Edmonton, Canada

Western Conference, Sutton Place

We form a circle in the center of the ice, Jets standing proudly with the Canucks. I'm next to Patrik Laine. He's already got the full beard going on. I couldn't get that, even if I really tried. But as the moment happens, paying tribute to standing as one, my mind is racing. Thankfully there haven't been anymore cases in the hotel with Tkachuk and his Flame posse. It also helps that I've stuck close to Zuccs and the Hawk trio.

Actually, yesterday, the Hawks and I pranked Fiala really good. (Fiala's got a bad rap with the Hawks and I can only guess his Preds crap has carried into the Wild and this year and made him a key target.) When Fiala left for lunch with a few of his friends, we snuck into his room and changed his pre-game day breakfast list.

Instead of getting what he wanted: eggs, sausage, some kind of toast and orange juice, he's getting Stromer's used jock strap, part of Brinksy's mustache and one of Kirby's used, old shoes he is about to throw out. I chose not to add anything, for fear of it coming back in my face. It's just entertaining to watch them prank someone that isn't me.

And boy, Fiala was pissed the hell off this morning.

The pregame ceremony wraps up and it is game time!

When I take to the ice for my first shift into the period, I have two golden opportunities and take the shot. It's always best to apply pressure right off the bat, get under the Jets' skin and into their minds.

There is some good back and forth play.

My next shift out, I start behind Markstrom and tear down the ice, leaving others behind me with my quick speed and dash over the blue line. I am sandwiched finally behind the Jets' net by Pionk and Kulikov.

Kulikov finishes through, shoving me down to the ice with a snort. Pionk remains behind. He bends over and offers me a hand. I take it and get back up to my skates.

"You okay?" the Jets' defenseman inquires.

I nod at him, unsure how to respond. He doesn't really either.

"Thank you," I squeak out.

"You can call me Pisy, if you want to," the young man states, flashing a half-smile, full of strangeness like it's odd for him to be here talking to me.

We exchange awkward looks and then skate to our benches. Not all Jets players are douchebags, I guess.

The play has continued on the ice, Jets are pushing pressure into the Canucks' end. The clock ticks down overhead on the JumboTron as I get into the bench for the next person to come on.

I glance at the Winnipeg bench to see Kulikov snapping at Pisy for his actions. Part of me feels bad for him. But I can't let my emotions get the best of me. I have to focus on my game.

I return to the ice for another shift, taking the puck away from a Jets' player. There is a fierce collison behind me as I fly around the goal and let a shot sail on the goal. But Hellebuyck saves the shot and the play is blown dead.

Not long after that, Poolman for the Jets takes an elbowing penalty on Tyler Motte and we head to the powerplay. I am on the unit and we take the zone with ease. We pass the puck nicely around, until it finally reaches the blade of my stick.

I send a wicked slapshot at the net, but it fails to go in. Snared by Hellebuyck. I get to my skates and throw my head back in frustration. When I look back down, Millsy and another Canuck are looking my way. I blink a few times, crack my head and pout my lips at Millsy as he comes toward me.

"Close. Sorry."

"Not your fault. Goot shot and try," Millsy says, skating by and tapping my shin pads. "You'll sink that baby next time!"

"Thank Millsy, you're right!" I smile and skate off to the bench after him.

My next shift out, after the failed powerplay, I take the puck away from Hellebuyck and attempt to get the puck into the net. But Jets swarm me, including Pisy. Kulikov shoves me backward and snorts at me.

I step back as Millsy comes and shoves him. "Back away from him, Kuli!"

Pisy keeps back out of the scrum that ensues. As do I.

The refs clear up to commotion, separating Millsy from Kulikov, though they continue to jaw at one another about me.

I head back to the bench. There's no penalties and everyone settles down once more.

The game resumes and Poolman scores the opening goal as the period comes to an end.

Not a bad period. But not a good one either.

The second period begins with me getting another good shot on net. I stand up and squish my lips together as I watch the puck miss wide of the net. Once again no goal. I crack my neck, nervously as I can feel the arena cam focusing on me. Why are my shots off tonight? I know it's an exhibition match, but I take EVERY game seriously.

I return to the bench and play carries on, eventually ending once again with another Jets goal. This time from someone named Ehlers.

