SteVo+ 3,702 Posted April 4, 2011 This is a short story I wrote for my Fiction II class. It's a hockey story, if you couldn't tell by the title. Any comments are appreciated; it's a fairly quick read. Eight pages on Microsoft Word double-spaced. The Sin Bin The endless sequence of incredulous objection became clearer and clearer as the player in question was unwillingly guided into the penalty box. His incessant groans materialized into discernable language to the overlooking fans as the door to the sin bin opened. “Just tell me what I did! Just tell me! You know you made a bad call. Just admit it! Just admit you blew it and I can live with it!†The volunteer referee slammed the door shut and skated away, seemingly unaffected by the bickering being screamed in his direction. “Can’t make that call, ref! Can’t make that call. I need to be out on the ice helping my team score! Talk about uncalled for. Christ.†Carter. Left winger. The goal scorer. Two minutes, boarding. He looked up at the scoreboard, though he needed no reminder. His team was winning 4-1 with 4:50 remaining in the third period. Victory was less than five minutes away. “All right,†Carter said to himself, “maybe we’re not in too bad of shape right now. But I still need to be out there helping my team score, not serving time on some bullshit call!†Carter never gave a thought to what his penalty box conversations with himself looked like to anyone on the outside. The inescapable truth was that there was no alternative; there was seldom anybody else to talk to in the sin bin. Carter watched from the limits of the penalty box as play resumed on the ice. His penalty time slowly ticked down from two minutes as the players in black jerseys set up their power play and the players in white jerseys set up their penalty kill. He had just gotten his boarding penalty out of his head when the whistle blew and play stopped. A few moments later, the door to the sin bin opened once more, and Carter had to comprehend the fact that he was about to scoot over. A player with imposing muscle tone and towering shoulders forced himself into the box and shut the door as hard as he could behind him. “Fucking refs trying to make it a game. I’m tired of this shit.†Matthews. Defenseman. Grinder. Two minutes, cross-checking. “I didn’t think I’d be joined so soon,†said Carter. “Fucking bullshit, man,†said Matthews. The conversation paused as the game resumed with 4:40 remaining. “I figured my penalty was no problem since we’re up three,†said Carter, “but now that we’re down two guys I’m starting to get concerned. What’d they get you for?†“Cross-checking.†“Ah, that’s always a tricky one. Ref have a bad angle?†“No, I cross-checked the hell out of the guy, but it’s what needed to be done. God damn refs don’t understand what it’s really like to play a hockey game. Give a little here, take a little there. They just don’t get it. Assholes just want to pick up their check and go home.†“They’re volunteer refs.†“I don’t give a shit.†“…Okay, so hold on. They caught you cross-checking? Caught in the act. So what’s the problem?†“Don’t fuck with me, Carter. You know how it goes.†“Well yeah, I understand there’s give and take, but if—†“It’s not a question of whether I did anything.†“Yes it is. When—†“You’re missing the point.†“I get your point. It’s just wrong.†“God damn it, Carter, just shut the hell up. Go score a goal or something.†“Well I’d very much like to but I’m trapped inside this fucking box.†“You and me both, asshole.†The unmistakable sound of a goal horn rang throughout the arena and turned both men’s heads to the left, where the guys in black shirts were celebrating. “Shit,†said Carter as he stood up, “4-2.†He let himself out and skated back to the bench, his penalty now over. “Yeah, go score a goal, asshole,†said Matthews. “Damn pretty boy. Think you’re gonna tell me about hockey.†He glanced up at the scoreboard as the lights changed the opposing teams score from a 1 to a 2. The clock showed 4:10 left to play. Matthews reclined in the box and tried his best to relax. He took off his helmet, stroked his hair, and took deep breaths. He barely noticed when play started and then stopped again but was suddenly shot back into full awareness as a cursing skater stormed into the box, hurling his gloves and stick in Matthews’ direction. “Fucking bullshit, ref! Open your fucking eyes, man!†Ramsey. The enforcer. Tough guy. Four minutes, slashing. He entered the box but neglected to sit down even though Matthews had quickly slid to the far side of the wooden bench to make plenty of room and then some. Ramsey kept his attention on the referee who had ushered him into the box. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell me all about it, asshole. I know a good eye doctor; he can hook you up. You fucking blind? This is fucking bullshit.†After a moment, Ramsey apparently finally saw it reasonable to sit down, but just a split-second later, an opposing player went out of his way to tap his stick on the glass separating the sin bin from the rest of the rink as he glided past. Ramsey sprang up and lunged at the glass. “You want some too, you piece of shit?!†“Whoa, whoa, whoa!†Matthews jumped up in a perhaps feeble effort to keep Ramsey in the box and prevent a total brawl. “Yeah, skate away, asshole!†Matthews backed off and both players sat back down. “You really should chill out, Ramsey. You live longer.†“We only play two games a week, Matthews.†“Yeah, I’d like to see you on an off day.†“Double minor for slashing. You gotta be fucking kidding me.†“Double minor? I’m jealous. Guy drew blood?†“Yeah, from his own stick.†“Oh, so he—†“Fucking ref, though. He decides not to call it when I got blatantly hooked, then decides to ring me up for retaliation.†“I hate when that happens. Selective vision, I say.†“Yeah, and it really fucking sucks because I got a double minor with exactly four minutes to go.†Both men looked up at the scoreboard. Play had resumed a few moments earlier and the clock was ticking down as the opposing team continued their power play. 3:52, 3:51, 3:50… “Damn,†said Matthews. “Double minor with four to go. You better hope they score.†Ramsey inched his head sideways and gave his teammate a stare that announced his every intention to murder him on the spot with no fear of consequence. Matthews began his defense immediately, though his throat was suddenly dry. “I meant that like as a—†“Yeah, whatever.†The two sat and watched play go up and down the ice for a while. After Matthews deemed it safe to speak again, he said, “I still can’t believe they got me for cross-checking. This late in the game.†“It’s a fucking joke.†“It is a fucking joke. That’s what I’m saying.†“It’s a fucking joke that this game is going down to the wire and I’m stuck in here. Trapped. Nowhere to go, no end in sight. Total horeshit.†“Um…†“That fucking ref. I’m gonna spit on him next time he skates by.†Matthews showed a look of confusion, then withdrew from the conversation, apparently realizing his efforts futile. He turned his attention back to the game, still up and down the ice as the black jerseys failed to get their power play set up. Matthews found that watching the game was actually quite effective in making the time go faster. Ramsey was still fuming but he blocked him out best he could. As the game clock passed 3:00 with the score still 4-2, Matthews tightened his helmet strap. Only twenty seconds remaining on his penalty. “Just a heads up, Ramsey, but I’m outta here in a few—†A high-pitched whistle put a stop to Matthews’ sentence and the hockey game at hand. Unsure what had happened, he decided to finish speaking his request when the door to the sin bin opened once more, and a skater half the size of either player already in the box eased his way in. He took a seat in between the two so that the three together filled out the entire length of the bench, shoulder-to-shoulder and tighter than the players on the bench. Richards. Right winger. Playmaker. Two minutes, tripping. All three teammates sat through painfully awkward seconds as none could find anything to say, though Richards was apparently not seeking any, his head bowed in silence. His eyes were either closed or deeply focused on the dirty floor of the penalty box, littered with water and saliva puddles. Matthews opened his mouth to at the very least make some type of sound, and he may well have, but it was drowned out by the goal horn ringing again. The three looked to the left end of the ice and saw their fears confirmed by a group of black jerseys in celebration. “Dammit,†said Matthews. “Only needed five more seconds.†The clock read 2:45, and the score was now 4-3. Matthews exited the box quietly. The two remaining prisoners spaced out. “What’d the assholes get you for?†said Ramsey. “Tripping,†said Richards, keeping his head bowed and talking to the floor. “Fucking assholes. It’s getting ridiculous.†“They got me.†“Huh?†“I tripped a guy. Refs saw it. Now I have to serve two minutes for it.†“I don’t get it.†The goal horn sounded. Ramsey and Richards looked up in utter disbelief. The game was now tied 4-4 with 2:30 to play. No sound was made in the sin bin. The most pressing thing that came across Ramsey’s mind he kept to himself: at least the first part of his double minor was over. He would be free with thirty seconds left in the game, if the black jerseys didn’t score before that. After play resumed, Ramsey spoke up again. “So let’s recap, here. The game was 4-1 with about five minutes left. Out of reach. In the bag. Then all of a sudden the refs call a penalty, then another, then another, and then another until the game’s tied up and it’s exciting again. Admirable, guys, fucking admirable. The NHL would be proud. Sign up now while your resume looks good.