5 Minutes for Sucker Punching.

[Little Boy†]

[[Jimmy Brennan debut]]

Jimmy Brennan wasn't a "Hockey" guy.

Steve Carlson Arena was all but foreign to Jimmy. He'd admittedly gotten lost on his way to the dressing room, and at that moment had considered going home rather then heading to the tryout. But he soldiered on, despite already being late.

To be honest with himself, Jimmy wasn't quite sure why he'd decided to attend the open tryout. He wasn't a hockey player. He'd barely ever skated in his life. Perhaps it was the constant chatter he heard in the halls at school that drove him to attend. The meathead jocks boasting loudly how they'll show everyone up at the tryouts and make team captain. What a surprise it would be if that crazy tough motherfucker Jimmy Brennan showed up and whooped their collective asses? Jimmy grinned at the thought. He couldn't let the chance pass him by. Skating couldn't be that hard, it was just like walking on ice. Well, gliding on ice. At least he thought so.

As he laced up his brothers skates (In all honesty they were too big, Jimmy had wore double socks so he wouldn't fly out of them on the ice or anything potentially embarrassing like that) Jimmy savored in his mind the mental image of him putting a puck top shelf behind the back of some dumb ass goalie. Maybe even someone from his school. He'd never let anyone forget that if it happened.

No. When it happened. Jimmy smiled.

Those assholes all laugh when I get on the field, like I'm some big joke. As if. Not this time, this time they'll get to see what Jimmy Brennan can really do!

Jimmy stood up, wobbling slightly on his skates. He grabbed his hockey stick leaning against the dressing room bench and shoved his helmet over his head of thick gingery hair. He clenched his teeth, heading towards the rink entryway.

On the ice, the warm up skate had already begun by the looks of things. Around a dozen or so kids skated around the rink with varying degrees of grace. Jimmy was pleased to note one or two of them appeared to be beginners. He laughed as one was sent crashing into the boards in an attempt to take the puck from an opposing player.

These clowns got nothin' on me. I've just gotta get out there and shove some body weight around. Maybe knock one of those smaller kids down. That'll catch the coach's eye for sure.

Jimmy hoisted himself up over top the boards and jumped onto the ice. He pushed off and began to skate around the rink, looking for a free puck or failing that, an easy target.

[Fanatic†]

(OoC): Warning this post contains verbal and physical abuse

Phil Ward sat on the bench in the box of the arena. The position he was in was covered in shadows that made him very hard to see. Mind you, that was what he wanted. The training session hadn't gone too well. The guys who had rocked up couldn't even hit the puck properly, he'd seen less flubbing from four year olds. Still they had needed a few more players to cover those who were quitting mid year and so they had held tryouts. Phil didn't rate any of them at all. Nik had picked a few and he was the captain and what the captain said goes. Still Phil hadn't been happy.

The geared up hockey player was brought out of his reverie by the familiar sound of stick to puck. Glancing up from his seat his eyes widened slightly in amazement. Was that little Jimmy Brennan? That arrogant little shit. Phil thought to himself as he stood up. He actually thought he could have a chance at making the team? The guy couldn't even skate well, hell if he remembered correct Brennen couldn't even defend his own lunch money, let alone a puck. The kid was barely five foot and skinny as a beanpole. What did he think he was trying out for; chess or some other geek pastime? This was a real man's sport, for real men and kids like him should just stay the fuck away. A sly grin crossed his face. He could tell Jimmy he hadn't got a chance but why not have a little fun with the kid. Time to teach this kid a lesson. Stepping down towards the ice and grabbing his stick Phil yelled out. "Hey Jimmy, I think you're lost, cheerleader tryouts are next week."

Grabbing a puck from the ground nearby Phil leaped the barrier in to the rink dropping the puck on to the ice mid vault. "I got this one Kronwall." He called out to Nik as he skated towards the teetering Jimmy.

Dropping his stick close to the puck he got in to position to deliver a brutal slapshot. "Think fast Brennen you limp dick ranga!" he yelled out as he rocketed the puck across the ice, directly at the newest whelp to try out for the team.

[Little Boy†]

(OoC): Warning this post contains rather strong language

Jimmy was pleasantly surprised at how well things were going. The ice rink was cool and had AC in it, as was to be expected it being a hockey rink and all. Jimmy found it a rather refreshing alternative to wearing bulky equipment outdoors for Football or something. As he skated around the rink he began to realize why Hockey was so popular in St. Paul. It wasn't like he was sweating or anything despite all the equipment he had on. Jimmy grinned as he glanced around the rink at the various other players, he could get used to this. He could get used to gliding around knocking punks over, slapping pucks into the back of the net. Skating beat running around and using his legs, that was for sure.

