now, after once more getting back on their horse, the Ducks of Clutch have rode
off into the sunset, winning one-nothing over the Minnesota Wild for the
Western Conference title. Live with two of the stars of the game, here’s Bill
Clement.”
The picture flickers to outside
the Anaheim Pond. An uproar of cheers resounds from the fans, decked in maroon,
teal, gold, and white behind the barricade; Bill Clement, sporting his cheesy
mustache and eighties’ hair-do, holds a microphone to his mouth. “Thanks, John.
Hello
The cheers supersound behind
Bill, as he moved to the left, and halts. No one is there. “Guys?”
“Yo, dude. Behind ya!” A
voice yells off camera.
Bill whips around. He sighs relieved and jogs
a few feet down the row of fans, followed by the camera.
As he grumbles, “I never understand
these ducks…They treat the fans like they’re actual people…” the two objects of
his attention come into view. Dressed in a teal sweatshirt and denim jeans,
Wildwing grabs another puck and signs it, as he turns toward the camera.
“They are actual people,
Bill,” he assesses, handing back the object and pen. “If it weren’t for the
fans and their support, we wouldn’t have made it this far in the playoffs. It’s
their energy that boosts us to victory.”
“Yeah, Bill, don’t down the
fans!” Nosedive spats. Wearing his big brother’s jersey and too-big-for-him,
teal sweatpants, the younger brother drags a hand through his hair before
pulling a hat on backwards. “They are the coolest!”
“WHOO-HOO!” The fans shout,
and Nosedive slaps a few high five.
“I wasn’t…” Bill flusters, as
the fans boo. He immediately wipes the sweat from his brow. “Well, huh… this
game, what really turned it to your advantage?”
The microphone moves under
Wildwing’s mouth, while Nosedive turns his back to the camera and continues to
work the fans. “It truly was the defense of our team. Grin and Tanya were both
exceptional tonight, as was Mallory, Duke, and Nosedive’s back check. It was
our team effort that truly allowed us to win.”
“What about your own
goaltending? You faced forty shot tonight and caught or deflected all of them.
That must make you feel good.”
“A goalie is only as good as
his defense, Bill.”
“Don’t believe a word of
that!” Nosedive disputes, pulling the microphone down to his face. “My bro’s
just ho-humble! If it wasn’t for his goaltending, we wouldn’t have won this
game! He’s the reason we’re in the Finals!”
Wildwing shakes his head.
“Tonight’s win was a team effort. If it wasn’t for you scoring, little brother,
or Mallory and Duke’s passing, or Tanya and Grin’s defense and blocked shots,
we wouldn’t have won. A team needs all its members to contribute to the win or
else there won’t be one.”
“In the words of hockey
master Tae-Quack Do…” Nosedive mimics a perfect Grin, as he crosses his arms.
“Say what you will, big bro, but you rocked in goal.”
“The point is,” Wildwing once more articulates, “the Mighty Ducks
are a team, and we won this by team work and nothing else.”
“Not even skill?” Bill baits.
Wildwing smiles widely as he
tassels his little brother’s hair, “Well, maybe a little of that…”
“I’d say a lot of it!”
Nosedive huffs. “I mean, I think I speak for the team when I say we could skate
before we could walk.”
“Is that even possible?” The
commentator asks astonished.
Wildwing shrugged.
“Puckworld’s ice season lasts twelve months out of our fourteen-month year. For
only two months are most of Puckworld’s provinces above what your planet calls
‘freezing level.’ ”
Bill gulps, “That’s gotta be
cold!”
“Nah, it’s just cool!”
Nosedive exclaims. “How you people live like this is what really concerns me.
Seventy degrees as an average temperature, even in winter! How come your skin
just doesn’t melt off? I know my feathers sometimes feel like they are going to
combust!”
“Nosedive!” Wildwing
chastises.
“What? It’s true! You know
how hot it is here! How you can wear a sweatshirt out here is beyond me!”
“And how you can wear your
hair down during a game is beyond me!
Doesn’t it get sweaty?”
“Yeah, I was wondering the
same thing,” Bill interjects. “Isn’t it uncomfortable and hard to keep groomed
like that?”
Scowling, Nosedive points a
finger at Wildwing. “Did you talk to him about this? Are you now collaborating
with others to get me to cut my hair? I’ve had it this style since I was five!
Get used to it!”
“Then aren’t you out of
style?” Wildwing provokes with a slight grin.
“And you’re one to
talk?”
“At least I know not to where
a mullet!”
“It’s the official hairstyle
of the NHL!”
“Ah…yes…well… back to hockey,
boys…” Bill intercedes, running a hand through his short hair. “Nosedive,
scoring the lone goal tonight, what outlook do you have of the upcoming series
and playing against the Devils?”
Nosedive gives Wildwing one
more sourly look before stating, “The Devils are a hard team, or else they
wouldn’t be called ‘The Beast of the East.’ Still, they’re no match for the
Ducks-Oh-Mighty! I scored a hat-trick against them last time.” He waves his
hand absently. “Five games, natch.”
“Don’t count your ducks
before they hatch, little brother.” Wildwing warns. “The Devils have had eleven
days off between series. They’re rested and ready to go.”