†As the seconds ticked down, Ramsey viewed what he could from the penalty box: his team was down two men, but they were holding strong. The penalty kill was preventing any quality shots, and the white jerseys were clearing every rebound they got. Finally the black jerseys got a good shot off, but it wouldn’t go, and the rebound came to Grimes’ stick. He iced the puck. 2:01, 2:00, 1:59… Line change. Carter came on for Grimes, Allen for Markakis, Ellerbe for Matthews. The other team skated the puck across center ice as Ramsey watched intently. He cheered on his defense as they set up the penalty kill again; Richards was apparently still deep in thought. They passed around the perimeter, waiting for a good shot, taking time. They tried to pass it in close, but Ellerbe intercepted it. Passed to Allen. Cleared. 1:38, 1:37, 1:36… Not cleared far enough for a line change. The defense set up again as the puck re-entered the zone. Ramsey found himself standing, unable to sit and watch his team cling to a tie, the last remains of their stronghold that had slipped away so suddenly and furiously. Soon enough, the PA announcer indicated one minute remaining to play. Ramsey’s eyes found the side of the scoreboard, which showed that Richards’ penalty was three seconds away from expiring. Richards suddenly shot upright and opened the door. He jetted out of the box, out of confinement, and was instantly free from it, from any and all of its burdens. Fresh from the penalty box, Richards was alone at center ice. Allen had the puck and looked to ice it but found Richards at the last second. The pass darted through a defender’s legs and squarely onto Richards’ stick. “Go, go, go!†Ramsey cried from the penalty box as Richards skated in on a breakaway. Forehand, backhand, forehand, backhand. Ten feet from the goalie he made his movie. Faked a shot high. Deked to the right. Tapped the puck with enormous subtlety. The goaltender shifted his body to his left to block a backhand shot that would never come. The red lamp lit before he noticed the puck had slid under his pad. Richards raised his arm in the air. The arena erupted with cheers, both from the bench of players wearing white and from the fans, indifferent to the game’s outcome and excited at the breakaway goal. Ramsey performed an awkward impromptu dance routine inside the penalty box. Richards kept his arm in the air as Allen, Carter, and Ellerbe mugged him in celebration. The four broke off and looked at the scoreboard, which confirmed the 5-4 score with 0:45 left to play. Meanwhile, Ramsey collected his gear and readied himself; he had but fifteen seconds left to serve. After the celebration died down, play resumed. Ramsey watched his team set up the penalty kill, still down one man. All the action was deep in the zone; Ramsey checked the referees: all were focusing on that end of the ice. Nobody was watching the box or the clock. He watched the timer on his penalty and checked the refs one more time. Just as the clock ticked from 0:07 to 0:06, Ramsey darted out towards his teammates, the door to the sin bin closing behind him. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
funnygunny 521 Posted April 4, 2011 "Ten feet from the goal he made his MOVIE???" lol I liked that alot, especially when he scores the game-winner - "the backhander that never came..." haha whitty Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
BwareDWare94 723 Posted April 5, 2011 Pros: 1. Believable characters. Most get far too into the game to realize when they make mistakes. Few act like Richards, so only one player accepting his penalty was very realistic. 2. Good dialogue. 3. Tremendous diction. The variety of words is very interesting. Sports heighten the emotions. Emotions are very complex, so the descriptive language works well. 4. The penalty box is a character. I love that 5. You avoided using hockey jargon. When students try to write sports stories, they often use terminology that many readers won't understand. Cons: 1. The sentences get too long, at times. Separate some of the thoughts into two sentences. 2. Hockey takes a physical toll and these guys have to sit down and feel their bumps and bruises. Describe some pain for each character. Overall, a very good read and much better than most of what I have to suffer through in my own fiction class. This should workshop well. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
