The PHL | Teen Ink


By Anonymous

It was a frigid day in the dog days of winter. It looked like another ordinary winter day, but it wasn’t. The pond had just frozen, so it was time for the Pond Hockey League (PHL) to begin. The anticipation for the league had been building like a forest fire since October.

As my team (consisting of Icebox, El Intimidator, the Big Hurt, Bulwark, and the Magician) filed in, the other teams began to tremble since they knew they had no chance to win. Never had there been such a combination of physical prowess and insatiable skill in the Pond Hockey League. We tied up our skates and hit the ice.

As we warmed up, the other teams noticed our speed and skill. Our first game was against the Ice Breakers, the second best team who posed only a small threat to us. We lined up for the opening face-off. When the puck dropped, I swiftly pulled it back to Icebox. From there, he passed to El Intimidator, our enforcer who skated up to the net and passed to the Magician, who spun around and passed to Bulwark. Bulwark used some fancy moves and mercilessly slammed the puck into the back of the net. We were up 1-0.

The next play, the opposition got the puck and began to move forward. They skated toward our net, but as they approached, El Intimidator landed a bone-crushing hit on the puck carrier. He crumbled to the ice and the Magician picked up the puck as he moved toward the net. He passed it to Icebox who let off a lightning-quick wrist-shot, beating the goalie. We were up 2-0. Our goalie, the Big Hurt, then boasted, “No team can beat us. You guys are no match.” The other team retorted, “We are just letting you get your confidence up.” We all burst out laughing at the ridiculous comment. We were well on our way to a win.

We lined up for the next face-off, and the verbal jousting continued. After the puck hit the ice, we all dropped our gloves and a full-out brawl ensued. As we piled on top of each other, a small crack formed in the ice. As we continued pounding the other team, the crack transformed into a hole and a member of the other team fell into the freezing water. Despite the obvious tension between our teams, we immediately stopped fighting and started to panic. We knew he could die within minutes, maybe even seconds. We had to do something.

The only way to save him was to reach out a hockey stick so he could grab it and we could pull him out. I rushed over and did that. At first his hands were too numb to take hold, but eventually he managed to grab it. I struggled to pull him up and then both teams hurried over and gave me a hand. We yanked him out, but the damage had been done. We had to get him inside and into dry clothes.

Bulwark’s house was across the street so we sprinted there, getting new clothes for him. Then we gathered around the fireplace and he gradually warmed up and returned to normal. As we sat there, we realized how lucky we were that everyone was all right. In the grand scheme of things, the PHL did not really matter.

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