0-2 Jets.

I have to do something and stop this before it gets out of control. I take to the ice and generate two more tricky shots on net. But still no goal. I'm beginning to get frustrated and my second shot rebounds out to a Jet player.

A rush the other way as I sigh and work to get back and help out my defense. Kulikov shoves me out of the way in the neutral zone, blows by and receives a pass from someone. I get up just in time to see him slap a shot at the net.

0-3 Jets.

Kulikov. Of all players. Kulikov scores.

Pisy looks my way as he is forced to join in the celebratory hug with his teammates. He knows that it shouldn't be a goal, because I was technically interfered with on the play. But the refs don't care, it's a meaningless game.

Kulikov breaks apart and skates for the bench, passing by me in the process. "Wittle baby Petey falleded on his wittle face." He mocks me in a baby-tone, like I speak like that. I am NOT a baby!

I storm to the bench and slam the board after me.

Millsy senses my anger and frustration. He shuffles over to me. I feel his arm wrap around my shoulders comfortingly and then he whispers to me, "Don't let them get to you. Especially not Kulikov. He's just being a giant jerk. Keep shooting, something will go in. We're still in this and we can overcome a three goal hole. Trust me."

I nod and look up to see the clock winding down to the final minutes on the big screen. There is the scheduled goalie change that is made with both teams. Hellebuyck comes out. Maybe he's in my head and so it should be easier -- A LOT EASIER -- to get a goal and right the sinking ship here.

I hope so.

I hop over the boards for the last shift of the period for me. (Or so I think.)

Instead, a Lowry tripping penalty on me gets called. We head to the powerplay, me included in the unit on the ice, but we can't generate anything. The man advantage fails and we exit the ice to the locker room for the end of the second.

For the third period, time ticks down with nothing happening for us. In fact, I'm pretty positive that Kulikov told his teammates to target me. I'm on the ice for a shift, a few minutes into the final twenty minutes, when I trip over DeMelo's stick. I get back up and I'm crunched into the boards almost immediately by him.

I hit the ice, crying out with a pained frustration. My body is screaming at me to get to the bench, get off. But my head is telling me to stay in and help out. I stagger to the bench, getting last minute help from Millsy.

"C'mon Petey, you got this. You're okay."

That's all a man needs some times. Just a little encouragement from a veteran.

The line change is made and Antoine Roussel hops onto the ice. Normally he's a thorn in the opponents' side. He's been a little lax this year, probably plagued by health issues all year, but he goes right after DeMelo.

It's not pretty, but it's what we needed. Roussel gets the Canucks on the board finally with a dirty goal.

1-3 Jets.

Well, the goal is short lived as Wheeler scores for another Jets' goal.

1-4 Jets.

That about does it for the game. We try to end strong, but there's just nothing going our way. Kulikov shoves me again. DeMelo knocks me over, I'm crushed into the boards, I'm burning all over and I feel so tried.

I can barely skate to the bench as the buzzer sounds and the game is officially over.

Millsy helps me to my skates and we exit the arena to the cheering of the Jets. I look out to see Pisy skate onto the ice.

He stops and turns to the Canucks bench. He comes over and I tense up.

Roussel gets in his face. "You coming over to gloat, Jet?"

Pisy shakes his head and looks at me. "Just wanted to say, at least from me, good game." He manages a kind smile on his face. "I can't agree with what my teammates chose to do. They're sore winners and losers. They're dirty, despicable. Not me. I genuinely wanted to come over and say good game and good luck. I also wanted to apologize for my team's antics on the ice tonight."

Roussel's mouth is agape, nothing coming out. He just stares at the Winnipeg player.

Millsy puts a hand on my shoulder. His face remains grim, but he says, "Thank you, Neal."

Pisy smiles sweetly and dips his head respectfully and then skates over to congratulate the goalie and mingle with his teammates.

I look at Millsy, who is shocked over the whole Pionk incident. I'm with him. I don't know whether to trust him or not. I don't know what happened either. But it's nice to know at least Pisy is on my side. If I need his help, I can recruit him.

As I said earlier, not all Jets are jerks.

And with that, I get up and trudge after Millsy and down the tunnel to the locker room.

The exhibition game is finished for the Vancouver Canucks.