Wonderless

We played Calgary two more times, one of which we lost in a shut-out. I had finally made my scoring debut on October 7th in our first shut-out of the season against Calgary. It was a messy goal, hitting off a defender’s shoulder, but it was a goal nonetheless. Eberle, Smid and Horcoff all added their names to the score sheet in that single game. That game made me wonder why the team didn’t play like that all the time. They had the ability, they had the talent, and they had the players. That night was proof that the Oilers could be a force to be reckoned with. We skidded by the month of October with a staggering eight losses and a measly two wins.

I knew I had my work cut out for me when I joined this team, but this is just ridiculous. As the month was slowly drawing to a close, the disappointment started to seep with it, bringing in a new hope for a new month. This was our last game of the month and the first time we would be playing Chicago. After a 2-3 loss in overtime to Columbus the night before, I was more than ready to score some more goals.

The guys have been slowly easing up on me. I’ve proved to them –on several occasions- that I was more than capable of scoring goals. I wasn’t in this for myself; I was in this for my team. For the sake of the game, Jordan and Taylor started including me in plays and as time passed, they were starting to lighten up on me. After a few more shouting matches with various members of the team, I made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t a doormat and that I wouldn’t take any of their shit.

As we walked through the tunnel and onto the ice for warm-ups, boos sparked from the crowds of rowdy Blackhawks fans. As my skates hit the ice, I felt a bolt of energy pulse through me. I could feel it in my bones; this was going to be a good game.
After doing some practice shots on the net, I skated around in our zone and ended up getting into a conversation about which plays would be the smartest moves for us with Theo. He was one of the guys that I had bonded with in this past month. We both had really playful personalities and very physical games, and we didn’t take shit from anyone.
Since the first game of our season, I have had to hear just about everyone’s opinion on me and my place in the league.

“She’ll never make it in this league. This is why women weren’t in the league before. They can’t handle themselves on the ice and they are a great deal smaller than the other players on the ice. She’s going to get injured, and put on the IR where Edmonton can see where they really screwed up.”

“She’s doing this for the wrong reasons.”

“She just wants her fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Maybe she’s after a player?”

“Is she straight? Is she gay?”

That last one was the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I was taking mental hit after hit after hit after hit, but I let as many roll down my back as possible. The more I dwelled on what people were saying, the more it would affect my game. Just the fact that we lost four times the amount of games that we had won didn’t help matters. If anything, it just gave them more of me to rip apart. I was tired of hearing the same things over and over in a never-ending cycle of ridicule. I would show them, though. The Oilers saw something in me that any other team was too scared to look for. They were scared of someone of the opposite gender succeeding in a league that was made exclusively for men. They were scared of the doors that I had opened for all women that played hockey. They wouldn’t run me out of this league with my tail between my legs because of their poor opinions. It would take a hell of a lot more than that to get me out of this game. I’ve worked my entire life to get where I am right now and I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

“Hey Dunc, look! I wasn’t aware that we had a dike in the league,” Brent Seabrook laughed as he skated past Theo, Maggy and I near our bench with Duncan Keith at his side.
A look of disgust painted onto my face as I spun around to look at them.

“You want to say that to my fucking face?” I skated towards Brent. I got in his face, well, almost. He had quite a bit of height on me, but I couldn’t care less. He kept his silence, but a smirk was planted on his lips. “Say it to my face, you fucking piece of shit.” I bumped my chest with his, making him slide back a few inches. “Don’t think for a single second that because I’m a woman, I won’t curb-stomp your ass.” I fumed. By now, we both had teammates coming over to assess what the hell was going on. I felt a glove on my shoulder.

“Come on, kid. He isn’t worth it,” Jason Strudwick said and gave me a soft tug out of the mass of players. As I turned around, Seabrook opened his fat mouth.

