"...a Chicago area legend will have to wait a little longer to reach a coveted milestone, as Kenilworth youth hockey coach Dick Richards was denied his one thousandth career win in an upset loss to the team from Shermer," the WGN sports anchor related to the public. "That's us, and you can take it to the bank!" Roger declared enthusiastically from inside Buck's living room, "And we've got this little guy to thank for it," he leaned over to give Miles, who was finishing off the rest of his king-sized ice cream, a high five.

"Well, the whole team did it," Miles said modestly, taking another bite of his ice cream, "Still, it feels good to be the hero."

"I'm sure it does," Buck rubbed his nephew's hair proudly. It was at this time a car horn blew outside. "Ah, that's your parents," he told Miles and his sisters, who all rose from their armchairs, "Take care and see you all Monday."

"Good night, Uncle Buck," Maizy told him with a big grin, following her older siblings out. "Might as well head on off too," Roger rose up as well, "Lloyd and Rocco said to meet them at the Dill Pickle to celebrate once I was done here. Sure you don't want to come too?"

"Nah, if I'm going to drink, better drink here. Don't have too much, Roger; Lloyd's probably going to have a little too much to celebrate," Buck mused with a shake of the head.

"Yeah, I know," Roger agreed, "Hey, been meaning to say, Jimmy Bean called again last night; he was wondering if he could get tickets to next Saturday's home game..."

"Uh, no, Roger, can't do that," Buck shook his head emphatically, "And I'll have to say no; Jimmy's not the right person I want around those kids."

"But the two of you go so far back..."

"I know, but I said I'm going to be presentable and respectable as coach; a gambling czar like Jimmy's not the right person to get involved in youth hockey. I'll make it up to him over the summer, okay?"

"Well, all right, but he's not going to be happy, Buck," Roger shrugged in resignation, "Have a good night."

"Night, Roger; oh, and stop by Lutz's and put me down for 2-4-8 for the Pick 3, 0-0-2-2 for the Pick 4," Buck requested, "I got a feeling those numbers'll be lucky tonight."

"Sure thing. Night, Buck," his friend left. Buck exhaled happily and slid down into the nearest armchair. "Have some more, Cecil; we earned it," he poured more beer into his dog's water dish, which Cecil eagerly lapped up, "Best day I've had in a good long while. Let's do some more research while we're at it," he switched to ESPN, which was at that moment in fact carrying a Blackhawks game, "We're going to build on this to become a lean, mean scoring machine, and nothing can stop us now."

At that moment, a car was pulling to a stop inside a dark downtown Chicago parking garage. Its driver got out, adjusted his dark glasses, and looked around. "Bartholomew," came Coach Richards's hiss from the far wall. The Kenilworth coach was standing in the shadows, a grim look on his face. "Glad you came when I called," he told his former player when he approached.

"You know I promised I'd do anything for you, Coach," Ted Bartholomew lowered his dark glasses, 'But I don't know why we have to do this cloak and dagger stuff..."

"I'm playing it safe. Now I'm sure you saw what happened to me earlier today," Richards leaned forward into the light, a hateful scowl on his face, "I don't know what that fat buffoon Russell did to force you out as Shermer's coach, or how he got those losers into that good of shape when they haven't done anything right all year before, but I won't let him get away with humiliating me like he did."

"Well, I wasn't at the game, Coach; I made it very clear to Larry I'm not coming as long as Russell's his coach. But I heard what happened. Don't get too worked up, though; it was probably more a freak accident than anything else. Your guys probably got overconfident or..."

"I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO...!" Richards started to roar, then caught himself, glanced around to see if anyone had heard him, then turned back to Bartholomew and hissed, "I was not supposed to lose that game, Bartholomew, not to a louse like him who's an embarrassment to the game! That was my moment in the sun, and I'm going to get him back as good as I can for ruining it for me. And I need your help with that."

"What do you want me to do, Coach?"

