*Story is a commission for a reader, who also provided the Clark base model. Thanks, Johnny!*
"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!"
I tell Phil, "Dude, that's a soccer call, eh. It's stupid
enough that we're the players AND the announcers. Now we have to use shit from
another sport?"
As we cheer our teammates from the bench, Phil responds,
"Right, but when in Rome, Clark. When in Rome, eh?" I give him a WTF
look, so he explains, "I mean, c'mon, we're in west Texas. You think
anyone here has seen hockey before? Maybe, maybe not, but they all know football
and soccer. Should I have said, ‘touchdown’?"
I laugh and give him a punch before I take my seat, re-focusing
on the game. I'm feeling good about our two-goal lead with only five minutes to
play. Not that I can do much about it one way or the other, since I'm being
kept out of the game for fighting.
Now, Phil isn't wrong. We're lucky just to find ice in this town,
much less fans. Although I wouldn't call the small crowd here 'fans' exactly.
They're mainly curious townies who've come because it's free event and the rink
is a cool place on a sweltering Texas afternoon. Most of them are bundled up in
winter jackets, drinking coffee and shit.
I will admit that a lot of them have been getting into it, but
there are guys here who've just been jawing at us the whole game. For a bunch
of guys who don't know shit about hockey, they've got a lot of shit to say. The
rink is small, so it's not like you can ignore them. I've turned around a few
times, but that just gets them going again. The coach has told me to ignore
them, so I'm pretending I am. But I'm hearing every fucking word.
I'm a minor league hockey player. Guys just call me Clark or
Carter, but my full name's Wendel Clark Carter. Born in 1992, my dad's a huge
Toronto Maple Leafs fan, so he named me after their captain. Growing up in a
small town in southern Ontario, I dreamed about making it big, but now I'm just
happy to be playing and getting paid anything. See, I kinda came along at the
wrong time for my skill set.
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| Wendel Clark Carter |
I'm a solid 5'11"/180-lbs, but I'm a slower skater than guys
a lot bigger than me. All my speed is in my upper body. I have a wicked slap
shot, but I've never been able to control it. I've spent years doing drills,
but I just can't do it consistently. I'd figure it out, but then my emotions
would kick in during a game and WHAM, I'm taking out the back glass.