Heh, so that's it. All these Hockey Jocks are lazy when ya' get right down to it. They just take one little push off the boards and they end up flying down the rink. This is barely a sport, how the fuck could someone find this difficult?

Reaching the end of the rink he awkwardly turned, trying to loop around the back of the net and make his way to the other side of the rink. His skates uncomfortably shifted, and Jimmy pitched forward for a second sure he was about to fall. As he swung about the boards however, Jimmy managed to right himself and grinded his skates to a halt.

Jimmy frowned, looking down at his skates. He twisted his ankle about and stretched his toes. The skates awkwardly flopped, seeming suddenly immensely huge in comparison to Jimmy's body.

Did I tie these right? Are they supposed to be this loose?

Jimmy pushed the thought from his mind. He didn't have time to fix his skates or something stupid like that. This was go time, he had to impress. He shoved off the boards and took to the ice once more. Jimmy glided about to the middle of the rink, watching as other players either expertly or awkwardly made room for him.

"Yeah, better make room for me." He murmured to himself. Jimmy didn't know why, but he puffed out his chest slightly.

Jimmy gave a sneer as he noticed several students from his school hovered near the other end of the rink, practicing their wrist shots by the looks of it.

Assholes. Pussy footing about on the rink instead of trying real sports. I bet if I gave any of these guys a football and told'em to score a touchdown, they'd shit themselves. They'd all much rather swoop around like some fag-ass figure skater. Bet they didn't expect an actual contender to show up. I wonder how good they'll feel after they get their face smashed into the boards? These chumps'll all be crying when I get made Team Captain. Then I'll show them what they can shove up their collective assho-

"THINK FAST BRENNAN, YOU LIMP DICK RANGA!"

He barely had time to turn around at the other boy's shout. Jimmy forgot that without momentum he couldn't really turn around and gave a startled yelp as he swung about crazily. He didn't have a chance to make out the strange black object flying towards his face barely even registering the fact that it was there.

What the fuck is a limp dick ran-

KLONK.

The puck smashed into Jimmy's helmet and he flew backwards, smashing against the ice. His head felt like someone had detached it and threw it in a blender with a bunch of golf balls. His vision went faulty and for a moment Jimmy panicked, thinking he had been literally struck blind. It however returned, and with it Jimmy heard other sounds. People laughing. He squirmed about on the ice, not in pain but to show he wasn't knocked out, he was still going.

Jimmy sat up and swung his head about. Now he was pissed. Skating a few feet away from him was none other than Phillip Ward, one of the many infamous circle-jerk prone hockey jocks of Bayview Secondary, and he was laughing his ass off.

At him. They had the nerve to actually laugh at him.

Jimmy snarled in rage.

"Who the FUCK did that?" He shouted. "Who's the fucking pussy-bitch who thought it was a good idea to smack me in the head?!"

No one answered. A few other kids skating by cocked their heads, confused as to what exactly Jimmy was yelling about. Most however were laughing at the spectacle, not even trying to hide it. Jimmy felt his face grow hot and spittle began to fly from his mouth as he breathed in and out sharply. A shrimpy looking kid who looked about two years younger than Jimmy skated in front of him, giggling an obnoxiously high pitched grin.

Fuck that shit.

Jimmy reached out and grabbed his dropped stick. Darting out surprisingly fast, Jimmy hooked the stick blade around one of the unsuspecting kids legs and yanked hard. He fell face first to the ice with a satisfying whump. Jimmy smiled a fiendish smile.

"Watch where you skate you punk-ass little fuckwad!" He said, jabbing his stick once more into the boy. Bracing himself, Jimmy precariously balanced as he heaved himself upwards taking extra caution to avoid falling a second time. The rush of blood to his head was too much and Jimmy began to see spots in the corner of his vision. He momentarily wondered if such a direct hit had broken his skull open, but he angrily pushed this idea away. He wasn't going to get his skull smashed after a measly few minutes at the first ever tryouts.

He gave himself a push and circled over to where Phillip stood, glaring at him.

"Best watch yourself shitface." He said in as deep a voice he could muster. "I'll fucking murder you."

