Hat Trick

“Come on guys,” I muttered under my breath as I watched the Philadelphia Flyers take possession of the puck for what must have been the hundredth time in the period. “Damn it, you can’t do that, Boyes. You really need to go back to wing,”

My team, the Buffalo Sabres, were down by a score of 2-1 in the second period. We were playing sloppy hockey and taking stupid penalties. My friend, Brad Boyes, who we had acquired from St. Louis, had just been called for tripping up Claude Giroux, and I wasn’t very happy with him. And yes, I said he was my friend, as all the other Sabres were. If they didn’t turn around soon and win, though, I’d seriously consider verbally berating each and every one of them, but only as a last resort; this game wasn’t over by a long shot.

“You can do this!” I yelled from my seat behind the bench, earning a thumbs-up from a couple of my Sabre friends. They wanted to win this one even more than I did, and they were going to win if I had anything to say about it. I turned my attention back to the game and unthinkingly began to mutter play-by-play to myself.

“Ennis gets checked…wait, Drew brings it back in and gets by the defense. He’s in all alone on Bobrovsky. He stops, takes a shot…” My voice broke as I lost sight of the puck. I tensed, waiting for the whistle to signal the end of the play, and it finally came. The referee raised his arm to signal the goal and I jumped out of my seat, screaming in happiness. A couple Buffalo fans around me exchanged hi-fives with me as we celebrated the goal. Drew Stafford had both goals of the game for the Sabres, and was now one goal away from a hat trick.

When he went to the bench, fist-bumping his teammates as he came over, he put his hand to the glass separating us and I did the same, smiling happily at him. “Drew, you’re the best,” I said, meeting his eyes. He grinned back at me.

“Thanks, Lizzy. You’re rooting for us, right?” he asked in a somewhat sarcastic manner, the smile never leaving his face.

I rolled my eyes in answer. “Of course I am. What kind of a friend would I be if I wasn’t? And I rather hate Philly,” I finished with a smirk. Drew nodded and sat down on the bench, still smiling. To be honest, I don’t recall a time when he wasn’t smiling. I loved that about him, that ever-present smile.



The game went on, and the second period ended with the score tied at two apiece. A fight had broken out with four minutes left in the period between Paul Gaustad and the captain of the Flyers, Mike Richards. As far as I was concerned, Paul won the fight, although it looked more like a shoving contest than a fight. The refs had let them go at it for about thirty seconds, then they’d carted both of them to the penalty box with roughing minors. Gaustad left the ice looking slightly tired - or bored. Either one would work to describe his expression.



After what seemed to me like ages of scoreless hockey, though it was only six minutes, Scott Hartnell took a shot, which rebounded off of Miller and back to the point. The Buffalo defense scrambled to get the puck out of the zone, but they just couldn’t. Dan Briere, a former Buffalo player, took the puck and made a quick snap-shot.

I watched, frozen, as Marc-Andre Gragnani - a recent call-up from Portland and someone you could say was a godsend for our defense - went down to block the shot. The puck bounced off his knee and out to center, and he went down, holding his knee in pain. My eyes widened in horror…another injury to our defense was not a good thing, not at all.

One of the referees blew the whistle and the Sabres all circled around Marc-Andre, worry clear on their faces. I saw the team athletic trainer come out and talk to Marc, pointing to the knee that had taken the shot. Marc nodded, and Drew, who was standing next to him, looked at me and I saw his mouth twitch in what might have been a miniscule, perhaps reassuring, smile. After that little sign, Marc stood up with help and was skated off the ice to a standing ovation. I was relieved that it wasn’t worse. With a little luck, he’d be back soon.



The game continued on without any scoring. Several chances presented themselves to the Sabres, but they weren’t able to get the puck into the net before it was stopped by Bobrovsky, or Bob, as most hockey fans prefer to call him.

Buffalo attempted an offensive rush in the dying seconds of the third period, but nothing came of it. This game was going to overtime. Emotions were running high throughout the arena, and I could tell that they were going to skyrocket next. Both teams wanted this win badly, so it came down to who wanted it more, and more importantly, who could stuff the puck in the net first.

