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By Ann Beatty
I am proud to present to you.. Ann's wikkid story of the hockey players we love and hate. Starring those whacky zany and sometimes crazy Toronto Maple Leafs.
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THE HOCKEY STORY
Chapter One - In which Domi loses a Luffa, and we are amazed by Belak's soft, supple skin
'Twas a typical day post-game in the Leaf's dressing room. They had just played an extremely average game against the Sabres, in which very little of note happened, so no one was very interested in the game. They were all going through their post-game rituals - a necessity for any toned professional athlete. McCabe was spraying his feet with deodorant while listening to Thunderstruck on repeat. Colaiacovo was berating himself for how much he had sucked, and waiting (and waiting and waiting) for someone to tell him he didn't. Sundin was sitting in Lotus position in front of an extremely complex and grand shrine, composed of a complete set of trolls and his favourite pairs of slippers, among other things. And Domi was searching, frantically searching...
"Where the hell is my luffa?!" he roared like an angry rhinosaurus.
"Your what?" asked the European contigent of the team.
"My luffa!!" replied Domi, looking distraught. "It's a fluffy pink thing you use in the shower."
"Sounds kinda kinky," commented Belfour, moving a little closer to Domi.
"I don't get it," whined Andropov.
"Here," said Belak, reaching into his bag and pulling one out in powder blue. "It's like this, only pink. It's for exfoliating. Makes your skin soft. Feel."
As Andropov stroked Belak's hand, his eyes lit up. "I get it. Thanks Wade. Hey, you're skin is really soft. Guys, come feel Wade's skin. It's very supple."
Belfour sprinted across the room.
"Can we get back to my luffa?!" yelled Domi. "I still can't find it! I'm not taking a shower without it, and I'm not going outside without a shower."
The rest of the team burst out laughing. "Good luck!" called Sundin, as they filed out of the dressing room.
**************************************
Chapter Two - In which McCabe doesn't cover Domi in whipped cream, Corson chortles, and the Leaf's dressing room smells like baby powder.
The next morning, McCabe, Corson, and Tucker were the first to arrive at practice. They entered the dressing room to find it in shambles and Domi lying on the floor.
"Dude!" exclaimed Corson. "You think he's drunk?"
"Don't be so insensitive," scolded McCabe. "It's the luffa. He cried himself to sleep. Poor little muffin."
"Aw..." cooed Tucker
"Muffin?" chortled (yes, chortled) Corson. Tucker punched him in the face.
"Nice!" said McCabe.
Just then, Domi woke up. "Where am I?" he asked, confused. Then, looking close to tears again, "where's my luffa?"
"Sh..." said McCabe, kneeling down beside Domi. "We'll help you find it, muffin. But unil we do, no one's going to make you have a shower."
"But... but... I'll smell," whined Domi.
"I can help you out with that," said McCabe. He stood up. "Stand back,' he cautioned Tucker. He pulled out a can of spray deodorant.
"What, are you going to cover him in whipped cream?" "joked" Corson. Tucker stepped on his neck.
"Whipped cream?" asked Belfour excitedly, appearing out of absolutely nowhere.
McCabe rolled his eyes, and began to spray Domi with his deodorant.
"Thanks, man," said Domi, as McCabe helped him up.
"Hey..." said Renberg, wandering in. "Smells like baby powder in here."
The stupidity continues... McCabe has babypowder scented foot deodorant.
********************************************
Chapter Three - In which Sundin flings off the towel of myster, Mogilny is the only one who understands, and Colaiacovo sucks at something else.
Half an hour later, Sundin was hovering outside the door to the Leaf's dressing room, counting players. He'd been there for twenty minutes.
"Hey," said Lumme, entering the change room. "You going in?"
"In a minute," said Sundin. "You're the last one. I just want to make a dramatic entrance."
"Oh," said Lumme. "Makes sense."
A minute later, Sundin burst into the change room, carrying a large box. It was covered in a towel, and shrouded in mystery. It was that mystery that made the rest of the team fall completely silent. "Is that my towel?" asked Corson. Tucker punched him in the face.
And so they were, in complete silence, for several minutes. Sundin stood in the centre of the room, poised to fling off the towel, while the rest of the team sat, waiting.
"Uh, Mats," said Mogilny. "I don't want to ruin anything, but are you going to fling off that mysterious towel and show us what's in the box?"
"Thank you!" said Sundin sarcastically. "Oh, Lexi," he sighed. "You're the only one that understands." With that, he flung off the mysterious towel.
The team gave a great collective gasp. Colaiacovo sucked at gasping and choked. But the rest gave spectacular gasps, because of what was in the box...
************************************
Chapter Four - In which Filipo makes a grand entrance, Renberg knows quite a bit about West Africa, and Mogilny knows how to make everything better
In the box was an ugly giant - a Yeti perhaps - of a lobster.
"What the hell is that?" asked Kidd, shocked.
"This," said Sundin, puffed up with pride, "is Filipo."
"What prompted you to buy that..." began Mogilny, "that... Filipo."
"Giant lobsters are good luck in Dijibouti," said Sundin. "I figured I needed some luck, so I bought Filipo. He'll be the new centerpeice of my shrine."