He skated away towards the other end of the rink, still fuming. Phillip would pay dearly for what he did. No one humiliated Jimmy Brennan and got away with it, especially not some dumb Hockey Jock like Phil. He owned this rink now, and he'd show him how it was done. He began to wrack his brain, thinking of a possible means of payback...

[Fanatic†]

Phil basked in the attention as players all around the rink burst out in laughter as Jimmy flailed about on the ice, attempting to recover from the blow. It was a low blow to be fair, Phil had plenty of time to warm that shot up and that thing had smashed the guy in the face at over 80 miles per hour. If he hadn't been wearing a helmet he would not of been getting up. His job done he turned back to his teammates, arm's up as if to say "what I didn't see anything," a smug grin on his face as he slid away.

Phil was startled out of his demonstration by the thud of another kid going down, this one a junior. His mood darkened. Jimmy was up and knocking down other kids. Nobody knocked down other kids but players who were on the team. Turning neatly on the ice he gripped his hockey stick tight. One good swing should do it he thought to himself as Jimmy skated up to him.

"Best watch yourself shitface." Jimmy said in as deep a voice he could muster as he slid up to Phil. "I'll fucking murder you."

"Pair yourselves up boys, I want a simple drill here, offense defense. Let's see what you've all got," called out the coach as Phil glared back at Jimmy. In all honesty the boy was glad that there was someone else that would take all the flak from the team, even if it was only in this tryout. It would be a welcome relief and give him an opportunity to impress on any new recruits that they did not want to mess with Phillip Ward as well as doubling as the perfect way to vent his frustration.

Digging his skates in to the ice slightly the bulky hockey player leaned in close to Jimmy's face and snarled. "Let's see what you got punk." Phil had taken his fare share of snide and aggressive comments in the time he spent with the team but he would be damned it he was going to let little Jimmy Brennan, the punching bag of the year try anything that could even remotely show Phil up. He took a quick glance at Jimmy's rag tag uniform and kit. The stick and gear certainly looked like it had been used before, but hung of the smaller teenager loosely as if someone had given him a set two sizes too big. Dropping his eyes to Jimmy's skates Phil grinned maliciously. They were definitely too big.

"Ok, left line you're offense, right line defense, Go!" yelled out the coach as the last of the players paired off and the assistant's began sliding a puck to each pair. Phil was on defense, but who was to say you couldn't play aggressively. As the puck dropped Phil moved to shoulder Jimmy backwards as he swung his stick behind the smaller kid's foot with the aim of tripping him.

[Little Boy†]

"Let's see what you got punk."

Jimmy gritted his teeth as he skated past the larger boy. Where in the fuck did he get off throwing out threats like that? It was almost too sad to comprehend. The Hockey Jocks should know by now what it meant to mess with Jimmy Brennan, a right hook in the face. Jimmy wobbled on the ice but managed to recover quickly. He glanced about; no one seemed to have noticed.

He suddenly wasn't very fond of the idea of playing Hockey. He didn't have any doubt that he'd make the team, but he'd probably get stuck playing with that insufferable jackass Phil. The prospect of having to sit next to him on the bench or share the locker room with him made him fume with rage. He breathed in deeply through his nose trying to keep his cool.

No need to freak out just yet. A few knocks and that'll show him whose boss. Then they'll all forget about the...

Jimmy's mind stumbled and he closed his eyes. His head felt funny. He casually reached up with one of his hands and jostled about his helmet. A blast of pain forced Jimmy to shut his eyes. He'd definitely feel that puck days, maybe even weeks later. It made him only angrier, that was a cheap shot. If he had seen the puck before it hit, he'd have been able to take it, no doubt. That was a lucky shot. But Phil wouldn't get another.

The Coach began bellowing something from the bench, something about lines. Jimmy didn't know Hockey terminology besides "Puck" and "Rink" so he did what came natural; he skated over to the side of the rink opposite from that bastard Phil. It was time to even the odds; it was time for a lit-

Suddenly once more, Jimmy found himself flying through the air and it dawned on him that perhaps today was not a good day. He crashed to the rink on his knees and spun to see the familiar shape of Phillip Ward skating about him. His teeth grinded against each other and his face began to turn red. He stumbled upwards barreling headlong towards Phillip. He'd tried to be nice; he really had, but now was the time for some action.

"Don't fuck with me you stupid cocksucker! I'll kick your faggot face in!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. He whipped his stick around at Phil, losing grip of it he watched it sail through the air at the other boy. It was too late to stop now, Jimmy pushed off and rushed head first towards Phil his fists at the ready.

