Archive of Our Own

A breakaway heading towards JONES and LEVIN in defense. ROZANOV and DILLON are leading it, with YOUNG skating behind them.

JONES: Oi! Stop skating like yer mothers are watchin’ we’re playing professional [BEEP] hockey. Get it together!

LEVIN: Seriously this is the best you can do, you’re Ilya fucking Rozanov and you’re being stopped by two rookies—

LEVIN does a particularly impressive poke check, the puck goes sliding away from ROZANOV’s blade and skitters across the ground to HAAS.

HAAS immediately speeds up the ice, dodging BOYLE and TRESSEK.

JONES: [BEEP] YEAH HAASY! [BEEP] GET THEIR [BEEP]

LEVIN: GET THEM!!!

HAAS scores beautifully through the five hole on VAN DER BIJ who throws his helmet on the ground in frustration.

ROZANOV yells something that isn’t heard on the mic, but he is gesturing wildly to JONES and LEVIN.

JONES: Ah shit, we were supposed to skate up with him.

LEVIN: Whoopsies. 

JONES: Can we accuse Rozanov of doing a hate-crime? I can pull the whole Wales thing?

LEVIN, yelling: Are you saying that ‘cause I’m Jewish, Rozanov? My parents left Russia because of people like you!

ROZANOV looks baffled, beginning to skate towards LEVIN.

JONES: Is that true?

LEVIN: That I’m Jewish? 

JONES: No, the rest of it.

LEVIN: Oh, no. Not even a little bit.

ROZANOV, quiet on JONES’ MIC: I am allowed to say when you are bad at hockey, I do not care that you are Jewish or Welsh or your grandmother’s pet fish died. Play the game!

JONES, muttered: This is fascism.

ROZANOV: Do not talk to me about fascism, I am Russian. I win.

YOUNG skates over to join the argument breaking out over centre ice.

YOUNG, baffled: I’m pretty sure Russia isn’t even fascist?

ROZANOV: Ah, so you tell the Russian man what his country is?

YOUNG: You told me Australia isn’t real yesterday.

ROZANOV: You did not name a swimming centre after your leader who went missing while swimming. This is not a thing a real country did.

[Editor’s Note: Young, Jones and Rozanov argued about Australia being a real place for two minutes before Coach Wiebe yelled at them.]

Shot of JONES, LEVIN and HOLLANDER sitting on the bench while skating practice happens around them. LEVIN is drinking water.

JONES: I think I’d be bad at being gay.

LEVIN spits out all his water.

LEVIN, thinking for a second: I think you’d be okay at it.

HOLLANDER: Can we stop talking about this right now?

JONES: I feel like I’d be bad at— [video abruptly cuts off]

When the video starts again HOLLANDER looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. LEVIN and JONES are looking surprisingly thoughtful.

JONES: Hollander—

HOLLANDER: Stop talking.

JONES: Okay…

JONES skating down the ice near LAPOINTE who is keeping it away from LEVIN who has apparently swapped teams.

JONES: In the middle! In the middle! Over here you [BEEP]—

LAPOINTE passes across the ice to JONES who hits a wild slapshot that’s only just stopped by VAN DER BIJ.

LAPOINTE gets the goal on the rebound. JONES screams like they’ve scored the final goal in the Olympics and skates at LAPOINTE tackling him into a hug.

JONES: We’re the best! Get [beep] Luca! Calder winner just got thrashed by a third liner and a defender! We’re proper good we are.

HAAS throws his glove at JONES. They hit him in the head. JONES goes down like he’s been shot.

JONES skates up to VAN DER BIJ in the goals. VAN DER BIJ is drinking water like his life depends on it as JONES hoists himself up onto the crossbar and sits there, dangling his feet in a way that is probably dangerous.

JONES: How we going Bee?

VAN DER BIJ: I’m alright, how are you?

JONES: Good. Do you want to watch Ghostbusters tonight? LaPointe has been nagging me about it.

VAN DER BIJ: Me too. It can’t be that good?

JONES: Reckon we can make Levin do dinner?

VAN DER BIJ: I don’t want to eat seven eggs tonight. I reckon Young will— he hasn’t cooked in like a week.

JONES: Actually [BEEP] it, we’ll ask Luca actually.

VAN DER BIJ: Actually. Yeah.

JONES is skating up and down the ice, looking not entirely focused as he looks quite relaxed.

JONES, singing: Sosban fach yn berwi ar y tân. Sosban fawr yn berwi ar y llawr.

YOUNG, absent-mindedly: A'r gath wedi— what the fuck? I don’t know Welsh.

JONES: I have had the Simon Gardner version playing for three days straight.

YOUNG: What does it actually mean?

JONES: Something about a cat and saucepan and someone called Mary-Anne— I dunno. I don’t speak Welsh.

YOUNG: You don’t?

JONES: Nah. Blame the British for that.

YOUNG: Normalise blaming the British for everything.

JONES laughs, throwing his head back. He’s not looking and runs into HAAS and they both hit the ice in a pile of legs and arms.