At this, Renberg started laughing hysterically. And I mean hysterically. He rolled around on the floor, tears streaming down his face, cackling like a hyena.
"What is it?" demanded Sundin, kicking Renberg in the ribs.
"Ow..." whined Renberg. "It's just that... Dijibouti means valley of hell. You bought something that is good luck in the valley of hell. This lobster is Satan." The rest of the team joined him in hysterical laughter.
"Huh?" said Miro Satan, suddenly walking by (which was not all that strange, because they were playing the Sabres.)
"Go away," yelled Sundin, visibly distraught. "I hate you all!" he gently set down Filipo and ran from the room in tears.
"Guys..." said Mogilny. "You're so insensitive. Tucker, you know what to do." Mogilny went after Sundin, as Tucker went around the room, methodically punching everyone.
"Mats," called Mogilny, as he reached Sundin. Sundin was sitting on the floor outside the dressing room, sobbing.
"They all hate Filipo," he cried. "And they should. I bought a lobster from hell, and now I'm going to lose, and everyone will hate me. You hate me, don't you, Alex?"
"I could never hate you," Mogilny said. "And I think your hell Lobster, I mean, Filipo, is a good thing. He'll make you tough, so no one will make fun of your fights anymore. There's nothing wrong with being a little bad, Mats."
"Amen to that!" called Belfour from somewhere.
Mats wiped his nose on his jersey. "You really think so, Lexi?"
"Uh-huh. I think everything's going to be just fine."
************************************
Chapter Five - In which the Leafs win, Domi makes a decision, and giraffe-boy makes a devastating discovery.
The Leafs poured into the dressing room, ecstatic and slightly shocked. THEY HAD JUST BEATEN THE RED WINGS. Sundin had played with greated skill and attitude than ever before, and Belfour had jumped throught the firey bagel of victory (gotten a shutout.) Everyone was happy.
Except for Domi. In a corner, he whined to anyone who would listen, which meant, at this time, no one. Realising no one was listening, he decided to get their attention. "Guys!" he yelled. Everyone stopped. "I have something important to say. I sucked this game, and it was because of the Luffa. I couldn't concentrate, my pores were so clogged. I need to find it. Now, I last had it here, in Detroit, so this is where we have to start. Who's with me?"
"I am!" squeaked Colaiacovo.
"No."
"I'll go," said McCabe.
"Me to," added Belak. "I know how important Luffas are to us tough guys. It's like, everyone thinks I'm so hard, that I can take anything, but really, I'm a sensitive guy."
"I know," said McCabe. "When people make fun of my hair... it hurts..."
"Sundin!" said Andropov. "Sundin!"
"What is it, Nikki?" barked Sundin. "I'm learning how to be tough but soft. Shut the hell up!!"
"No, really, it's about your lobster."
"Don't call him a lobster!! He has a name. FILIPO!! How would you like it if I called you... Giraffe-boy! There. Hey, guys, as captain of the team, I declare that we must all call Nikki giraffe-boy from now on."
"Okay," chorused everyone.
"Now, giraffe-boy, you have something to say about Filipo?" asked Sundin.
"Yes," said giraffe-boy. "He's gone."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" yelled Sundin, because, as giraffe-boy said, FILIPO WAS GONE!
**************************************
Chapter Six - In which I pare down the cast so as not to feel guilty for leaving people out, Mogilny acts with great dignity, and Domi illustrates very poor use of logic
"This is it!" yelled Sundin. "I know who stole him. It was none other than Satan himself." He was pacing in front of the rest of the team, like the chief in a cop drama. "Now, the Sabres have already left for Colorado. I'll have to go after them. We're playing the Thrashers next. What I'm going to do is assemble a team of elite spies to go with me to Colorado. The rest of you can take some OHL players and go play in Atlanta."
"Lexi," he said. "My right hand man. I'd be lost with out you." Mogilny nodded with great dignity, and joined Sundin.
"Tucker," he continued. "You punch good."
Tucker shook his head. "Can't do it, Mats. I need to stay, to keep that ass Corson in line." Sundin nodded.
"Giraffe-boy, then," he said, "and Belfour. The four of us will go to Colorado to get Filipo back."
"Wait!" said Domi. "I bet that Satan fellow took my luffa, too. I'll go with you. And McCabe, and Belak. We could bring Colaiacovo for comedic effect, but this is too important."
"On the other hand," remarked Renberg, "if you don't take Colaiacovo, the rest of us are left playing without our captain, assistant captains, and best goalie, and WITH Colaiacovo. I know it's the thrashers, but that'll be tough."
"You're really freaking smart, Mikael," said Sundin. "How about this: for useless hilarity, Corson, Tucker, and Colaicovo will stay here and search for . I like you Renberg. You can come with us, too."
"Sweet," said Renberg.
And with that, our team parted ways. Our elite team of Sundin, McCabe, Mogilny, Domi, Belak, Giraffe-boy, Belfour, and Renberg headed off to Colorado. Green, Corson, and Colaiacovo went to the Red Wing's change room to look for clues. And everyone else, the unimportant players, were faced with the unbearably simple task of rounding up a rag-tag bunch of misfits to beat the Atlanta Thrashers.