[Fanatic†]

Phil ducked as the hockey stick whipped by his head. The vitriol was there but Jimmy really didn't have the strength to put enough force in the throw to accurately hit Phil. The bigger boy easily avoided the blow but that gave Jimmy enough time to pull within punching distance of the hockey jock. Some might say Jimmy Brennan simply didn't have the mass to compete with Phil, but a closer observer would of noted two things. Firstly, even though Phil wasn't expecting it he was crouched down low, secondly Jimmy's wildly flailing arms didn't do much to help knock Phil to the ground.

Still, the force of the blow combined with the fact the two were one ice generated enough momentum for Jimmy to pound Phil in to the side lines. Phil smacked in to the barrier with a thud, dropping his stick. "What. The. Fuck." He roared as he fended off the torrent of blows Jimmy was raining down on him. The padding that both boys wore meant that any hit was little more than a dull thump, and Phil had taken plenty worse in his time.

Truth be told, Phil wasn't much for contemplation. The whole incident had escalated faster than he could keep up with. In this, he did what he always did when he panicked in a game. Retaliate with overwhelming force. This had earned him plenty of time in the box but it almost always did the job. Phil wasn't thinking about consequences now as his blood started pumping. If he had, he might of been a little more cautious, an incident here could result in suspension from the next game or even the season if it got bad enough. It was doubtful that there would be much more than that, as Phil had almost exclusively kept his rage on the field and technically the arena wasn't on school grounds. Phil being Phil though, didn't even give himself time to let the thought pass through his brain. There was only one thing on his mind. To show Jimmy who was in charge here, by systematically beating the shit out of every part of his body.

"Get the hell off me fire crotch," he rumbled as he tensed his muscles. Sinking down a little Phil pushed Jimmy away slightly, buying him enough time to remove his gloves, letting them slip off. The pads dropped to the ice as Phil grabbed Jimmy's helmet by the visor and yanked it up, his right arm pulling back ready for one hell of a hay-maker...

[Little Boy†]

Jimmy was an animal.

Without thought or hesitation he rained down blow upon blow upon Phil, ramming the larger boy up against the boards. He screamed in rage with every punch, channeling his growing hatred through him and directing it outward onto Phil. He could barely hear Phil saying something over the blood rushing through his ear. What the fuck, or something along those lines. He couldn't be certain. In response he continued to systematically deliver blow after blow to Phillip's gut.

"How you like that bitch!? How you like it when I- Your- when you get your dick kicked in!? Fucking faggot pussybitch!" Jimmy screamed incoherently. He was in the zone. Blow after blow slammed into Phillip's sides at a pace that Jimmy wasn't even sure he could keep up with, he was that fast. At least, he thought he was that fast.

It didn't occur to Jimmy that perhaps he'd be more effective if he were to aim at Phillip's face rather then his padding, at this stage in the fight tactics mattered little to him. All that mattered at the moment was stamina. Well actually, stamina, speed and ferocity which was what Jimmy was delivering in spades. At any second Phillip would fall to the ice and Jimmy would be able to skate free an-

"Get the hell off me fire crotch," Phillip roared in anger.

Lightening fast, Phil shoved Jimmy backwards and dropped his gloves to the ice. Jimmy wobbled unable to continue his thunderous assault, by the time he had repositioned himself it was too late.

What the fuck, I punched him like, 20 times in the ribs! 20 at least!!

Jimmy's eyes bulged in panic as he saw Phil close in on him. He whipped his arm out and grabbed his helmet, ripping the visor away. Suddenly his arms weren't moving as fast as before. He felt dizzy again and suddenly Phil's gigantic fist was flying towards his face.

Alright new plan! Dodge this and th-

He felt his nose crunch as he was shot back from the force of the haymaker. Blood filled his mouth and he squinted his eyes shut. He let out a gasp of agony as he flew backwards and crashed down on the ice, nearly doing a complete backwards flip. As the shockwave ran through his body, Jimmy went limp on the ice, black dots plaguing his vision. He mumbled and felt hot blood drip from his mouth onto the cold ice.

Jimmy threw his arms up, trying to preemptively ward off the blows that were sure to be following. He open his mouth and let out a sob of pain. It hurt, everything hurt SO BAD.

My nose must have been broken, Jesus Christ, that monster broke my nose! I'll cut this fuckers balls off, he broke my nose! Jesus Christ, why does it HURT SO MUCH!?