Bill adds, “Speaking of
rests, Martin Brodeur is ready for the challenge of you, Ducks. Wildwing,
you’ll be head-to-head against the greatest goalie this game has ever seen.
Martin Brodeur is set to break Patrick Roy’s all-time win record, as he has
already broken the most consecutive seasons with thirty or more wins. Not to
mention is the best puck-handling goalie this league has ever seen. How do you
think you and your team will battle him?”
Wildwing nods slowly, “I’ve
had the honor of playing against Marty only once; however, I’ve watched his
style. A butterfly/stand-up goaltender, Marty doesn’t like when the puck is out
of his hands. He can handle the puck well, which makes the Devils always on the
power play. How do we battle that? We keep the puck off his stick and keep on
the Devils tight so that if Marty gets the puck, there is no one to pass to.
Scoring wise, we aim high, shoot for top-shelf or possibly his five-hole, and see
what happens.”
“You said that the Devils are
always on a power play. Will you step up and handle the puck to even the
numbers?”
Wildwing hesitates,
“Honestly, Bill, at this point, I don’t see myself doing that. Our team works
well with five puckhandlers; therefore, there is no need for me to do so.”
“Is it that there isn’t a
need or that you can’t?”
Stifling a laugh, Nosedive
lays his elbow on Wildwing’s shoulder and rubs his fingernails on his jersey.
“Bill, my brother once shot the puck from his end-line to the other and scored.
Trust me when I say he could shoot off your mustache if need be.”
Bill’s eyebrows furls, and
the commentator gulps, “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Any other questions you
wanna ask us, Billy, or can we get back to the fans?” Nosedive asks flatly,
leaning against his brother side.
“HOO!”
“YEAH!”
“RIGHT ON!”
The fans’ screams blare.
“Hey Nosedive!” A woman with
ruby lips and dyed pink hair leans over the barricade. Her low-cut top and short mini-shirt accents
her features. “Can I be your dem?”
Nosedive’s face contorts in
confusion. “What’s a dem?”
Instantly, Wildwing pushes
Nosedive protectively behind him, placing himself effectively between his
brother and the fan. “No,” is the only he hisses.
“Hey, Wing, come on! I’m
cool…” The younger brother grabs his brother’s shoulder and jumps up and down
to see the girl, “but what’s a dem?”
Bill turned to the camera
sharply. “And this is Bill Clement, reporting from the Anaheim Pond. Back to
you in the studio.”
Duke hits the remote, and the
TV flickers off. “Oh, that was beautiful! *Ha!
Ha! * I can’t believe she just asked him that! *Ha! *”
On the couch next to Duke,
Tanya can’t hold in her laughter. “And he didn’t *He* even know what it was! *Ha!
*”
“What’s next? *Ah Ha!
*” Mallory manages to say through her giggles. “Is Wildwing going to have to
talk to him about *Ha! *”
*Snort!*
The three immediately stop
laughing and cock their heads to the side. Grin, silent and still, sits in his
meditative position on the floor, showing no evidence that he has moved.
The door to the main room
swishes open.
“Oh, come on, Wing! Why won’t
you tell me?” Nosedive whines as he enters a footstep behind his brother.
“No,” is Wildwing’s answer.
“Come on! Be original! That’s
the only word you’ve said since that girl asked me that!”
“Girl!” Wildwing whirls
around to meet his brother. “She was older than me!”
“So, what does that have
anything to do with it? I don’t even know what a dem is!”
“And you won’t know until
your old enough!”
“I’m seventeen!”
“Enough said. Discussion
closed.” Wildwing commands as he once more commences his walk to the group and
takes a sit next to Mallory on the side couch.
Nosedive rolls his eyes and
walks into the middle of the group. “You can’t just leave it like that!”
“I just did.”
“But—”
Crossing his arms, Wildwing
leans forward, looking his brother straight in the eyes. “It’s over, Nosedive.
Let it go.”
Sighing loudly, the younger
brother drops to the floor, cross-legged. He looks left, then right, before
putting his hand into his pocket and pulling out a paper. Uncrinkling it, he
nods to himself, “Well then, she was nice enough to give me her number. Maybe I
should ask…Sierra what a dem is.”
Wildwing’s face darkens
incredibly, and he puts out his hand. “Give me the number.”
Nosedive smirks. “Tell me
what a dem is, and I’ll give you the number.”
“Yeah, come on, Wing. Tell
the kid what a dem is,” Duke urges with a smile.
Wildwing’s expression is
contemptuous as he eyes Duke and mouths, “Benched.” Duke just laughs as
Wildwing uneasily leans down to Nosedive’s ear and whispers. Nosedive’s eyes
widen. Stunned, his beak falls. Mallory and Tanya both giggle, while Wildwing
easily plucks the paper from Nosedive’s still hand.
“And that is what a dem is.
Any more questions?” He rips up the paper and throws the sheets in the garbage.
Nosedive blinks blankly a few
times, then looks at Wildwing, “Um…yeah. Bro, why does a dem want to get in my
Stanley Cup?”
Finis