**************************
Chapter Seven: In which it is clarified exactly who we hate, and Tucker and
Corson agree on something, but it's only that Colaiacovo is a moron
While these three leafs were heading off on their respective missions, the
author of this story realized that the Sabres and Red Wings had become one, and
that Satan was sort of playing for both teams, and that everything was very
confused in general in that respect. So she wrote a clarifying chapter,
featuring Tucker, Corson, and Colaiacovo.
As Tucker and Corson searched for clues, Colaiacovo stared blankly at an NHL
poster featuring the logos and names of all the teams. While doing this, he had
a revelation. "Hey guys!" he said excitedly, his voice cracking. "Come look at
this."
"What?" demanded Tucker angrily, for Tucker was angry at being stuck with
Corson, his arch-rival, and Colaiacovo, the arch-rival of the rest of Toronto,
when he could have been kicking some Atlanta Thrasher ass.
"Look at this team," said Colaiacovo. "The New Jersey Devils. They have to be
in on it. I think this is a conspiracy between the Sabres, the Red Wings, and
the Devils. Just look at the facts: obviously they're all Satanists, and stole
Filipo to use in their satanic rituals. What we've got on our hands..." he
lowered his voice and made mysterious shift eyes, "is an axis of evil."
"Obviously," said Corson sarcastically, and he and Tucker both started laughing
uncontrollably.
"An Axis of Evil?" asked Tucker, when he regained some degree of composure.
"That is without a doubt the stupidest thing I've ever heard. This mission of
ours is demented. I'm going to Atlanta with the rest of the team to play. Come
on, Corson."
"But guys..." whined Colaiacovo. "This is serious. An Axis of Evil. The other
guys don't know what they're up against. We have to warn them."
Trying really hard not to laugh, Corson said, "you know what, Carlo? You're
right. This is important. But Darcy and I... we're morons. We'd totally screw
this up. So... you'll have to do this yourself."
"We're all counting on you," said Tucker with all the sincerity he could muster.
Colaiacovo nodded gravely.
"I won't let you guys down," he said. "It's time for Carlo Colaiacovo to show
the world what he's really made of." With that, Colaiacovo scampered out of the
dressing room. Tucker and Corson watched him run off. It was only when he
misinterpreted the "pull" sign on a door and was knocked unconscious that they
lost control. The two brothers-in-law, united at last, began to laugh, and kept
laughing for a really freaking long time. Then they went to Atlanta.
******************************
Chapter Eight: In which the guys buy a bus, and their journey begins
"So..." said Mogilny as our heroes (Sundin, Mogilny, McCabe, Domi, Belfour, Belak, Antropov aka Giraffe-boy, and Renberg) left the arena carrying hockey bags full of whatever they may need as the story progresses. "How the hell are we going to get to Colorado, anyway?"
"We could just fly... I'd assume we have some sort of time limit here," said Renberg.
"No," said Sundin. "I don't think so. That seems pretty boring."
"Oh," said Renberg. "Then what do you suggest we do?"
"Let's take a bus!" said McCabe to a chorus of cheers. "A greyhound. It'll be fun."
"Actually..." said Renberg, the only Leaf who hadn't cheered. "I think it'll suck. We'll have to be on the bus with a bunch of weird people, and the driver will be a bastard, and we'll have to keep switching buses. I propose that we buy a bus ourselves."
"Brilliant!" said Belfour. "But we're just eight professional athletes. Where the hell are we going to get the money to buy a bus?"
"I thought of that," said Renberg. "And I stole Reichel's credit card. He's a sucky overpaid bastard, and I think he deserves all the buses we can buy."
"Me too," said Sundin. "You're freakin' brilliant, you know that Mikael? I like you."
Mogilny glared at Renberg, filled with a barely controlled jealous rage.
"Hey!" said Belak. "A shady looking used bus place!" The guys went in, and within fifteen minutes purchased an old tour bus that had once belonged to Brittany Spears.
"I like it!" yelled Antropov with glee, jumping up and down on one of the beds. Belak was hanging his loofa (apparently a better spelling of it) on a hook in the bathroom. When Domi saw it, he began to cry.
"What is it?" asked Belak.
"I miss my loofa so much," Domi sobbed. "You have no idea what my skin is like. I look like Pronger!"
The rest of the guys were shocked. They'd known Domi was upset, maybe a little irrational, but... Pronger? This was way more serious than any of them had thought.
"Listen to me, Tie!" yelled McCabe. "I know you may be upset, but never say anything like that again... I mean - Pronger! What the hell are you thinking? No one will ever look as bad as Pronger. And we're going to find your loofa. You just have to be brave. Now let's get going."
McCabe put on his Metallica CD, and the bus, filled with our players and their varying degrees of sanity, headed west.
*****************************
Chapter Nine: the sex, communism, and rock'n'roll chapter
As the guys drove through Indiana, night fell. "Well, guys," said Sundin, with all his captain authority, "I think we should all go to sleep now."
"But Mats," whined Antropov, who was sitting in the front next to McCabe, "Brian was teaching me how to headbang. Just five more minutes, please…"
"There'll be plenty of time for that tomorrow," counselled Sundin. "But I think we should all go to bed now. Just pull the bus over, Brian."
