| Original Six Hockey, blood, guts, fights and when
the fans finally sit down to watch the game, the professional goons start to
beat the **bleep** out of each other. Ever since the high speed MetroT
system connected Boston to Toronto, Montreal, Chicago, Detroit, and New
York, the games were toothless blood feuds on and off the ice. The bloodiest
games to date were the series between the Montreal Canadians and the Boston
Bruins. Both were fighting for first and both rosters carried the two
meanest goons in hockey history; Rheal Belanger and Abraham Carter. They
both hated each other, they both came out of Concordia University, and they
both would happily shove their skate into a major artery. Belanger was a
beast of a man, 6-4, 251 and he had a right hook that would knock down most
brick walls. Carter was 6-2, 240 and his jab was like a jackhammer on speed.
They once got into a ten-minute fight that left them with a couple broken
fingers, noses, and a lost deposit on their cleaning bills for the game
sweaters.
Not only was this the last home game for the Bruins, this was the last game
for the FleetCenter or as the Bostonians called it the new 'Gahden'. In
Southy the new Trans-South Arena was finished and the boys in black and gold
were to move there for the playoffs. I didn't see what was so bad about the
old building. I mean just because an I-beam fell down on to the ice during
practice, doesn't mean that it has to be torn down. Anyways, no athlete
wants to lose any kind of 'last' game of anything. This was international,
bloody, and priority number one for the broadcasters ever since the soccer
lock-out. Hockey fans were mad about this and I was going to be right in the
middle of it.
Walking down the aisle in my Bruins jersey and morphed into a bear, I felt
right for what was going to be touted as World War Three on ice. Charlie
McCarty, one of the many Bostonians residing at McCloud, somehow found a
pair of tickets. I didn't know what he did to get those tickets but they
were pretty good, two rows behind the blue line glass and right off the
corner of the Bruins bench. The only thing about the seats was that a bunch
of Canadians fans were sitting right next to us yelling sometimes in French.
Trying to keep my eyes off them I looked down to the bench and the usual
stars of the B's sat next to each other and talked about, what else, hockey.
Belanger sat at the end and he looked like a mean **bleeper**. His goatee,
and shoulder length brown hair were greasy and his scowl and cold stare
could freeze death in it's tracks. I wouldn't want walk down the same
highway with him, never mind the alley with the National Guard backing me
up! Deep down, I wanted him to go out there and pound the **bleep** out of
Carter.
"Kick that mother **bleeper's** **bleep**!''
I turned and there was a donkey morph in a Canadians jersey leading the
large group in red and blue in the chant of le blue. I just sat their,
keeping my calm as the B's sent in their checking line while the Canadians
pulled out Carter and one battle was averted. As I looked around the place I
saw about half of the stands were red and blue and the other half were
filled with drunk Boston fans, not good. The last game at the Molson Centre
was a near riot with bottle waving Bostonians **bleeping** about the
Canadian beer, and the hockey stick clutching Canadians made fun of the lack
of the letter 'r' in the Boston vocabulary. Blame the public transportation
miracle known as MetroT. The fights were halted by the ninety minutes of
flashing female fans on the Jumbotron, great game.
After one period of Belanger and Carter playing line-dodging, the game was
scoreless and fans were already a six pack away from a misconduct charge. I
was about ready to kill that guy above me as he kept hee-hawing about the
greatness of the Canadians the WHOLE **bleeping** period. No offense to
DeMule but the sound of a donkey going off is very irritating. After
fighting my way to the crowded bathroom and fighting my urges to kill that .
. .man. I ran up to the hot dog counter, just so I could be cut off by that
same Canadian lovin' jackass.
"Too slow bear!" He grunted, as the long eared one bought three whole grain
buns and two hog dogs.
I quietly told myself to be calm and turn the other cheek, (gee Raven would
be proud). The wild smell of ribs cooking on the grill, (God I will never
get used to these senses) nearly gave me an excuse to go feral and eat
everything in sight. When I changed, I took account of what I was, my
hyperactive metabolism, and what I had become; a polymorph. Back home, I
have letters piling up from some Polymorph group asking me to come to their
facilities and test my abilities against others. Why did they have to rub
that damn point into me? Yeah I'm a SCAB, big **bleeping** deal, tell me if
I won the lottery, or something. Couldn't I just live my life and not have
people constantly remind me I'm a victim? Victim of what, a bad break? A guy
gets hit by a car, he's a victim. A woman is raped by a man, and then the
guy walks off scott free, she's a victim. Don't call me a victim because I
have control of my body most average people would dream of. God help me,
because the only victims I know are those who'll get in my way . .
.Especially that **bleeping** Canadians fan who is standing on my seat!
"Sorry about that big guy." The guy said as he handed his sign to his
friends and stepped off the seat.
I nearly crushed my meal in my paws. Charlie took the food and brushed the
seat off. "Why didn't you tell that guy to go **Bleep** off!"
Charlie sipped his soda and said. "I was a little busy talking to that fine
piece of **Bleep** over there and they just started to jump around."
