You watch the sport quietly. The athletes move, taking a little object from one end to the other. The one in possession of the object tries to shoot it into the net, but a goalie blocks it with their stick. A few of the males in the den seem disappointed, probably fans of the shooter's team.
Ten minutes pass by, but no mention of the sport's name.
"Hey, Foxy," you ask, "what sport is this?"
"You don't know?" she asks back.
"No," you reply. "I don't usually watch sports.""Well, I think it is Hocrosse. Or is it Lockey?" Foxy's ears point sideways with her confusion.
"No, no, Foxy," Boit says as he sits down next to her. "It's Hockey, note the ice. Locrosse is played on grass."
Foxy nods, acknowledging the difference, but you can't tell if she really does.
The game is almost over, the time clock counting down the last minute. One team is winning 2 to 1.
The hockey players move fast, the team with only one point passing the object between them rapidly. They zoom around on the ice and around the opponents' net. Only ten seconds left. 9... 8... 7... 6... A player takes a slapping shot at the net! 5... 4... The goalie moves and... 3... 2...
*BZZZZRRT*
The hockey fans here in Boit's house hold their breaths.
"It's no good!" the announcer yells. "The goalie blocked it!"
Half the room roars with cheers, the other groans.
Within the next few minutes, somebody turns on music, and the teens get up.
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