"No," broke in Mogilny, joining them at the front of the bus. "I'll drive. We'll get there more quickly if we travel at night. It's for the greater good of the team." The other guys looked at each other, and then to Sundin. Unfortunately, it turned out that Sundin's leadership skills only worked when he was giving unimportant instructions. He was at a loss for words.
"It's cool, Alex," said McCabe, pulling the bus over at an especially dark and remote part of the highway. "I'll just drive really fast tomorrow. Or you can. I think Sundin's right."
Mogilny conceded, and the players all took turns changing into their pyjamas. Most of them wore standard leafs pyjama's complete with sleeping bags. McCabe's pjs were extraordinarily egotistic, featuring a pattern of his name, the number 24, and a large and detailed portrait from the neck up.
"What?" asked McCabe, as he unfurled his sleeping bag, with a large picture of him butt checking some guy silk-screened on.
"That's a little self centred, Bryan," Mogilny said critically.
McCabe shrugged and pulled out fuzzy blue slippers with large plastic bobble-head like versions of his head on them.
Belak laughed. "Don't tell me you take that stuff with you on the road."
"Of course not!" replied McCabe, indignant. "I don't take a sleeping bag. I have sheets."
"No fucking way!"
"It's true!" interjected Belfour. "I'm well acquainted with those sheets."
Everyone was looking at each other awkwardly when Mogilny emerged from the small bathroom in his Central Red Army pyjamas. McCabe watched him with great suspicion, but said nothing.
"Okay," said Sundin, who was wearing Ikea pyjamas, because Ikea is the only store in Sweden. "Someone turn out the lights." The guys were sleeping on the floor in their sleeping bags, except for Antropov, who had rather violently claimed Britney Spears' ex-bed.
As soon as it was dark, McCabe whispered to Belak. "Did you notice Mogilny's pyjamas?"
Belak shook his head.
"Central Red Army! It said Central Red Army all over his pyjamas. He's a communist! And those other European guys probably are too. Antropov, and Renberg, and Sundin."
Belak laughed. "I think Sundin's Swedish. It's not all that close to Russia, you know. I really don't think you need to worry." With that, Belak fell asleep, but McCabe stayed awake, watching Mogilny in his evil communist pyjamas, sleeping his evil communist sleep…
Antropov, in his soft bed, was also wide-awake. Belfour, in his rather sexy pjs, was lying next to Antropov's bed.
"Hey, Eddie," whispered Antropov.
"Yeah?"
"Not very comfortable on the floor, is it?"
"No…" said Belfour, a sly smile crossing his lips. "It isn't."
Belfour climbed up on Britney's bed, both hockey players giggling like schoolgirls. "You want to…" asked Belfour slyly.
"Filipo!" called out Sundin in agony, though he was asleep.
Antropov shook his head. "Not yet," he said.
*************************************
Chapter Ten: in which McCabe taps into his artistic side, and the secret EE
handshake is performed, but not described
The next morning, as the guys drove towards the Indiana-Illinois border,
everyone was pissed off. Antropov was pissed off because Belfour had left him
early in the morning and gone back to his sleeping bag, like he was ashamed of
him. Mogilny was pissed off because McCabe was following him around the bus,
and whispering to Belak. Belak was pissed off because he was sick to death of
hearing about how everyone was a communist. McCabe was pissed off because he
doesn't like communists. Sundin and Domi were angry because Filipo and the
loofa still hadn't been found. Renberg was driving.
"Hey guys," said Renberg, after a few hours of driving and listening to everyone
fight. "There's a rink right there. Why don't we go in and skate? Just to
cool off a bit."
Though they were all angry as hell, everyone was impressed by Renberg's
ingenuity. They gathered up their skates and left the bus.
They walked into the nearly empty arena and put on their skates. The arena was
empty except for the eight players. At first, they all skated around angrily,
alone, but soon they were all a little less pissed off. After an hour of so,
Belfour said, "hey, guys, let's go get some crappy arena hot chocolate."
"Cool," said Renberg. "Let's go." All the guys skated off the ice… except for
McCabe.
"You coming Brian?" asked Sundin.
McCabe shook his head. "You guys go ahead. I'll be there in a few minutes."
After the rest of the team had left, he went over to the CD player, and put in a
mix CD. He set it to the appropriate song, and skated to the middle of the ice.
After a dramatic pause, the first notes of the song filled the arena.
I can't stand to fly…
I'm not that naïve…
I'm just out to find…
A better part of me…
McCabe skated around the ice, making dramatic arm movements, and clenching his
fists. Tears stung his eyes. With one motion, he threw off his hoodie to
reveal a ruffled man-blouse, and (because he's that good) through off his jeans.
Underneath, he wore black spandex.
I'm more than a bird
I'm more than a plane
I'm more than some pretty face beside a train
And it's not easy to be me
As McCabe continued his ice dance, Renberg, Mogilny, and Antropov wandered back
into the rink, holding their hot chocolates. "Dude," said Renberg when he saw
McCabe. They all watched in silence. After a few more verses, Mogilny poked
the other two in the ribs.
