#9line

mighty ducks week day one: favorite trio

that’s exactly how i see it! i mean, of course, it doesn’t line up entirely because there are a bunch of differences between all of these characters lmao. but similar to tashi, who would “stab a child or an old lady” to be able to play tennis again, adam is hockey obsessed to the point that he chooses being able to play over loyalty to a team and/or his friends. king of self-preservation. he’s also the best out of the three and accident prone lmao (aka takes the most risks to win).

meanwhile charlie, like art, is a good player–but he’s not naturally gifted. we see charlie really has to work for it–going from poor (d1) to ok (d2) to good (d3). he’s not always confident about his skills and even talks about becoming a coach (like art thinking of retirement because he believes he doesn’t have it in him anymore). 

then there’s jesse who, like patrick, is the biggest shit talker out of the trio with the skills to back it up. in the d2 script & novelization jesse’s often described as being confidently good—with some examples being that he’s “the best skater”, he “bears down and pumps [the puck] in with authority”, he “skated smoothly on goal, then let [the puck] fly with a confident slap shot”. he knows he's good and i think this would've been his downfall in d3 had he been there (but they gave that storyline to charlie instead which made no sense but ok).

like art & patrick, charlie & jesse are childhood friends. like patrick & tashi, adam & jesse connect first. yeah, it’s more “i wanna kill you” vibes, but adam and jesse’s road to friendship is basically one of d1’s biggest storylines. like tashi & art, charlie and adam become much closer later on, esp when jesse disappears in d3 and charlie takes over his role (calling adam cake-eater & leading the ducks/flying v). it’s full circle!!

Behold the stars of a mad man / Plagued with promises indebted to the suns jewelled glare / Born without ties to secular cause above his tunnel vision / Cursed to forge the buoyancy of our art floating on the hasidic river / Casted out helplessly provided blank reason / Stagnant mind with which any words couldn't compel even the purest of children / Slews of tears battle the boiling pot of prophecy and blasphemy / Mercy believes for itself to sleep beneath the whitest of sheets / Though its grim tongue twists spells outside its own home

Nature haunts the streets so dollish / Where burdock is buried below clicking heels / Next to tinted windowed cars searching for light / Whom like another follows pale white lines / Fractured cups for black tea bleed / On the platform rig drilling the garden sheath / Even the skin of a rich coat curls / Waiting on a train to a dark cold world / Old age epiphany of modern scroll

I hold your blind kiss like skipping stones / Pocket tamed but ready to throw at any notice / On blue Mondays they turn to worry of their weight / Meaningless to me, I sit amongst the still water wake / Speak gently with rapture for tonight's close / We may arise because statues fall onto fools laps / Burden the throne for our homes full of holes / Tuesday brings me luck to forget that / None of us can burn tides that swallow ash