His eyes began to sting as he gingerly sat up on the ice. People were crowding around now, he could see them in the corner of his eyes. His vision blurred as he made his way to his feet, he swung a wild left hook to keep Phillip at bay; it didn't connect with anything. He could see his Jersey growing red with blood, his blood. Tears began to fall and he let out a sob of pain.

"You b-bitch! Come over here! I'll murder you, you fucking fucktarded fuckhead!" He yelled out, his voice cracking. He saw a shape loom infront of him, he swung a right hook with all his remaining strength.

"Don't fuck with Jimmy!!" He screamed.

[Fanatic†]

(OoC):God Modding approved

The swing hit, and to be fair it was a solid blow. Phil actually felt it in his gut and honestly was surprised Jimmy could punch through all the padding. A slight 'oof' escaped from Phil's lips as he leaned over the bleeding teenager. Phil was filled with smoldering rage now, Jimmy's yells only inciting him further. Dropping to one knee and grabbing Jimmy's collar roughly with his left hand Phil began pounding on the kid.

WHACK, the impact of the blow rocketed through Phil's arm

"Don't"

WHACK, another solid hit,

"You"

WHACK, Jimmy wasn't looking too crash hot at this point, he wasn't even defending himself any more.

"Fuck with me!"

WHA. Phil felt two sturdy sets of hands dig under his arms and yank him away, The Kronwall boys ripping him away from Jimmy with all the silent intensity that the co-captains were famous for. The two continued to pull the still struggling Phil away from the scene until they had him pinned up against the wall. His rage fading as he looked in to the glaring eyes of Dean Pare, the hockey coach. "Ward, you have gone to far this time. For god's sake, the boy's half your size. Three match suspension, no arguments. Staffan, Niklas, drop him in the bin." With that Dean skated away, not even saying another word to check on Jimmy.

"This is bullshit, he started it!" Phil protested as the two brothers forcefully pushed Phil in to the penalty box, shutting the door before returning to practice. Phil slammed his helmet at the plastic wall before sitting down furiously. Glaring through the transparent material Phil settled his gaze on Jimmy, narrowing his eyes and pointing to him. "You're dead" he mouthed silently as he watched from the spot he would be in for the next 3 games.

[Little Boy†]

Jimmy barely noticed the fact that Phillip had been yanked away, he barely had time to notice anything before the world swam before his eyes and he found himself once more face down on the rink. He felt a throbbing pain pulsating through his face and a choking sob escaped his cracked lips. To be completely honest, Jimmy had forgotten how much pain hurt.

Oh God, I'm dying. I'm dying, look at all the blood...

Jimmy Brennan rolled up into a fetal position, the majority of the hockey team surrounding him, and began to cry. He rolled about keeping his arms close to his face, trying in vain to stop the blood from pouring from his nose. His salty tears ran down his face, mixing with his blood and congregating on the front of his Hockey jersey.

Oh God, I've got to stop-- gotta to stop the bleeding!

He pinched his nose. Pain shot through his face and his vision seemed to grow white for a few seconds. He stumbled about on all fours and threw his hand away from his nose. No, pinching it was definitely out of the question.

"MUDAFUGGA!!" He screamed, his voice cracking in pain. He began to growl in rage, pounding his fists on the ice like a wild animal.

"Muddafugging god dam' faggut'-fuggin' fug, fug, fuck FUCK my faaaaaace!" He yelled, slamming his fist to the ice over and over. He slid sideways and lay still for a few minutes, breathing in and out deeply.

Alright, I can't panic. That's the first thing I need to remember.

The bizarre and embarrassing spectacle would have continued far longer than it already had, had Dean Pare the Hockey Coach not made his timely arrival at this moment. Mere seconds after slapping Ward with a 3 match ban, he found himself hurriedly pushing kids out of the way to make it to the utterly hysterical boys side. He made a sweeping gesture to send the huddled mass on their way.

"Alright, move it. No free show here." He growled. The kids began to skate away, looking back every so often a mixture of laughter and legitimate worry on their faces. He brought his arms down comfortingly on Jimmy's shaking shoulders. It didn't look like that terrible a fight from where he had been standing, but he wasn't one to doubt Phillip Ward's strength. If this kid was as badly hurt as he screaming he was, Dean might have to call an ambulance, and worse, the boy's parents.

"Alright alright, you're gonna be okay. Get a hold of yourself." Dean said as comforting as he could manage. " 'lemme get a good look at ya'. It ain't that bad, it's just a bit of blood." He hoped he was right.