"Let's go," he whispered. "And… let's not tell anyone about this."
"Okay," said Renberg. "Secret Eastern European handshake?"
"Right," said Antropov. They performed the secret EE handshake, which, of
course, I cannot describe. Sorry.
***********************************
Chapter Eleven: in which Carlo Colaiacovo continues his quest, and meets a girl
his intellectual level
While McCabe was being all artistic, Colaiacovo was trying to hitchhike after
the guys, to warn them about the Axis of Evil. Being Colaiacovo, he hadn't been
picked up. He'd expected that the few Ontario licence plates he saw around
Detroit might be a bit more sympathetic. But they weren't. In fact, those cars
seemed to enjoy tormenting the poor bastard most, slowing down as if they were
going to pick him up, and then speeding away.
As he stood by the road looking dejected, a large bus stopped, and a young
woman dressed in contemporary punk style poked her head out.
"Hey skater boy," she said, wrinkling her cute little nose.
"I'm so glad you stopped," squeaked Colaiacovo. "I'm Carlo. I'm headed to
Colorado to warn the maple leafs about the Axis of Evil. They're going to find
Domi's loofa and Filipo. That's Sundin's lobster."
During this little speech, the girl's eyes glazed over. She snapped out of it.
"Damn, Carlo, why you have to go and make things so complicated?" she whined.
"You're cute. I'm Avril Lavigne. Don't you think I'm cute, too?"
Colaiacovo nodded his dumb little head like the eager little puppy he is and
got in the bus.
********************************
Chapter Twelve: in which Antropov learns to respect the emu, Domi takes a turn
for the worse, and Belak's uncle is weird
After their little ice rink adventure, the guys drove west some more.
Somewhere in northwest Wisconsin, Belak suddenly exclaimed, "Turn here!"
"Okay," said Renberg and turned down a dirt road.
"Jeebus Christ, Renberg," teased Sundin. "Don't you have any free will?"
"Renberg - no free will" wrote McCabe in his secret spy notebook. He put it
back in his shoe, and looked around suspiciously, but no one had noticed.
"Damn, guys," whined Mogilny. "We can't just follow what one person says.
Whatever happened to teamwork?"
"Stop fighting, guys!" interrupted Antropov. "Look where we're going." They
all looked out the windows to see a large sign:
Emu Farm
Dale Belak, proprietor
"My uncle Dale has this great Emu farm!" explained Belak. "Actually, I haven't
been there in a few years, but…"
"Emu farm…" said Antropov dreamily. "I can't believe I'm actually going to
visit an emu farm.
"Hey, Domi!" called Sundin. Domi was huddled on Spears' bed, rocking back and
forth gently. "We're going to an Emu farm!"
"Loofa?" answered Domi excitedly. "A loofa farm? I always knew I'd find the
source! Excellent." (He did the little finger thing and said it in a Mr. Burns
voice, in case it isn't obvious enough for you.)
No one could think of an appropriate response, so the comment went more or less
ignored. Soon, they turned into the farm. Instantly, herds of emus tried to
get up to their bus, stopped only by fences.
"Those things look pretty evil," said McCabe nervously. "I think I'll just
stay in the bus."
"Good idea," agreed Sundin. "They're hideous."
Domi and Antropov both had their faces pressed up against the windows.
"Look at them," mumbled Domi, drooling with anticipation. "Those are the
biggest loofas I've ever seen. They're beautiful."
Antropov bounced around the bus with excitement. "Let me out, let me out, let
me out!" he chirped. "Those things are so freaking cool. I wanna go see them."
"Nikki," said Belak sombrely, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Emus are cool
as ass, but they aren't something to be toyed with. They are a proud and noble
species. Respect, man."
"Right, right, respect," repeated Antropov. The bus pulled up in front of the
farmhouse and the players got out, except for Domi, who they'd locked up in the
bedroom for his own good.
"Dude," said Belfour, because Belfour hadn't spoken in quite some time.
"Uncle Dale!" said Belak to a farmer walking towards them. "It's me, Wade!
And I've brought some friends along, from my hockey team."
"Oh, right…" said Dale. "I've still got a picture of you with your team… the
El Torro's Boy Wonders."
"Actually, Uncle Dale, that was when I was seven. I play for a different team
now. The… um… Toronto Maple Leafs."
"Well, good for you son! Your mother might have called me to tell me that my
own nephew made the Maple Leafs. But no! Jan never goes out of her way for
anyone…" the old man trailed off, and walked back to the farmhouse.
"Uh… I think that's about it," said Belak. "No one in my family likes Uncle
Dale much. You want to take a look at the emus?"
The guys walked out to the emu fields, Antropov skipping ahead, while others,
like McCabe trailed behind nervously. They all watched from a distance as
Antropov approached the emu. They could here that strange beat coming from
their necks, like the gino beats that are often heard around Woburn C.I.,
coincidently.
Everyone watched in amazement as Antropov and the emu stood perfectly still,
staring one another in the eyes. Then, slowly, Antropov brought his hands up,
and snapped, then moved his head smoothly to the left. The emu watched,
confused. Antropov snapped again and went right. This time, the emu followed.