"Ruin Russell," Richards's eyes grew darker, if such a thing were possible, "I want him wiped out and driven out of this league in humility so I can enjoy my laurels in peace. Find me anything on the man that we can use to discredit him and drive him out, and stop those upstart losers cold in their tracks. Do it well, Bartholomew, and I'll make sure you can coach your son again-there's lots of room for people to move to here in Kenilworth, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do," Bartholomew nodded, "Well, I'll do what I can, Coach; I want him down in the gutter for driving me out too."

"Good, we're on the same page," Richards grinned, "Just make sure he falls as hard as possible; I'm supposed to be the center of attention in this league for all I've done for it, and by God, I'm going to make sure I am. Nobody beats Dick Richards even once and gets away unscathed."

"Looks like we've got a bigger crowd this week, Buck," Roger declared, scanning the Shermer Convention Center's stands from the end of the tunnel to the ice the following Saturday, "I think what we pulled off against Kenilworth turned some heads."

"Yeah, I see," Buck looked over the much larger crowd himself, "A couple new faces-there's Tom Bueller with his family; guess Bob invited them to come. And there's Jack Walsh and his daughter-surprised they could afford it, though."

"And Mr. Griswold's over there behind the Glencoe bench," Maizy pointed to the family that lived a few houses down from hers. "Yeah, I see," Buck squinted, "Glad to see him here; I heard he played briefly back in the day. Oh well, let's get the show on the road."

He dug into his coat for the laser and flashed it up at the press box again, prompting George's latest intro: "Good afternoon again, hockey fans, and welcome once more to the beautiful Shermer Convention Center for today's matchup between the Glencoe Cardinals and YOOOOOOOUUURRR Shermer Snowy Owls! Today's game is, as always sponsored by Kobalowski Tires..." "OK team," he turned to his players, "I know it'll be easy to have a letdown after the big win last week, but try and stay focused. Glencoe's record might be bad, but don't look past them. We're still eligible for the playoffs; we don't want to lose it against a bad team."

"We're ready, Coach; we can take on the world," Aaron declared confidently.

"Good, that's what I want to hear. And as for you," Buck held Woody the snowy owl's carrying case up to his face, "I want to see some action from you, after everyone else went the extra mile last week. Let's try and get this intro right this time."

The convention center's lights went out-this time to a loud cheer-signaling it was time for Shermer's entrance. Buck stepped back as the smoke started billowing in front of the tunnel exit. "You'll notice I got them to install railings for you this time, so you can hold on when you skate down," he told the Snowy Owls, "And the stuffed owl's off to the left, so you won't run into it when you touch it."

"AAAAAAANNND NOOOOW, THE STARTING LINEUP FOR YOOOOOOOUUURRR SHERMERRRRRR SNOOOOOOWWWWYYYYYY OOOOOOOOOOWLS!" George roared, prompting an even louder cheer from the crowd. "Hit it, Woody!" Buck opened the snowy owl's carrying case again-and a still sound asleep Woody tumbled out to the ground. "Not again!" he groaned, and quickly picked the owl up and tossed him through the smoke. A low splat could be heard on the other side; Woody was still not taking flight. "Damn it. Just watch you don't run him over, Michael," he advised his left winger, who nodded and rushed through the smoke as his name was announced. The rest of the starting lineup followed in turn. "Let's go!" Buck turned to lead the reserves out down...

...but his foot clipped the edge of the pole holding up the tunnel, tripping him and pulling the tunnel over. With loud cries, he, the other coaches, and the reserves tumbled down the iced ramp to the rink, dragging the tunnel and pedestal with the stuffed owl with them. As with the previous week, they landed in a heap at the bottom, Woody only then taking flight-this time choosing to relieve himself on Buck's face as he flew over the head coach's head. Buck groaned and wiped it off. "OK, still some more bugs to work out," he acknowledged.

