"How good are you?"
"Are you really 'The Next Great One'"
"You're so young, how are you going to handle all the pressure?"
"We've heard rumors ... are you gay?"
Microphones, cameras, and tape recorders were being shoved into his face. People pushed at him, trying to get a better look at the young superstar. Wide-eyed, astonished and shocked, Paul sprinted down the hall, raced into the locker room, and locked the door behind him. He bent down, huffing and puffing, with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
All of the players in the locker room looked up and chuckled to themselves knowingly.
"Paul, you gotta get used to it! You're a big shot now!" Guy Hebert hollered. He was smiling at Paul as he sat down at his locker.
"I didn't think it would be like that!" Paul exclaimed. He started to change into his uniform, and the rest of the players went back to what they were doing.
As the Ducks stepped onto the ice to take their warm up laps, Paul felt a sudden rush of adrenaline go through him. "This is it, this is really it!" he kept saying over and over in his head.
The referee blew his whistle to start the game. Paul took his place at left wing, and watched Steve Rucchin take the face-off. Steve won the face-off and passed the puck to David Karpa.
Five minutes later, the Philadelphia Flyers scored on a power play. In the beginning of the third period, they scored again. But Paul had been amazing. He had had a lot of shots on net, and had done an incredible job defensively and with setting up scoring chances.
Eric Lindros, Philadelphia's badboy, came bumping down the left wing side, and stood at the Ducks' bench. "Hey Paul...you! Number 9!" he whispered harshly.
Paul, who had been talking to Steve Rucchin, turned around, and came faced Eric. Eric was an intimidating sight. He was 6'4" and 234 pounds of pure muscle. "Yes?" Paul croaked, literally shaking in his equipment.
"This is supposed to be my day ... my day to shine. My day to impress! Don't ruin it for me!" Eric gently nudged Paul with his stick, and skated off down the ice.
Down 2-0, and half way through the third period, Steve Rucchin scored for the Mighty Ducks. Then, Richard Park scored. The game was tied 2-2.
Across the ice from him, Paul could see Eric staring at him with envy. Paul shuddered, and hoped nothing happened to him. He wanted to prove in this game that size really didn't matter in the NHL.
Paul hopped over the side of the rink, and skated onto the ice for another shift. Skating, shooting, Paul had impressed the whole building with his skills.
Paul glanced across the ice again. Eric was scowling at him. There were a lot of scouts at this game, and Eric had wanted to impress them. He had wanted to be scouted for the Canadian National Team, but with all the Canadian talent around, it would be a challenge. Instead, this 19 year old new comer was stealing the show.
Eric decided the only way the scouts would notice him was to eliminate Paul. And the only way to do that was physically. Eric knew that Paul couldn't defend himself in a fight, and that would make it even easier for Eric to "dispose of him" for the rest of the game. Sure, it was a mean thing for Eric to do, but it was the only way he could think of to get rid of Paul for at least the game, and maybe a few more. Anything extra would be a bonus.
A few seconds later, Paul could sense someone right on his tail. Glancing back for just a second, all Paul could see was the orange crest of the Philadelphia Flyers. Paul immediately knew he was in trouble, and he also knew it was big Eric Lindros. Most importantly, Paul knew that Eric was mad. Jealous. Wanting revenge. And that he would do anything to create attention to himself.
Before Paul could dart away, Eric had pinned him up against the boards, and had started jabbing at his stomach. He then high sticked and speared Paul in the face. Eric then slashed Paul's knee, causing Paul to fall to the ice in pain. Eric then skated away with satisfaction.
Paul, bloody and confused, laid on the ice moaning in pain, clutching his knee. The referee blew the whistle to stop play, and the Anaheim trainers, in their all-orange uniforms, quickly came out to try and help Paul. While all this was happening, the crowd had started booing Eric Lindros as he smugly took his place in the penalty box for a 10 minute misconduct penalty.
All of the fans in the building were concerned about Paul. Slowly, Paul got up with the help of the trainers. Clutching his face, he limped towards the bench.
After a few minutes, he left the bench, and went back to the Anaheim locker room, so the team doctor could look him closer.
"Paul, I think that's the game for you. If you want my professional opinion, you should take a week off from hockey to let your wounds heal. Especially that knee," the doctor said sadly.
Paul had an open gash on his forehead, and his two front teeth were knocked out. His knee was also twisted in a weird way.
"Shoot me up Doc, I'm going back in," Paul said painfully. "I need to play."
"I don't think so. No game is worth risking your health. Remember, I'm giving you my professional opinion," the doctor said firmly. "You are in no condition to play today. That wound would get seriously infected, and you might twist your knee some more."
