The scoreboard above the rink lit up, and the few hundred masochists who paid to watch this farce (or got given tickets by others less masochistically...inclined) and remained in the Coliseum, gave some thin cheers. Zec was glad to breathe. The goal didn’t matter. The Islanders would lose their eleventh straight home game, and thirteenth over-all. And goals weren’t Zec’s job. Zec was an enforcer. His job was to instigate fights, incur penalties, take away scoring chances, be the bullyboy, the. Two days left of school, and Tuesday was just a half-day.Baseball was done, at least school baseball. There was still Babe Ruth League to look forward to. The team had done pretty good. We went twelve and one, losing our last game because the damn shortstop, who shall remain nameless, bobbled the ball in extra innings and let the runner from Wingate score.Mr. Hallowell turned out to be a pretty good student. He listened when I explained why I did certain things and asked questions when he. More

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