The CSIs hop into the recessed area where the team bench is and look down upon the weekend hockey player. In addition to the gobbets of flesh that formerly comprised his cheek, the guy's also sporting a nasty slash across the throat. Gil points to the sticky wound and observes, "This looks fresh." Brass fills us in some more: according to the team doctor, the dead guy took one across the cheek in the second period. Catherine sticks her fingers in the laceration and deadpans, "I guess this must be from the third period. Looks like that other team worked him over pretty good." Brass comments on how hockey's a rough game. Gil deadpans, "Yeah, it's murder."
And now, The Who, which is good because it means I can stop humming "Through The Eyes Of Love."
In the bleachers, Gil is reading a litany of the dead man's penalties: "Two minutes for elbowing. Four minutes for high sticking. Ten minutes for unsportsmanlike conduct." Sara, who's sitting next to him (and back in the black watch cap), deadpans, "Boys will be boys." That's pretty sexist. Just because the women's game doesn't allow checking doesn't mean it can't get rough out there. Gil proves he's no fan of the sport by saying, "Sounds like these boys went to a fight and a hockey game broke out." Miles away, somewhere from a palatial Beverly Hills estate, Don Rickles emerges, screaming, "Someone get me a lawyer! I said that first!" Sara's all, "You just don't like sports." Gil rebuts with, "That's not true; I've been a baseball fan my whole life." Sara replies, "Baseball. Well, that figures. All those stats." Oh, Sara. My opinion of you goes down with every passing moment. Baseball is so much more than the stats. Gil sets her straight with, "It's a beautiful game." As the husband and I loudly cheer this sentiment, Sara asks, "Since when are you interested in beauty?" Still staring at the ice, Gil replies, "Since I met you." Sara turns from the ice to look at Gil, clearly startled. Gil looks at her and says, "So, we'll start at the opposite goal, work our way across the blue line and stop at center ice." It's a shame that international rules aren't in play, because then Gil and Sara wouldn't be in danger of being called for a two-line pass. Ba-da-bump! Sara, who's still searching Gil's face for some sort of context in which to place that beauty remark, replies, "...Sure."
Cut to a montage of them walking over the ice. I am impressed anew by their diligence and observational abilities as they find bleached-wood splinters embedded in the white ice. Gil heads over to the boards to take a blood sample, then crouches before the goal to scrape up some frozen blood. As Gil's busy storing the blood samples, Sara ruefully notes that they don't have a lot to go on, and perhaps should consider taking their investigation off the ice. Gil is about to reply when he and Sara hear the whir of an engine. They turn around to look at the Zamboni driving on to the crime scene. Wuh? Who cleared that sucker?