“See you on the ice, carpet-muncher!” I flew away from Jason and back towards Brent. I dropped my stick, shook my gloves off of my hands, and threw the hardest right hook I’ve ever landed on a person in my life. I heard a collective ‘Oh!’ from the crowd and the players on the ice. We both gripped onto each other’s jerseys as we spun in a circle on the ice. I could faintly hear the ref’s whistles, but I didn’t really care. He wasn’t scared to take a few swings at me, but I made sure to counteract with hits that were just as hard. I grew up with two older brothers who taught me the ins and outs of defending myself, and this wasn’t the first fight I had been in. I’ve been in my fair share. The crowd went nuts with each punch we threw at each other. He got me a few good times, but there was only one that really hit me. The rest hit my helmet, which I’m sure hurt him more than it hurt me. The game hadn’t even started yet and I was in my first NHL fight with a man that I had never met before. “Come on, baby. I’ll be more than happy to show you how a man can treat a woman,” He mocked.

“I’m not,” I gave him another swing to the face. “Gay, you ignorant fuck!” I honestly don’t know how I had the energy to fight someone as large as Brent Seabrook, but I was doing it. I guess the saying ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ can be applied here. Why he didn’t just knock me on my ass is something that I’ll never know. Our pushing and shoving sent us into the boards where fans were hitting the glass on the other side. Both of our shoulders were pushed at odd angles into the glass. I used the fist that was holding onto the collar of his jersey to give him a few jabs. He finally let go of me and the refs stepped in, still blowing their whistles.

“Alright you two, break it up. That’s enough.” I reluctantly let go of his jersey and pushed him back. He almost lost his footing and came towards me, angrily, again. The ref jumped in between us right before he was about to hit me again. “I said that’s enough! Both of you go back to your benches while we figure out what to do,” He ordered. One ref escorted Brent and another escorted me to our respective benches.

“Watch your back, Wolf!” He shouted to me. I rolled my eyes and followed the ref to the Oilers bench. I stepped off of the ice and sat myself on the bench.

“You mind telling me what the hell all that was?” Coach came up behind me. “The game hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already in a fight! You know that they’re going to give you a huge penalty, game misconduct and probably eject you from the game, right? We brought you on this team for a reason and fighting isn’t it. You’re useless when you aren’t out on the ice doing what you do best, but it’s rash decisions like this that are going to put the team in jeopardy. We can’t afford shit like this, kid. Use your head next time.” I nodded wordlessly and waited for the ref’s call. A minute or so later, the ref skated to center ice.

“Edmonton Oilers number 20, J.R. Wolf, will receive a ten minute game misconduct,” I slammed my stick against the boards in front of the bench and let a few expletives fly out of my mouth. Cheers erupted through the arena.

"Motherfucker!" I shouted.

“Chicago Blackhawks number 7, Brent Seabrook, will receive a five minute fighting Major.” He then skated off to the side as boos now took place of the cheers. I was escorted from the bench and over to the penalty box. Seabrook entered his side just a few seconds after me. I looked up and saw that the camera was watching me sit on the bench in the box. It then switched over to Brent. I could already see the bruises on his face forming, causing me to smirk. I took my gloves off and sat back. The people sitting behind me were chirping like there was no tomorrow and hitting the glass relentlessly. Once they figured out that I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of even looking at them, they calmed down.

Sitting in that box as the game started had to be the most terrible thing I have had to endure. It drove me nuts knowing that I couldn’t do anything to help my team. I didn’t have to wait long for something to happen, and for that I was thankful. Less than two minutes into the game, Taylor scored on Marty Turco. When Taylor skated by the box to celebrate his goal, I sent him a cheesy grin, to which he laughed.

I had thirty-three seconds left of my penalty when Theo got called for hauling down Jack Skille. This put Chicago on the powerplay. Twenty-two seconds after that, Jonathan Toews scored on the powerplay, tying it up at 1-1. As the remaining seconds passed, the official opened the door and let me out. I flew out of the box like a bat out of hell and immediately got to work. The clock was down to three minutes and five seconds when I finally scored. The Chicago fans were getting angrier and angrier as the game continued. We ended up winning 7-4, not losing the lead in the entire game. This is exactly how this team should be playing. There was still hope for this team.