They stayed there for a good five minutes doing that cool little head thing.
"That's pretty damn amusing," commented Sundin. There was a general consensus
that yes, it was. No one noticed Belfour's tears of relationship angst, caused
by Antropov's excessive cuteness.
***********************************
Chapter 13: In which another 5 Leafs are involved in the zaniness, Tucker kills
Corson, and Akiberg is so cool.
By the way, the Leafs, or what was left of them, HAD beaten the Thrashers. They
had a few days off before their next game, because... um... the next couple of
teams they were supposed to play were all sick. Yes, sick. They had...
malaria. That's it.
Anyway, Green, Tucker, and Corson were hanging out after the game when Tucker's
cell phone rang.
"Darcy, Darcy!" squeaked an unmistakably annoying little voice. "It's me! I'm
heading to Colorado on Avril Lavigne's tour bus to warn everyone about the Axis
of Evil and Avril Lavigne already "wrote" a song about me, and... that's it."
"Oh," said Tucker. "Good luck with all that." And he hung up.
"Who was that?" asked Green.
"Colaiacovo," replied Tucker. "The crazy little bastard's gone off to Colorado
to warn everyone about the "Axis of Evil." Apparently, the Red Wings, the
Devils and the Sabres are all conspiring against us or something. He's in Avril
Lavigne's tour bus."
"Avril Lavigne!" exclaimed Green. "I hate her so much… aaaaahhh!!!!" Out of
pure, inexpressible rage, Green threw himself on the ground and began screaming
and pounding the ground with his fists. Corson chuckled.
"That's odd," commented Aki Berg as he walked by with Robert Reichel. "What's
going on?"
"Darcy mentioned Avril Lavigne, and Travis started this little temper tantrum,"
said Corson. "It really is quite strange."
"Yes…" said Reichel coolly. "You know what? Those bastards, Sundin and McCabe
and them, they took my credit cards. Look at this…" He took out his credit
card bill. "A bus, a ton of spray deodorant, a bunch of souvenirs from an emu
farm gift shop, and… I don't even want to guess what you'd buy at a place called
"
"Yeah, that sounds like them," said Corson.
"You know," said Tucker, "the thing that really confuses me-"
"Um… guys…" Green cut him off. He had stopped screaming, and was now just
lying on the ground. "Remember my whole mysterious Avril Lavigne induced temper
tantrum?"
"Oh. Right. Go on then," said Tucker coolly.
"I hate Avril Lavigne so much. You know why? She was the greatest country
singer ever - or at least she was going to be. I remember watching her open for
Garth Brooks… she was so cool. And then she sold out. Started playing that
pop-punk shit. It just… it hurts."
Corson started laughing again Tucker put him in a headlock, making it
impossible for him to breathe.
"So… guys," said Tucker. "I think we all know what we need to do here.
Reichel needs his credit cards, and Green needs to get revenge on Avril Lavigne.
I'm bored, and I want to kick some ass, and I can't leave Corson alone. Aki
Berg is from Finland."
"So?" asked Reichel.
"Say it… Aki Berg from Turku, Finland. It sounds funny. And I like Finnish
people."
Reichel repeated it under his breath. "Fair enough," he said. "Let's go."
"Hey Aki…" said Tucker. "Who are you and where are you from?"
"I'm Aki Berg from Turku, Finland."
Everyone started laughing. Tucker laughed so hard he dropped Corson. Corson
lay on the ground, unconscious and not breathing.
"Crap," said Tucker.
************************************
Chapter 14: in which a stop in Warroad is considered, Antropov and McCabe have
rockstar skills (but Belak doesn't (and he can't talk)), and Renberg hopes that
soup will solve everything
So, the guys were still driving through Minnesota. And if they weren't driving
through Minnesota, they are now. But that isn't important. The important
thing is the sign that McCabe noticed out the window as he drove.
"Hey, guys," he said. "Look at that. Warroad Minnesota, Hockey-town USA!"
"Let's stop!!" said Antropov excitedly. "I've always wanted to see Warroad,
Minnesota."
"You have not!" Domi yelled. "You're just trying to stop me from finding my
loofa. You bastard."
"Damn communist," muttered McCabe angrily.
"He's got a point," said Sundin. "I mean, we have to find his loofa and my
Filipo, and get back to playing hockey relatively soon, right? This league-wide
athlete's foot outbreak can't last that long."
"I thought it was malaria," said Renberg.
"I heard yellow fever…" said Mogilny suspiciously. "Oh, well. Whatever the
strange disease that has mysteriously infected the entire NHL except us is,
Sundin's right. We have to work fast."
"You guys don't get it," said Antropov. "You don't understand what Warroad
means to me. Gather around." McCabe pulled over the bus, and everyone got out.
They built a campfire (because they were in a desert in Minnesota so it was
safe) and gathered around Antropov. Belak pulled out an acoustic guitar.
"I wasn't really planning on singing it," said Antropov. "But… thanks."
Belak muttered something utterly incomprehensible. Really, no one had a
freaking clue what he said.
"What?" asked Renberg.
Belak said something in his garbled little Belak-speak, which sounded
absolutely nothing like what he had said before.
