10.27.98

Stottlemyre stalked through the door of the Nathaniel Hamilton Memorial arena, darting furtive glances hither and yon. He was someone best described as a bruiser -- He looked as if he'd bruise you if you accidentally -breathed- in his direction.

He had a program in one large fist, his ticket in the other, and a decidedly nasty disposition... Or did he? Eh, who knows. We'll find out sooner or later.

"Your ticket, sir?" Perky June LaBlonde smiled cordially at the oversized man, quailing internally. She -hated- working hockey fights, er, games, since they seemed to bring out the worst in humanity. She'd seen stretcher cases going out past her, after one or two rough games... And she couldn't decide if the home fans or the road fans were scarier.

"Here ya go." Mulholland returned the girl's smile, handing over his ticket. He didn't envy her her job, which looked like it would be far too politeness-oriented for him.

The woman hands the stub of the man's ticket back to him, nodding. "Thanks, and enjoy the game!" She disliked chirping, but people seemed to expect it. Oh well... At least -this- meathead wasn't hitting on her.

"Thanks." Taking the remainder of the ticket, he returns her nod and moves towards the concession stand. The man allows himself to get swept up by the crowd, flowing along the echoing concrete corridor to the stands.

The main rink of the arena was a polished expanse of ice, gleaming dully, like an opal that had lost its splintered rainbow. The playing surface was demarcated by the usual assortment of lines and circles, as well as the rink's initials, the Krushers' logo, their opponent's logo, and Lichfield's corporate logo. Overkill, really, since there were several advertisements for the same company along the boards. The mezzanine seats were yellow for the first five or six rows, and then blue for the last seven or eight; the balcony seats were blue as well.

Mulholland Stottlemyre stood at the top of section 116, surveying the people present. Hmm... Addy was right, his seat was a -great- one. He made his way down to the third row and sidled along until he got to his chair, dropping into it with a small sigh.

The overhead scoreboard catches his attention for a few minutes, informing him that the Arena feaured SodaCo softdrinks, that food could be had in numerous spots, and cautioning him against forgetting to pick up a souvenier or two. The man snorts at that... He wasn't even that much of a fan, let alone a big enough one to spend his hard-earned cash on something like a Krushers pennant. Never -mind- that they hadn't had a championship game in God knows how long... Muls checks his watch, trying to remember when the game started. About half an hour or so, it seemed...

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"And now, all rise for the anthem."

Mulholland obediently stood, hand over his heart, wondering which version they'd use. The familiar opening strains of the music never failed to cause a sudden swelling of patriotism in him, which also never failed to startle him. Oh... Oh! Ah... A wide grin settles into place on his rather grim face... He -loved- this woman's voice. He thought it was a recording of her singing it for some baseball contest, but he couldn't remember. A young punk sitting next to him was looking bored, under the brim of his hat... "Take off yer hat, kid." He really did have an impressive growl...The twerp complied.

That formality over with, he sat down again and fished a small radio out of a jacket pocket, tuning it to the radio play-by-play. the headphones comfortably in place, he studies the two teams lined up on the ice. The Krushers were in their familiar white, black and red home colors, while the Hanover Lizards (?) were decked out in their traveling green and silver.

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"And there goes number thirty-five, Marc-Paul Furnier. You know, Bob, I think his playing style has gotten more aggressive this season. He's already an unusual player, but this is still different from how he's behaved in the past."

"You're right, John. I think he's checked more in this whole period than he did the entire time he played last year."

"Yes, yes... He's always been a very proactive defenseman, usually leaving Litskov at home to take care of the baby." Laughter. "Markkanen has a great pair in Litskov and Furnier, no doubt. Anyhow, another one of the changes in Furnier's style is that he's playing almost to the centerline, working on breaking up those power-plays before they can get started. And is it just me, Bob, or does he retaliate for checks on Victor?"

"I'm not sure... They've always been such an unusual pair anyhow, starting with their first draft by the Krushers. It's not often that you see two defensemen acquired at the same time, like they were. As for the retaliation question... I'm not sure. Maybe that should be our poll of the week?"

"Sounds good to me... There we go, folks, our poll of the week: Are we imagining things, or does Marc-Paul Furnier, number thirty-five for the Krushers, really retaliate for checks on his defense partner, Victor Litskov? Send your thoughts to us at bobnjohn@ksports.net, and remember -- two winners are randomly chosen each week, and they'll get a Bob and John T-shirt."

"Okay, it looks like the third period is getting underway. It's 2 to 3, Lizards favor..."