HAAS: Gareth.

JONES: Luca.

HAAS: Please look where you’re going, and get off me.

JONES: You normally like it when I’m on top of you.

HAAS shoves JONES off of him, getting back onto his feet and skating away with a huff.

The players are running a shift. HOLMBERG is passing it around the offensive zone, unable to get it past HAYES.

JONES: Here! Here! Over by here! You— [BEEP]ing [BEEP].

HOLLANDER takes it off HOLMBERG before zooming down the ice and scoring. LEVIN skates by, the camera captures a shit-eating grin on his face.

LEVIN: You snooze, you lose Jonesy.

JONES: I am going to beat you to death.

LEVIN: I’d be into that.

JONES: I bet you would.

LEVIN: What’s that supposed to mean, Jones?

JONES: How’s your relationship with your father?

LEVIN: At least I have one.

ROZANOV skates over between the two of them.

ROZANOV: Alright, alright, I am very proud of you both, my little agitator defenders. Can we please focus on actually stopping the puck? 

JONES huffs and skates away.

JONES and BOOD are leant up against the wall. HOLMBERG is fully sitting on the ice next to them, a vacant look on his face.

BOOD: Have you found the camera person yet?

JONES: No. I’ve been looking.

BOOD and JONES both start looking for the camera-person, they miss entirely and start pointing at random people.

HOLMBERG, from the ground next to them, makes direct eye contact with the camera and winks. He goes back to looking vacant immediately after.

ROZANOV and JONES, ROZANOV leans towards JONES’ chest, where the microphone is.

ROZANOV: Hello sexy Centaur fans, this is your captain speaking. You all need to be nice to the baby Foals because they are all very sweet.

JONES: Ych a fi.

ROZANOV: I do not speak Welsh, but I understand the tone. Do not speak to your captain like that. 

JONES: You’re proper annoying.

ROZANOV: Alright Centaur fans, the baby foals are very lovely and nice and kind— do not let them fool you. They are very good to each other and I am very proud that they called Ottawa their home for many years, even if they end up being in teams all across the NHL.

JONES, choked up: Play the game.

ROZANOV: Jones has made our locker room a very fun and happy place to be. He is very funny and we all love him here— we hope you love him too. If you don’t we’ll kill you.

A group of the rookies surround JONES in a weird circle centering his mic pack. They all lean in as they start singing badly.

LEVIN: You would not believe your eyes.

JONES: If ten million fire flies.

YOUNG: Lit up the world as I fell asleep.

HOLMBERG: I like to make myself believe.

VAN DER BIJ: That planet earth turns

LAPOINTE: Slowlyyyy.

[Editor’s Note: This took five minutes of planning.]

JONES: Okay so who goes first?

LEVIN & YOUNG: Me!

HAAS: I am staying out of this.

HAAS skates away.

HOLMBERG: I don’t think Arty does the nasally meme voice well enough.

LEVIN: Oh, do you want me to go [BEEP] myself?

HOLMBERG: You might be less annoying if you did.

LAPOINTE: Does anyone know the words between the starting lines and the chorus?

JONES: We can Google it.

VAN DER BIJ: Or… just skip it.

HOLMBERG: I like that idea.

JONES: I’m just impressed honestly, like how does it fit?

HOLLANDER: We are not talking about this.

JONES: I’ll ask Rozanov.

HOLLANDER: Go for it.

JONES: You just pack so much, how does it fit in your bag?

HOLLANDER: Pay as much attention to the drills you should be running as how much I can fit in my bag and you might actually move off the third line.

LEVIN, pitching his voice lower: Choke me like you hate me, but you love me. Lowkey wanna date me when you… eff me?

JONES: What?

LEVIN: Y’know that Corpse song?

JONES: What?

LEVIN: It’s on Luca’s playlist, it’s been stuck in my head for days.

JONES: Why does Luca have a song about choking on his playlist?

LEVIN: Guess you’ll have to ask him.

JONES: Why do you have a song about choking on your playlist?

HAAS: I am not answering this while you’re mic’ed up.

JONES: The fans want to know.

HAAS skates away.

JONES: Send me the link to the song!

Shot of HAAS speeding down the ice, HOLLANDER next to him. They’re racing laps around the ice.

JONES: I know Luca is quick but like— damn he’s quick.

YOUNG: He makes Roz’s edgework look like child’s play.

JONES: I feel like I should be taking notes.

HAAS darts around a particularly impressive set of cones set out on the ice.

JONES: This is why he won the bloody Calder.

HAAS does an ice hockey stop, stopping before the line while HOLLANDER struggles to do the same stop and creeps over the line.

The rookies break out screaming excitedly. They clamber onto the ice to attack HAAS with hugs while they yell all sorts of nonsensical compliments at him. 

ROZANOV: Good practice, I love you. I love you. I love you.

JONES, tearily: Fuck off.

ROZANOV has apparently taken the mic pack. He’s standing outside the locker room with messed up hair as he looks directly into the barrel of the camera.