With immense slowness Jimmy reluctantly shifted over, snot, blood and tears dribbling down his bright red face in an unholy concoction. His hysterical gibbering had been reduced. He breathed in heavily through his mouth at awkward intervals, trying to control his emotions.

"He brwoke my noes." Jimmy said, trying to hold back his churning emotions. "Mudda' fugga brwoke my noooes..." he moaned.

It was clear that the kid was going to be alright Dean thought to himself. He grimaced and using his sleeve wiped the majority of the blood off Jimmy's face. It must be just shock having a slug fest with a giant like Phillip Ward, or pure inexperience in fights that had reduced the boy to such a state. In the penalty box, Dean could see Phil mouthing some words in the kid's direction. There wasn't anything he could do about it now, the important thing was to get the kid off the ice and to clean him up. Dean hauled Jimmy to his feet.

"Right son, we're heading for the dressing room. You're gonna be just fine."

"Can yoo' carry meee?" Jimmy said.

------

An hour later, Jimmy sat in an empty dressing room with two Kleenex's jammed up his nostrils, a melting fudgsicle and a bloody hockey jersey half off hanging around his neck. His equipment lay all over the dressing room floor. He stared at the wall with his head pounding in agony, the only noise the ticking of the clock above his head. It was around 12 O'clock. Practice was ending any minute.

He was pretty sure he hadn't made the team.

Phil had seen to that. Jimmy frankly couldn't understand how things had escalated so quickly. He'd given Phil fair warning before launching into his attack. It wasn't like he WANTED Phil to attack him. Had he ever said he wanted that? Jimmy thought for a moment and concluded he hadn't.

People like Phillip Ward are a menace. Walking all over smaller kids just because of who they are, thinking because they like... because they gotta' bigger dick it makes them better. He probably doesn't even have a dick. I bet he doesn't.

He looked down at his bloodied jersey. He'd taken the brunt of the damage, there was no arguing there. How Phil had remained standing after that flurry of punches he'd never know. It wasn't human. In retrospect, Jimmy reasoned that next time a punch to the head would have probably worked better. It was too late for that now though. He'd been effectively eliminated from Hockey; forever. He couldn't return to the rink, not after today. He'd cried god dammit. He had cried like a little girl in front of everyone at the practice. His face glowed red with rage.

They don't understand. After that punch, ANYONE would have been on the floor. Hell, anyone else would've been dead.

But he had lived, and with it he bore the shame of a rather humiliating defeat. He'd have to return to school. He'd have to tell everyone why exactly he had his nose bent out of shape.

That bastard Phil will tell them all first. I'll tell them they can fuck off and they'll just laugh in my face.

He blinked rapidly, his eyes were growing wet again. Sometimes he didn't want to talk to anyone. Sometimes, he just wanted to be invisible, away from the stereotype he'd been cruelly inflicted with. He hadn't done anything. He only wanted what everyone else wanted, that wasn't wrong.

Why is everyone such a hater?

He needed to stop crying when he got hurt. It was a pussy move, and Jimmy Brennan was no pussy. He was a lone wolf, and lone wolves don't cry when they get smacked in the face. Lone wolves ripped off arms and fucked wolf bitches in the ass. He'd have to work on that for sure.

The Jersey was dry, the blood faded. To Jimmy's pleasant surprise it went very well against the white hockey jersey. It even looked kind of bad ass. He felt dangerous. No, he WAS dangerous. He'd lost the fight, but Phillip Ward would think twice before fucking with him ever again. He'd shown all those little fuckers that if Phillip Ward or any of those hockey jocks went after them, they could be dealt with.

He stood up and walked across the dressing room, his enthusiasm increasing with every stride. Pinned to the wall was a poster, a young happy boy skated across the rink after a puck. Across the top of the poster printed in large bold letters were the words "YOUTH HOCKEY TRYOUTS."

Jimmy shoved the melting fudgesicle into his mouth. He reached up and torn down the poster, ripping it in half a grin wide across his face. He pulled the Kleenex's out his nose and strode out of the dressing room. He didn't need to get his equipment, hockey was for losers. The jersey was all he needed A song he couldn't quite identify played in his ears.

((Jimmy Brennan continues in WAH WAH "I'm Holden." BOO HOO "People don't understand me."))

[Fanatic†]

30 minutes later and Phil was out of the box and still full of rage. The practice was over but he had nothing better to do. Picking up a puck and his stick he skated out on to the ice to work all his energy off...

((Phillip Ward continued on the island...)