"What the hell is wrong with him?" asked Renberg.
"I guess… I guess we can incorporate a musical element, then," said Antropov.
"Just… yeah…" Belak began to strum his guitar.
And so, Antropov began his story:
"When I was a young boy, growing up in Kazakhstan,
So poor, no skates, on ice I ran,
I dreamed at night of a magical game,
A game without a Kazakh name,
And one day from…"
Antropov paused dramatically, and his eyes lit up as he whispered with great
reverence, "America."
"I was sent a gift, of clothes and food,
It was so nice. I was like, 'dude.'
Best of all, there was a shirt.
This shirt was so damn cool it hurt.
'Twas pink, with a map and a star
Now kick in the hard rock guitar
Because that shirt, it said…"
Keeping in mind that Antropov had been taking headbanging lessons from McCabe,
he then jumped up and began to screech like that ACDC guy, "Warroad, Minnesota…
Warroad, Minnesota…" This took everyone by surprise, especially Belak, who is
really the quiet, folky type when it comes to music and never actual managed to
kick in the hard rock guitar. Of course, McCabe more than made up for it with
his ass-kicking air guitar moves.
They sat down again, and it was only then that they realized that Belfour was
gone. "He's probably in the bus," said Mogilny. "Someone go get him. We want
this to be a complete consensus decision."
As the other guys tried to recover from Antropov's awesome display of rockstar
skills, Renberg went into the bus. To his surprise, he saw Belfour looking out
the window towards the other guys and crying.
"What's up?" asked Renberg, trying to maintain that balance between manliness
and sensitivity.
"It's Nikki," said Belfour. "Look at him. He's so adorable."
"Dude," said Renberg. "We all know about you two. Really, it's no big deal.
I mean… the age difference is a little creepy, and I don't know what Don Cherry
would say, but you're with friends here. You don't have to worry about hiding
anything."
"You don't get it," said Belfour sullenly.
"What?" asked Renberg.
"I'm not gay," said Belfour. "I'm as straight as a ruler. I just enjoy…
experimentation. But Nikki is different. Nikki loves me, and I want to love
him, too. But I can't. I'm…" Belfour burst out sobbing. "I'm ashamed of my
heterosexuality," he wailed.
Renberg really couldn't think of an answer, so he made some soup, and hoped
everything would fix itself. Unfortunately, he had a sneaking suspicion that
the many problems facing the team were too big for a cup of instant soup to
solve…
*********************************
Chapter 15: a brief and un-funny chapter to check up on all the unimportant
players
While the Warroad debate raged in song form and Renberg finished off the
instant chicken noodle, Green, Berg, Reichel, and Tucker's mission had been
derailed slightly by Shayne Corson's apparent death. If you recall, Tucker had
just said, "crap."
Everyone else was speechless, as they were joined by the rest of the team.
"Oh my god!" said McCauley. "You killed Corson!"
"That is really freaking inappropriate," said Tucker. "Jesus, my wife is
going to kick my ass!"
"Um… guys…" said Kaberle, checking Corson's pulse. "He isn't dead."
"Guys, this is really bad," said Green. "Our careers could all be over. So…
let's just pretend no one saw anything, okay?"
"Okay," said everyone.
"But he isn't dead!" exclaimed Kaberle. "He's got a pulse, he just isn't
breathing. Are you listening to me? He isn't dead, but he will be soon if we
don't call an ambulance!"
By this time, the rest of the team had walked away, leaving Kaberle alone with
Corson's near-corpse. Kaberle was torn between doing the right thing and not
being left alone to defend himself in New Jersey. He went running after the
rest of the team.
*********************************
Chapter 16: in which they enter Warroad, you see what happens when a vegetarian
tries to write about a butcher shop, and Belak is abducted by aliens!!!!!!!!!!!
(i think that deserves every one of those eleven exclamation marks, don't you?)
With that rather unpleasant chapter out of the way (and I do apologize for it)
we return to our boys just outside Warroad. In fact, they had decided that it
was best to go to Warroad, and were currently just outside the town, and heading
in fast.
"Warroad, Warroad, Warroad, Warroad!!" yelled Antropov, running around the bus
excitedly. He bounced up to where McCabe was driving, "Drive faster, Cabe!!
We're going too slowly!"
"We're going 100 miles an hour, you communist idiot. You want to get out and
run?"
Antropov began to nod his head violently, giving him the appearance of a small,
dumb puppy. McCabe opened the door, and Antropov got out. Of course, McCabe
was expecting Antropov to fall behind the speeding bus, but he'd underestimated
the young Russian's excitement. Antropov raced off in front of the bus towards
Warroad. He ran through the town, not looking at anything, until he hit the
middle, the town square. There, he stopped, and looked around with wide eyes,
at the wonder that was Warroad. Then, maybe from the pure joy of the moment, or
his total exhaustion, he flopped down on the snow, content that he was lying in
Warroad, breathing the Warroad air, and looking up at the big blue Warroad sky.
Meanwhile, the rest of the guys drove into Warroad and were highly unimpressed.