ROZANOV: I do think he will be one of the best defenders to come through the league— give him a couple of years and you’ll be watching him skate through people like they’re not even there. More importantly, he’s a really good person. That’s something you can’t train into someone.

LILLIAN: Why don’t you say this to him?

ROZANOV: He is bad with feelings, and I am bad at being honest. 

Shot of JONES, LEVIN and HOLLANDER sitting on the bench while skating practice happens around them. LEVIN is drinking water.

JONES: I think I’d be bad at being gay.

LEVIN spits out all his water.

LEVIN: I think you’d be okay at it.

HOLLANDER: Can we stop talking about this right now?

JONES: I feel like I’d be bad at sucking dick or like… just being fucked. If your prostate is only like five centimetres in what’s being done with the rest of it?

LEVIN: I mean it goes in you. 

JONES: Yeah but like, isn’t it kinda uncomfortable? Like it would feel like the world’s weirdest reverse shit.

LEVIN: Why would you say that?

JONES: Is that what it feels like?

LEVIN: I mean, since you put that image into my head— I’m like… maybe?

HOLLANDER looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. LEVIN and JONES are looking surprisingly thoughtful.

JONES: Hollander—

HOLLANDER: Stop talking.

JONES: Okay… oh fuck I’m mic’ed! Um. Whoever is editing this please cut out the bit where Arty talks about having gay sex.

LEVIN: I also have straight sex for what that’s worth, editor.

JONES: Is it straight if you’re gay?

LEVIN: I think so? I feel like saying “I have queer straight sex” might not exactly work for me.

JONES: I feel like it’s not straight though, even if you’re having sex with a woman. Like is it always heteronormative or are you getting a little bit gay with it?

LEVIN opens his mouth to say something.

HOLLANDER: Can we please stop talking about Levin having sex.

JONES: You really are a prude, how are you married to Ilya Rozanov?

HOLMBERG: I don’t think Arty does the nasally meme voice well enough.

LEVIN: Oh, do you want me to go fuck myself?

HOLMBERG: You might be less annoying if you did. When’s the last time you got off with anything other than your own hand?

LEVIN: I dunno, maybe ask your mother.

JONES: Or ask Luca.

LEVIN, blushing rapidly: I’ve told you a million times nothing is happening there.

HOLMBERG: Can something happen there so you’re less fucking annoying? 

JONES: You fucking fucker of a cunt I’m going to fucking get you— fucking pass to the people around you, you dumb cunt.

ROZANOV: I am impressed at how many swear words you fit into one sentence.

JONES: Fuck right off you stupid ass Russian fuck—

ROZANOV: This is why you will never get a girlfriend.

JONES: Neither will you!

ROZANOV: I’m married!

JONES: Only a man would put up with the amount of bullshit you put them through.

JONES and LEVIN hiding behind the bench. They very much look like they should be on the ice, the camera only captures the top of their heads as they’re awkwardly perched so people on the ice don’t see them.

JONES: Sometimes I wish I could just have a fag.

LEVIN: I am right here.

JONES: Wait… no, not like that— ah shit. 

LEVIN: Editor, he’s not homophobic.

JONES: Editor, I just miss being able to steal a… cigarette off my mates on a night out.

LEVIN: Editor, he’s only homophobic when I bring men home.

JONES: Editor… Levin has literally never brought a man home. Sometimes I think he’s practicing chastity.

LEVIN: Editor, your client is talking lies and slanders.

JONES: You literally never bring anyone back, there was that girl at the start of the year and then it’s no one else… 

LEVIN: Uhm. 

JONES: Do you need to get laid?

LEVIN: No.

JONES: Is that why you’ve been so annoying?

LEVIN: No!

JONES: Holmberg was onto something! 

LEVIN: When’s the last time you had sex, Jones?

JONES: Uh…

LEVIN: Or are you still hung up on Jasmine?

JONES: Shut up!

LEVIN: You’re still hung up on Jasmine!

JONES: Shuddup.

LEVIN: Cute! She’s very nice, and she takes pucks to the face instead of letting them in, I feel like you respect that.

JONES: Shut your trap, shut it— fuck off.

LEVIN: How the turns have tabled.

JONES and YOUNG skating around the rink, it’s clear that JONES is chasing after YOUNG as YOUNG howls with laughter.

JONES: I’m gonna fucking kill you.

YOUNG: I’d like to fucking see you try!

JONES: I did rugby, I know how to fucking throw you around.

YOUNG: Rugby is the second gayest sport, I bet you know how to throw a man around.

JONES: I’m not gay! Even if I am, I’m going to fucking kill you and turn your teeth into ornaments.

YOUNG: Oooooh, interior design, that’s a bit gay.

JONES: STOP CALLING ME GAY!

HAAS, quietly picked up by the mic: What’s wrong with being gay, Gareth?

JONES: Nothing! I’m just not gay, you don’t see me calling you straight.

The camera pans to HAAS as HAAS splutters and coughs.