Before practice that night, Benny tacked a sign over the knothole in the snackbar:

"There," he said to Figaro and Peppy. "That should bring in some good players."
"I'll put that in the Mouse Hockey news," said a voice behind him. Benny turned. It was Mizzy Mouse, the announcer who broadcast the MHL games.
"See you later." She left a copy of the Mouse Hockey News for Benny, Figaro, and Peppy to read.
"Now, let's practise before bed," said Benny. "We don't want to get too sluggish."
They went to fetch their equipment, and hurried to the ice. Peppy pulled his goalie mask down over his face until only his eyes, nose and mouth showed. The mask had been made from a finger of a moth-eaten woolen glove.
Benny would rather play shinny than anything else in the world. He loved the mad scramble for the puck with no holds barred. He loved the feel of the puck cradled against his stick as he broke away and sped across the ice. He loved the wind against his ears and the wild feeling of triumph as he deked Peppy to the right or to the left before sliding the puck into the net right under his nose. In shinny it was each mouse for himself and let the best mouse win.
Benny pulled on red plastic skates with gold safety pin blades. Then came his shining silver helmet made from the tip of a panatela cigar case. The three mice wore matching red, blue, and white sweaters.
They stepped out onto the ice for the warm-up and skated around in circles.
"The ice is slow tonight," Benny said. He dulled his blades on the boards.
They marked out their own regulation-sized rink. Peppy skated back and forth and scraped the ice in the goal with his skates. Benny looked at his two teammates.
"Look at your hockey sticks," he said. "They're a disgrace. Popsicle sticks taped together."
"But captain," Figaro said, "this is my lucky stick. It's got a good lie."
"Who's got the puck?" Benny asked. He glared at them. "Where is that piece of licorice stick we used for the last game?"
Peppy shifted from one foot to the other.
"I think Peppy has something to tell you," said Figaro.
"Well, out with it," Benny demanded.
"I ate it," Peppy said miserably. He stared down at the ice and chipped at it with his stick. "I was hungry this morning."
"Ate the puck!" screamed Benny the Bullet. "Have you no respect?"
Figaro took off in search of another puck. In a few minutes he skated back with a black button.
Benny tested the button against his stick blade and nodded grudgingly. "Should be rubber," he muttered. "Or licorice."
Figaro placed the new puck in the small red circle within the face-off zone.
"First we'll try a few rushes," Benny said. "One on one. Try to get around me and nail me first. I'll try and nail you, too."
"Let's go!" Figaro leaned forward, his stick across his knees, waiting.
Benny broke loose with the puck and streaked across the ice. Figaro took after him. He poked and stabbed at the puck. Benny stick handled around him. A breakaway! Figaro charged from behind. He sprawled full length on the ice, poked his stick in front of Benny, and knocked the puck away. Benny flopped to the ice. the puck dribbled towards the net slowly. Peppy stepped out and kicked it away.
Benny and Figaro skidded into the goalpost, head first. They hit the corner of the net full speed. Benny struggled to his feet and shook his head.
"You can't do that, Figaro," he screamed.
"Why not?" answered Figaro.
"Tripping," snapped Benny the Bullet. "That's why."
"I just saw one of the players do it tonight," said Figaro. "He got away with it."
Benny leaned on his stick.
"That's because the NHL referees don't see anything," he explained. "Didn't you hear the crowd chant "Three Blind Mice?' Our officials in the Mouse Hockey League are sharp. We won't be able to get away with anything. The mice practised a few more rushes, dekes, and slap shots from the blue line.
The Forum was quiet except for the scraping sound of blades on ice and the swish of the button as it skimmed towards the net. Benny felt his muscles begin to ache. It was a good feeling.
Suddenly loud laughter sounded from the seating section. Benny looked up into the stands. Big Boris and three other Rink Rats sprawled in the box seats, eating a banana and cleaning out the bottoms of popcorn boxes.
"Look at that, boys," called Big Boris. "Those little squirts think they can get the Cheddar Cup back from us in a hockey game."
He roared with laughter. The others laughed even louder.
Benny's blood boiled.
He stamped his foot, forgetting he was on skates. His feet flew out from under him and he landed on the seat of his pants. Quickly he stood up and brushed himself off. He shook his fist at Big Boris.
"We will get it back," he shouted, "one way or another. The Cup belongs to us.
"Try and prove it," sneered Big Boris. He stood up and flipped the banana peel onto the ice. It landed behind Figaro, who was practising figure eights backwards. Figaro backed into the peel and did a double flip. He lay still on the ice. Benny and Peppy rushed over.
"Are you all right, Fig?" asked Benny.
Mon Dieu! Speak to us," Peppy begged.
"I can't," murmured Figaro. Slowly he opened one eye and then the other. He rubbed his side. "Just a few bruises. No broken bones."
Figaro struggled to a sitting position. The others helped him to his feet. There was another loud burst of laughter from the stands.
"Challenge us to the Cheddar Cup, will you?" Big Boris taunted. "Maybe we will give you a chance to try and win it back after all." He doubled over, holding his sides. His blood-curdling laughter echoed through the huge building.
"It's our Cup," Benny whispered fiercely. "We're not going to wait to win it back from the Rats. We're going to heist it! I can hardly wait till tomorrow night."