The Big Game

After Mrs. Mitty came out of the drugstore, they climbed into their automobile, Walter fastened his seat belt, turned on the windscreen wipers and carefully pulled away from the curb. As they drove out of Waterbury he noticed a sign as big as house advertising the big hockey game that night. His heart sped up. A few hours later, Walter walked into the arena, looked around, and it was as if time had stopped in its tracks. The game went well. Finally it came to the third period. Crunch time. There he was, Mitty, about to take the face off to start it off. Intensely, sweating like a pig, with the score tied up at 3-3. The puck hit the ice like a fat kid falling off his swing, and the play went on. The crowd was as loud as thunder making the atmosphere intense.  Skating furiously end to end, the ice cracking like wood being snapped under the skate blades. The puck was being tossed around like a baby fighting a tiger, bodies were being thrown to the ice like rocks hitting pavement. The game was as rough as Connors stubble on his face, sticks were being snapped like twigs. The clock timed down as if a bomb were to go off. A few hits, a few penalties, and a few harsh words later, and the game was finally over. Walter Mitty, star of the game, MVP, stood there, grinning from ear to ear. He had won, he was an allstar.