"I don't care. Shoot me up, Doc, I'm going in!" Paul said, moaning in pain. "I want to play."
"Okay, but I'm not advising this action," the doctor got the needle ready, and gave Paul the shot.
Paul grabbed a towel, and wiped his blood stained face. It stung. It hurt. But Paul had to play. He had to prove that he was for real. He wasn't a wimp. He wouldn't let his size be a factor for him to succeed.
Taking a deep breath, Paul headed back out onto the ice. As he stepped back on he ice, the Arena erupted into cheers.
Paul shyly waved to the crowd and took his place at left wing. Steve Rucchin took the face off, and passed the puck to Paul. He glanced at the clock. 67 seconds left on the clock. Gathering up speed in his own zone, Paul burst out on the left wing, ducking, deeking, flying passed the Flyers' forwards.
He was mad. He was mad at what Eric had done to him, and Eric would pay the ultimate price. Paul wasn't the one to fight, and the only way he and the Ducks could get revenge was to win the game. But with only 60 seconds left, it would be near impossible.
40 seconds left. Paul looked up and saw Vladimir Maliakov standing between him and the goalie. Vladimir jumped, and Paul fell on his stomach, and darted right between Vladimir's legs.
The fans in the Arena stood up and cheered wildly at the move. Paul smiled. He had practiced that move for months now, and he had been dying to try it out in a game.
20 seconds left. Paul went flying into the Flyers' zone. 20 meters away from the net, he wound up, and faked a shot. Ron Hextall, the Flyers' goalie, went down, fooled on the play. Paul deeked right, and backhanded the puck up in the top left hand corner of the net. The red light went on. Paul had scored!
The whole Arena, including the Anaheim bench erupted into more cheers, while Ron Hextall banged his head on the metal pole of the net in frustration. Paul jumped up and down excitedly, and was mobbed by his teammates at center ice.
"I scored, Jari, I scored!" Paul screamed in happiness.
"You sure did, Paul." Jari had a huge smile on his face as he patted Paul's back. "We won!"
Looking back, Paul could see Eric sitting on the Flyers' bench. Eric looked up, smiled, and gave him a thumbs up. Paul was puzzled, but he decided that Eric really was happy for him. It was either that, or Eric was thinking up another plan on how to eliminate Paul the next time their two teams met.
When Paul led the Mighty Ducks back to the locker room, he was once again mobbed by reporters. Todd Ewen had enough. He stepped up, and yelled, "hey!" as loud as he could. Everyone turned and stared at Todd.
"Leave Paul alone!" Todd exclaimed. "Just leave him alone. Especially you!" Todd pointed to a young reporter who was all over Paul. "That's disgusting! Get your hands off that boy. He's already got a girl back in Vancouver!"
Turning back to the rest of the crowd, he started screaming again. "Stop harassing him for godsakes! Have some sympathy. All this little guy wants to do is play some hockey. Not to get harassed by little reporters. Now get lost! And before you go, I want you to apologize to Paul." Todd commanded, crossing his arms across his chest. The reporters, dumbfounded, just starred. "Go on! Apologize. Then get lost!"
A mumbled bunch of "sorries" came from the reporters as they hung their heads and left the arena.
"Excuse me," a young man wearing glasses, and had signs of a serious acne problem approached Todd and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, I'm from the Anaheim Star, and..."
"Beat it!" Todd commanded.
"But, I'm a reporter from the Anaheim Star..." the young man squeaked.
"I said, beat it!" Todd yelled sternly.
"Can I ... can I quote you on that, sir?" the young man stuttered.
"GET LOST!" Todd barked. The young reporter scampered off. "Geek," Todd whispered under his breath.
Paul laughed out loud, "Thanks Todd."
"Don't worry about it. They'll stay in line while Todd Ewen is in charge here!" Todd chuckled as he put an arm around Paul, and led him into the locker room.
In the locker room, all was silent though. No cheers that they had wont he game. Paul thought about what Todd had done for him, and burst out laughing. "Did you see those reporters' faces when Todd told them off?" Paul gasped for air. "That was hilarious!"
"Yeah, and how about that lady who was drooling all over Paul, eh? And how Todd yelled at her!" Steve howled with laughter.
The atmosphere in the locker room was lighter after Paul had broken the ice, and the players started laughing and joking about the game.
When Paul had reached the exit of Arrowhead Pond, he thought for a while. "Wouldn't it be great to come here every day? To practice and play with experienced players, to learn from the veterans?"
Today was the dawning of a new era in hockey, the Paul Kariya era! Nothing would stop him from reaching his dream. The dream of most Canadian boys, to be a part of the national past time, hockey.