"I think we need a whole new intro, Buck," Chanice grumbled, hauling herself to her feet. "Line up for the national anthem," she informed everyone else. Buck himself snapped to attention until the anthem had finished, then sauntered towards the Shermer bench. "OK, like I said, everyone stay focused," he instructed the Snowy Owls, "Don't take Glencoe for granted. I want to start out with a bang, something to equal an onside kick on the opening kickoff. Charlie, what do you think would work best?" he asked his junior play master."

"I think the Crab Claw would be the best bet for that, Coach, since we haven't tried it yet," Charlie suggested, "Got to get possession after the faceoff, though."

"All right, Crab Claw it is. And that's...?" Buck frowned at the play boards. Charlie gestured at one featuring the Taj Mahal, Bluto, a gas station, and a Christmas tree. "Right, of course. So lets win the faceoff, guys. Hands in," Buck put his hands on top of his players', "One, two, three...!"

"SHERMER PRIDE!" they all shouted, the starters skating out for the faceoff. Miles, however, failed to win the drop, and Glencoe's center fired to his right winger. This player started down the ice-but was checked hard by Kayla. She took possession and started up the ice. "OK, pinch the claw!" Buck held up the signal card-specifically, the wrong signal card, which he frantically switched out for the right one. His players formed two prongs on either side of the ice, which they started closing together as they approached the Glencoe goal. Kayla passed to Aaron, who passed to Miles the moment the claw "closed, trapping the Cardinal defenders behind them. Miles fired and was blocked the first time, but nailed the rebound into the net. "YEAH!" Buck pumped his fist, "Finally, everything goes right...Chanice, is that a smile I see?" he noticed what looked like a small one forming on his fiancé's face.

"Uh..." Chanice quickly made her expression more neutral, "No, uh...I'm glad he scored, of course..."

"Well Chanice Kobalowski, I think you're actually enjoying coaching this team," Buck grinned knowingly, "Didn't I say you'd come around eventually?"

"Well, I certainly hope we'll win-but keep in mind, Buck, there's still a whole game to go."

As it was, however, the Snowy Owls continued their hot start all throughout the game, and Glencoe had no answers for any of Buck's trick plays. He was smiling himself when the final horn sounded, and the scoreboard showed a final score of five to one in Shermer's favor, with Miles getting three of the goals. The crowd gave his players a standing ovation as they celebrated with each other. "Great work, everyone, great work," Buck commended them after shaking hands with the Glencoe coaches, "You guys did wonderful again."

"Does this mean more ice cream?" Skylar asked eagerly.

"Absolutely; I'll give a ride to anyone who needs it. We've got a good little winning streak going now; next goal is to keep it going in Evanston next week. See you all at the ice cream parlor," Buck dismissed them. He skipped over to his starting goaltender. "Larry, I just want to say, you're doing great in goal; I'm glad you decided to come back, since I think we found your natural position...what?"

Larry looked glum. "I just wish my dad could have come to see it," he lamented, "He wants nothing to do with me or this team since you last saw him, told me I'm on my own as long as you're the coach."

"I see. Well, he's making a grave mistake; father's should always be there for their sons at all times," Buck mumbled grimly, "Well, tell you what, Larry; after we celebrate this win, I'll go have a word with him. Clearly he needs a good jolt to be reminded of what's really important."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Coach? You know how much he doesn't like you..."

"When it comes to making sure someone's a father to their kid, Larry, nothing goes too far. He's going to wish he'd been here after I give him a few words."

Up on the concourse, however, a trench coat and dark glasses clad Ted Bartholomew was dropping a quarter into a payphone. He dialed a number and waited. "Yeah, Coach Richards, I observed the game like you asked," he told Kenilworth's coach, "The first order of business is to take out Russell's nephew. Yeah, he was the big scorer today, and taking him out of the equation might give Russell impetus to quit without us having to go further. Can you do that? Are you sure they'll never know you ordered it? If Larry finds out, I could lose him...all right, if you're sure, and if this is as far as you're willing to go with that; we're running a risk if we go any farther that way..."