They decided to split up. McCabe, Renberg, and Sundin wanted to go get
something to eat, and went to a quaint local diner. Proving that Antropov
didn't have complete control of his confused heart, Belfour headed to the quaint
local porn shop. Domi decided to visit the butcher shop, while Belak and
Mogilny headed off in their own mysterious directions.
Domi walked into the butcher's shop.
"What can I get you?" asked a kindly old butcher, with the nametag "Pete." His
hands were covered in blood from the slaughtering, stabbing, slicing, etc. he'd
been doing to slabs of various dead animals. Which, in retrospect, made him
look considerably less kindly.
"I don't know," said Domi. "What do you have to heal a broken heart."
"Here," said the butcher. "Have some beef jerky."
"Thanks," said Domi. He ate the beef jerky, which was utterly, utterly
disgusting, because I can't imagine beef jerky being anything but that.
Actually, he thought it tasted pretty good, it just WAS disgusting.
"So, you want some advice on that broken heart?" asked Pete.
"Sure," said Domi, as he tore off a bit of jerky with his back teeth. "Waddaya
got?"
"I've got a philosophy in life," said Pete. "It's damn good, too. I'm
thinking about writing a book. Here it is: just be glad you aren't the meat.
When I think being a butcher sucks, I just tell myself "be glad you aren't the
meat, Pete.""
Domi looked around at the various bloody entrails and other gross meaty stuff
around the shop. "Be glad you aren't the meat," he repeated to himself. He
smiled. "Thanks, Pete," he said, and skipped out of the shop.
Domi ran through the streets, screaming, "I AM PETE, MAN OF MEAT!" at the top
of his lungs. Never before had he felt so alive. He was freeeeeeeeeeeeee!!
Free from the pain, free from the worry, free from his reliance on that damn
loofa! He ran through the town square just as Antropov stood up, and ran into
him. They both fell down in the snow and began laughing and playing like small
children.
Belfour watched, his heart somewhere between despair and utter rage. He forced
himself to swallow it down, and went over to join them, just as Renberg, Sundin,
and McCabe came back from lunch.
"I wonder where Alex and Wade are," said McCabe.
"Alex is down at the rink," said Antropov, as he stood up, covered in snow.
"You mean… Comrade Alex?!" yelled McCabe. Antropov, not being very bright,
didn't really get it, but believe me… Renberg did.
"Let's go down and pick him up," said Sundin. "Wade's probably with him."
They all got in the bus and drove down to the local outdoor rink, where Mogilny
was skating alone. Wearing, McCabe noticed, his old Central Red Army jersey.
"Hey guys," said Mogilny, skating over. "Are we leaving?"
"As soon as we find Wade," said Belfour. "Have you seen him?"
"I told him to come back here and meet me when it was time to go, but I don't
know where he went."
"We'll just wait here for him," said Renberg. "He'll probably show up soon
enough."
But, for once, Renberg was horribly, horribly wrong!! They waited for hours,
and Belak never returned. Night fell, and they began to worry.
Finally, just past 2 a.m. Wade Belak appeared across the rink, suddenly,
somewhat illuminated. He walked over, and went up to the bus. He looked shaken
and even paler than usual, which was really, really creepy.
"What happened?" asked Sundin, as they all scrambled out of the bus to kick
Belak's ass.
"Um… I was abducted by aliens," said Belak. "Really. I was just walking
around, and they picked me up in their spaceship. They wanted me to go fight
some space war or something, I don't really know what that was about, so I
kicked all their asses and made them let me down."
"Wow," said Sundin.
"Hey," said Renberg. "You can talk again."
"Oh, yeah, I tried to tell you guys about that, but… you know," said Belak.
"When I go more than a few days without beating people up, my brain gets kinda
weird and I start talking all funny. I'm okay now."
"Oh."
"That really was quite an adventure," said Belak. "You should have seen me
beat up those aliens. It was pretty sweet."
"So… did you get probed?" asked Belfour.
"How far did those aliens take you?" asked Antropov.
"Jeebus Christ, you guys are worse than reporters," said Belak. "I'll tell you
all about it on the bus."
"Okay," said Sundin. "You feeling okay after all that alien fighting and
such?"
"Actually," said Belak. "I think I'm going to puke."
"Oh," said Renberg. "Hang on a second, okay?" Renberg ran into the bus and
fetched a hockey glove, and then ran back out.
"Here," he said, handing it to Belak.
"That is disgusting!" groaned Sundin. "I thought you were going to get a
bucket or something. A hockey glove? That's just nasty… whose is it?"
"Reichel's," replied Renberg smugly. "I brought it along just for this
purpose."
"You are a sick, sick man, Mikael Renberg," said Sundin.
During this conversation, Belak had been vomiting in Renberg's hockey glove.
He finished and put it down in the snow. Antropov threw the other one out the
window. Belak felt much better, and they drove on, determined to reach Colorado
by the next evening. As the bus rolled on in the early hours of the morning, a
young boy stepped on to the rink in hockeytown USA. It was a crisp, beautiful
winter morning. He was just ready to start practicing when he saw a pair of
sweet looking hockey gloves, just lying there in the snow. He could have been
one of the greatest players… one of the greatest names… in the most incredible
game on earth. But, needless to say, he never played hockey again. What's your
dream?
***********************************
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