I gave a cold look to the mule man and clenched my fist. "If that son of a
**Bleep** gets in my face once I'll put my foot in his throat."
Charlie just shook his head and I adjusted my furry butt so the old seats
wouldn't pinch my tail. That's the one thing I won't miss about the place is
the hard plastic seats with early nineties contours. The game was a lot
better than I thought it was going to be. After a scoreless first period,
the second turned into a scoreless defense festival where everyone EXCEPT
Belanger and Carter checked the Hell out of each other. Speaking of hostile,
the crowd was now a shot of whiskey away from a small war. Already there
were very loud screaming matches in front of Charlie and I. We smiled as
they went back and forth at the top of their lungs. The star scorer of the
ice was the sixth place scorer Alec Krominov. The thing of it was Belanger's
line was constantly on Alec's line but Carter's line was always stuck on our
number one line, damn! Most of the on ice action paled in comparison to what
was to come next. Alec was against the boards and Belanger was coming like a
train. As I watched the whole thing in front of me, Alec's face smeared into
the plexiglass like it was a photocopier at work, and his body was flattened
like road pizza.
"Hey ref! Quit swallowing the **bleeping** whistle, where's the **bleeping**
call?"
I stood up and looked dead into the eyes of the annoying man. "Shut the
**bleep** up! Let the refs do their **bleeping** job!"
Out from his gray snout he spit and he replied. "Go **bleep** yourself! I'll
kick your head in mother **bleeping** **bleep**!"
"Don't make me come up their and kill your Royal Canadian Mounted
**bleep**!"
I hit the nerve, **bleep**, changing permanently into something out of a
Midsummer Night's Dream, and then having someone call you an **bleep** can
be painful, I'm glad I said it! The guy rolled his sleeves and jumped into
me.
"Holy **Bleep**"
The skaters stopped and watched what had been a civil grudge turn into a
large indoor riot. Players walked off the benches and viewed the 360 degrees
of fighting.
"Hey Rheal!" A large black man in a red jersey yelled over the screams of
the crowd.
"Ah! Abraham! How's that book you're reading?" Rheal smiled wiping the sweat
off his head with the yellow collar of his sweater.
Carter removed his helmet and said. "Passions and Desires? Well it's living
up to its title! How's that romance novel?"
Belanger thought a bit as he danced the puck with his stick. "Um. Samantha
Samuels is about to tell her lover that she is a gendermorph and in love
with Alice Campbell."
"Ok." Just as he was about to walk off he grabbed the Bruin by the
shoulders. "Watch out!"
Two fighters crashed through the glass but it didn't stop them from trying
to break their hands on each other's skulls. A bruin-morph wrestled with a
donkey man near the Bruin's bench. The two goons crossed their arms as they
compared notes.
"The bear's going to win! He has the harder head and the size." Yelled
Carter.
Belanger shook his head. "No way. The donkey has the hooves and . . .OW!
That's gonna' stretch the old jock strap!"
The Canadian winced in pain at the sight. "Yeah, but the bear's now going
for the ears! Maybe we should break this up?"
He curled his lip and said. "Yeah I guess."
"My **bleeping** head." I groaned as the ice pack rested on my badly
bruised muzzle.
In the cell next to me, my fellow fighter whined as he grabbed at his ribs.
"Son of a . . .Damnit, I think I cracked a hoof."
I had to ask. "How drunk were you, man?"
"Man, I haven't been called that in a while." His flat equine teeth flashed
and he said. "I wasn't. I was just an **bleep** hole like you."
I fell back on to my cot and moaned. "Welcome to America."
"What's your name?" he asked as the sounds of penny loafers clicking in the
distance rung in my head.
"Jacob Fox, what's yours?" I asked, wondering what kind of pseudonym I was
going to hear today.
"Bob Taylor."
Another two hours of rest and healing later the doors opened. "Bails been
paid. You're both free to go."
We both looked at each other with a confused look on our face. "Who set
bail?"
Two large figures in suits walked into the jail. It was Carter and Belanger
in their gameday best. We didn't ask why, we did just walked out and quietly
thanked the men. I limped as Bob walked side by side with me.
He flicked his injured hand in the air. "Sorry about . . .um. Kicking you in
the groin back there."
I painfully 'readjusted' myself and moaned. "I wasn't planning on having
kids anyway. Sorry about cracking your hoof on my head."
I was about to walk to the T station when the two hockey players ran out to
stop us. "Wait! Hanks for stopping the game!"
I felt like **bleep**. "THANKS!?!? What are you talking about?"
Carter stepped out in front of Belanger. "At the end of the game we were
going to fight but because of the riot and damage to the building, the game
was called a draw and we didn't want to fight each other."
Bob came in at this point. "Your telling us that you didn't want to fight?"
Belanger flipped his collar and said. "We were only going to fight because
it was what the fans wanted. International coverage and all that."
I groaned in disbelief. "You have got to be **bleeping** me? That's why you
paid for bail."
"Least we could do." Carter smiled.
"I'm going back to Canada." Bob yelled into the night.
"Same here."
"So that's what happened to you?"
I looked up from the ice bucket I ordered from Donnie and said to Jack as my
face thawed. "Yeah so you could understand why I don't want to hear another
**bleeping** thing about hockey for a while."
He sipped from his drink and smiled. "You say **Bleep** a lot don't you?"
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