Face-Off Read Online Free PDF

heart was pounding. “I think so.”
    “The fact is, the puck rises off the ice very seldom,” said the coach. “The way it’s hit prevents it from rising. Even when
     a guy pulls back his stick to give the puck a hard whack the chance for it to fly off the ice is slim. Better work on that,
     Scott. You saw what happened the other night during scrimmage. The boys caught on to your beingpuck shy. They scared you out of a play and scored. The Grayhawks will do the same thing the minute they catch on.”
    “They probably did on that play,” said Scott softly.
    “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
    At the ten-minute time the buzzer sounded again. The two lines went off the ice and Lines Three of both teams went on.
    Fat McCay was center for Line Three. The Grayhawks’ center was a head taller than Fat, and about twenty pounds lighter. He
     looked as if he could skate circles around Fat.
    But it was Fat who got the puck. Fat who passed it to a wingman. Fat who caught a pass down center ice, dribbled the puck
     past two defensemen, and then slapped it past the goalie for the first score of the game.
    A thunderous shout, mixed with a hard banging of hockey sticks against the boards, sprang from the Golden Bears.
    Fat was watched carefully after that. With a minute to go before the three minutes were up Fat tripped a Grayhawk with his
     stick. Even though he argued with the ref that he had not done it on purpose, he was sent to the penalty box for one minute.
    The Grayhawks took advantage of the five-man team and tied the score, 1 to 1.
    Line One couldn’t break the tie.
    Line Two couldn’t, either. Scott was so worried that he might do what he had done before that the coach took him out after
     a minute and a half and put in Vern Mitchell.
    “You’re worried about it, now, Scott,” said the coach. “You’ll have to settle down.”
    When the next minute and a half was up, Lines Three of both teams got on the ice. This time it was Fat McCay again who scored,
     putting the Golden Bears ahead, 2 to 1.
    The boys sucked on oranges in the lockerroom during intermission. Coach Roberts perked them up with a short speech, telling them that they “were doing a good job.
     After all, we’re ahead by one goal, and all they got against us is one. So what can I say? Fat, you’re doing fine. Just keep
     it up.”
    The game resumed. It looked as if the first four minutes would go by scoreless until a surprise slap shot within the last
     thirty seconds made by the Grayhawks’ center, Jack Young, tied the score, 2 to 2.
    “Okay, Scott,” said the coach as Lines Two went in, “keep your mind on the game. Don’t worry about the puck.”
    The face-off. Burt Stone, centering against Del, got the puck and passed it to a wing-man. The wingman dribbled it over the
     blue line and into Golden Bears territory, flakes of ice spraying from his skates as he sprinted toward the goal.
    Joe Zimmer went after him. The Gray-hawk skated away from him, and headed directly toward Scott. Scott started to poke-check
     the puck when the Grayhawk pulled back his stick and started to take a vicious cut at it.
    Again the puck turned into a little black monster. And again Scott raised his arm and shut his eyes.
    The whistle shrilled, loud and piercing. Scott opened his eyes, dropped his arm, and saw the ref skating toward him, looking
     and pointing directly at him!
    Scott stared.
    “High-sticking!” boomed the ref. “The penalty box, fella!”
    It was then that Scott realized that this time he had raised his stick-hand to protect his face. He had gone from bad to worse.

8
    S cott Harrison had to sit in the penalty box for a minute. He was more ashamed than angry. Of all the hockey players he knew,
     only he was shy of the puck. The thing was, he
tried
to keep from lifting his arm. He
tried
to keep from shutting his eyes. But just at the moment when the opponent was going to swing, he’d lose control of himself
     and seek protection.
    “Okay, Scott,”