Page 108 of The Callahan Effect

His voice cut cleanly through everything else.

Calm.

Certain.

Exactly what we needed.

When the clock finally slipped beneath seven minutes remaining, the arena noise became deafening. Evergreen supporters sensed the championship drawing closer while Lake Superior fans tried desperately to lift their team one final time.

The Mariners pulled within inches of changing everything.

A deflected point shot bounced awkwardly through traffic before dropping almost directly on Oscar's doorstep. Their captain lunged toward the loose puck, but Oscar somehow stretched across the crease and smothered it beneath his glove a split second before a stick reached it.

The whistle shrieked.

I pushed away from the net and skated toward Oscar first.

"That's why you're the best."

He grinned through his mask.

"You boys can buy me dinner later."

Ryan laughed.

"If this score holds, we'll buy you the restaurant."

Even Coach couldn't hide the faintest smile.

The next shift belonged to us.

Ryan won the draw cleanly back to Connor, who immediately found Luca flying through the neutral zone. Their defense backed away just enough to respect his speed, allowing him to carry the puck over the blue line before sliding it across the ice toward me.

Everything slowed.

I caught the pass in stride, looked up, and saw the defenseman commit himself half a second too early.

One quick drag moved the puck around his stick.

Another stride created open ice.

The shot exploded off my blade.

Their goaltender fought it off with his blocker, but the rebound ricocheted harmlessly into the corner where Ryan arrived first, pinning the puck against the boards while precious seconds disappeared.

Exactly the way Coach wanted.

As I skated toward the bench for another line change, I caught sight of the family section beyond the glass. Jack stood beside my parents, applauding every shift as though the score was tied.

The clock above center ice rolled beneath the five-minute mark, and the atmosphere inside Great Lakes Arena transformed completely. Every Evergreen supporter rose to their feet, sensing the win only moments away, while the Lake Superior faithful answered with even greater desperation, refusing to surrender hope while time still remained on the scoreboard clock. The noise became relentless, echoing from every corner of the building until individual voices disappeared beneath one continuous roar that seemed to vibrate through the glass and into the ice itself.

Championship hockey had a strange way of distorting time.

Entire periods could vanish in what felt like minutes, yet the final five minutes stretched endlessly because every shift carried the potential to decide everything. Every player understood exactly what was at stake. Nobody shortened a stride. Nobody hesitated to block a shot. Every decision had to be perfect because there would be no opportunity to erase a mistake.

Coach gathered the first line during the television timeout. He didn't raise his voice because he never needed to.

"They're coming with everything they've got," he warned, looking at Ryan, Luca, and me before including the defensemen standing beside us. "Stay disciplined. Keep moving your feet. Don't get caught chasing the puck. They have to force the play. We don't."