Chapter 23

Coach Steamer Maxwell is berating the Falcons for losing their season opener in December 1919 to the Selkirk Fishermen. Man for man the Falcons and the Fishermen were evenly matched. The two squads battled for supremacy of the Manitoba Independent League throughout the 1919-20 season.

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Maxwell's eyes were popping out of his head and the veins stood out on his temples. He trekked back and forth in the dressing room, stopping before Slim.
            "You, Matinee Idol!" Do you know why we lost tonight's game against the Fishermen?"
            Slim stared at Maxwell's feet.
            "We didn't play as a team," the right winger mumbled.
            "Speak up, Halderson.  I can't hear you."
            "We didn't play as a team," yelled Slim.
            "Wrong!  You didn't play like a member of a team."
            Slim scratched his nose, avoiding Maxwell's eyes.
              "How many times," continued Steamer, "have I told you to stick to your position on right wing?"
            "Many times, sir."
            "Many!  I'd say about a thousand times. And still on every rush you persisted in skating into the left winger's corner. How many times have I told you to stay in your lane—to play your position!"
            "About a thousand times, sir."
            "Don't mock me, Halderson.  If you want to remain a member of this squad you will respect me, listen to me, and above all do exactly as I say.  Is that clear?"
            "Yes, sir," said Slim quietly.
            Maxwell moved along the line of players stopping in front of Goodie.
            "Goodman," he said, pointing an index finger at the left winger.  "Were you a little under the weather tonight?  Poor boy has a little head cold, perhaps?  Something was wrong, because I've seen girls skate faster than you did tonight. Do you know why I find that so deplorable, Goodman?"
            "Not exactly, sir," said Mike.
            "I find it deplorable," said Maxwell, "because you just won the Canadian speed skating championship. You are the fastest man on the ice and this team depends on you to back check for a full 60 minutes. If you're not up to that, you can pick up your skates and catch a train to Lake Placid."
            Goodman glared at Maxwell.
            "I skated hard tonight, sir."
            "No you didn't," retorted the coach.  "You skated like you had a shot-put sewn into the seat of your pants. I suggest you remove it before the next game or it will be your last with the Falcons."
            Maxwell continued to stalk his players.
            "Fredrickson," he said stopping before the captain and center of the team.  "You're a smart guy. Why hasn't it occurred to you that a shot on goal is preferable to a bullet drive that misses the net completely?  You're the most gifted player on this team and yet you're so self-involved you attempt to impress the audience with your wild wrist shot. The pretty little women in the crowd may be impressed, Fredrickson, but I'm not!  Next game you might consider passing the puck to a teammate before you shoot it wide of the net."
            Steamer's anger did not abate as he confronted his defensemen.
            "After tonight, I'm going to christen you the Bumble Brothers!  I've never witnessed such sloppy defense work.  How many times did Joe Simpson or Harry Oliver split you apart like you were a couple of wooden dummies?  And how many times did you give the puck away in your own end?  I've seen junior defensemen play better hockey."
            Konnie and Bobby hung their heads.
            "Are you listening to me?" he said, grabbing Bobby by the chin.
            "Yes, coach," mumbled the diminutive defenseman.
            Maxwell kicked Konnie in the shin to ensure the big man was also paying attention.
            "I expect you two guys to stop the opposition every time they skate into the scoring zone. I don't care how you do it. If Benson has to jump on a player's back to haul him down, then so be it.  And don't poke check! Johannesson, you're a big man. Use your body to take out an opponent."
            There was silence in the dressing room as he continued his rounds.  He came to a halt in front of Friddy and Huck regarding them pensively before he spoke.
            "You two boys played well tonight. You didn't get a lot of ice time, but when you were out there you did everything well. You played your positions, passed the puck, and showed the kind of team spirit that I want the Falcons to be known for. Good work gentlemen.  Keep it up and you'll be playing regular shifts."
            The last man to be scrutinized was Wally. The goalie kept his head up as Maxwell approached him.
            "Stand up, Mr. Byron."
            Wally got to his feet.  His teammates watched anxiously.
            "Gentlemen," said Maxwell, "this young man is the reason the Fishermen scored only five goals this evening instead of 25. Mr. Byron played an outstanding game, stopping 90 percent of the shots on his gate. His tenacity, pluck, and sheer ability should be an inspiration to all of you in future games."
            Wih that, Maxwell walked out of the dressing room, slamming the door behind him.