For the first two minutes of the overtime period, the game remained at a stalemate, just like the third period. But as the teams changed, I saw a subtle change in the way they played. Ennis passed through center to Boyes, who passed back to Ennis. There was a cross-ice pass to Stafford. Drew skated through the scrambling defense and when he was right in front of the net, he took a shot. It went top-shelf, right by Bob, and the arena erupted. The hats, including my own fraying Sabres cap, flew into the air, landing on the ice as everyone celebrated.

“We did it!” I yelled. “We won!”

The entire team stood at center ice, celebrating just as much as the fans were. I wished I could join them, but I’d congratulate them when I was free from my seat behind a sheet of glass.

“Can you believe it, Lizzy?” Drew asked, skating over to the bench so that he could talk to me. “We won it.” He placed his hand on the glass again, and I met it, intrigued by how small my hands were compared to his. It was a habit of ours - a routine, and neither of us knew how it had started, but that’s what we did when he scored. Ever since we’d met in this very arena, which had been quite a while ago.

“I know we won. It’s really something, beating Philly,” I said, looking up at him. His eyes were bright with excitement, and that silly grin was on his face.

“Yes, very true,” he replied with a laugh. “Lizzy, I want to ask you something.”

“Then ask away, Drew. Nobody’s stopping you. Goodness gracious.” I rolled my eyes in amusement and he laughed again.

“Okay, fine. Be that way. Anyways, Lizzy, I just wanted to say that you are the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You can make everybody laugh and you’re my best friend. I was wondering if…if you wanted to be my girlfriend,” he finished, smiling hopefully.

“Hat trick,” I said, and he tilted his head to one side, clearly confused. I continued, elaborating a bit. “Good things come in threes, haven’t you heard? You had one tonight. In this arena, you just got another one. First, we met here. I remember it so clearly. I even remember the brand-new hat I wore that day, even though it was ages and ages ago.

“Second, we became friends here, just by celebrating a game-winning goal against Ottawa, scored by yours truly.” I paused, pointing at him with a smile. I could tell I was making him relive all of those moments, the ones that were the most important to us. I was also reliving them, and just the mere memory of how my friendship with Drew had started warmed my heart.

“And third, that was just now.” He grinned at the realization and pressed both hands to the glass separating us.

“So I take it as a ‘yes,’ right?” he asked, meeting my blue eyes. He shouldn’t have even had to ask, but I answered him anyway.

“Yes, it is a yes, Drew. A million times over, yes.”

He laughed at my ecstatic reply. “You do realize that you said ‘yes’ three times just to answer one question, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer immediately, making my way around the seats surrounding me, which were now empty, and down to the bench. When I was there, standing in front of Drew, I smiled.

“Yes, I do realize that. Hat trick.” He rolled his eyes at me and stepped onto the ice, looking at the hats that hadn’t been cleared away yet. I followed, and saw him pick up my old, worn Sabres cap, the same one I’d worn when we’d met.

“I love you Lizzy, but I might get tired of hearing those two words,” he said, putting the hat back on my head, over top of my wavy brown hair.

“And I love you, but you’d better not get tired of it. You, Mr. Stafford, are the king of the hat trick, so you’d better get used to it real quick,” I said with a laugh. He smiled and shook his head, amused for some reason.

“Fine Lizzy, you win,” he replied, reaching over with one arm and pulling me next to him. “What’s a good thing that comes in threes, do you know?”

“Hat trick,” we said at the same time, laughing. I slipped on the ice and fell into his arms, never stopping my laughter. When I was steady on my feet again, I took a breath to continue speaking.

“Or you could try three words. I love you.” I stood on my toes and pulled him close to me. My hat fell off as our lips met for the first time, and I felt butterflies swarm in my stomach. We broke apart after what seemed like ages and laughed once more.

“I like that hat trick, Lizzy. I love you,” was all Drew said as he kissed me again, my favorite cap laying on the ice beneath us. Three simple words rang in my head the entire time: I love you.