Thursday, December 25, 2008

Thrashers Christmas Carol Pt 3

Still shaking from his other-worldly experiences in the night and morning, Don Waddell tried his best to go through his daily routine. His mind kept wandering back to the empty, playoff-less arena shown to him by the Ghost of Thrashers Seasons Past. Intending to retrieve a copy of Ondrej Pavelic's contract so he could re-work it to make his salary dependent on the number of saves he makes in the first period against Boston in future seasons, he found himself instead staring at the lost fax that would have retained Rob Zepp's rights- obviously saving the franchise by securing the next Patrick Roy.

Waddell made it through the day with his distracted state doing little to interfere with his routines, and eventually he made his way to Philips arena for the evening's game against the Hurricanes. Arriving over two hours early for the game, the GM passed through the media entrance, down the hallway, and into the Thrashers locker room.

To his surprise, the light switch did not illuminate the room, and a chill swept into the dark as his eyes adjusted. At this point, he knew what was to come next.

"Ok, come on out, Ghost of Thrashers Season Present. Let's get this over with." he called.

"Actually, Don, it's just me," replied Coach John Anderson as he stepped into the glow of the emergency exit lights. "The Ghost of Thrashers Season Present called in sick and asked me to fill in, so here I am."

With that, Anderson suddenly swung a Koho goalie stick overhand and whacked Waddell over the head.

"OUCH! What the hell was that for?"

"I've been trying to send you a message all season and you've entirely missed it, so I decided I'd try just hitting you over the head to see if I can jog anything loose in there."

"Do you think I have Chris Thorburn and Marty Reasoner playing on a line with Kovalchuck because they earned the chance? It was the most obvious way I could think of to show you that WE HAVE NO ONE WHO CAN PLAY WITH KOVY!!! You have one superstar, and absolutely no one to support him. The only forward on the team who even deserves to be on the ice with him is Kozlov, and he plays the same position! How the hell did you expect me to forge a winning team with this crop of losers?"

Waddell became defensive, pointing his finger in Anderson's face like he thought he was Harrison Ford. "I drafted Bryan Little, you ingrate! And I signed Todd White! They are leading this team in scoring! How's that for giving you winning forwards?"

"Little has a lot of promise, but belongs on the second line, where I have him. White's putting the biscuit in the basket more than anybody else on this team, but that's like being the homeless guy who finds the best Tim Hortons dumpster rations.

Anderson hit a button on a remote control and a video screen shone to live in the darkness. On it, Waddell saw video clips of Marion Hossa scoring goal after goal for the Detroit Red Wings, then of Pascal Dupuis scoring and assisting on goals for the Pittsburgh Penguins. Then an NHL Network commercial featuring Braydon Coburn took their place.

Without a word, Anderson hit another button and the video screen disappeared into the dark. Nearby, a single light came on, illuminating the a player's locker. Anderson led Waddell over and picked up the player's jock strap.

"Smell this," Anderson instructed.

"What!?!? Are you out of your mind? That's disgusting!" Waddell exclaimed.

Without warning, Anderson shoved the garment into Waddell's face, covering his mouth and nose. Waddell gasped and recoiled, horrified, then paused.

"Thank God, it was clean. You're still an asshole."

"Yes, but do you know WHY it was clean, Don? Look at whose locker it is."

And Waddell looked at the nameplate over the locker. The name Christiansen was etched on its face.

"It's clean, because this guy you got in exchange for Marion Hossa - or did you get Armstrong for Hossa and Crusher for Dupuis - can't crack the lineup. And Angelo Esposito may never play an NHL game, much like Alex Bourret that you took with a first round draft pick."

"Ok, ok, you've made your point. But it's up to you to get all of the offensive talent of out guys like Christiansen and Reasoner and Thorburn that all of their previous coaches neglected. All I have to do is bring them in."

"Don, I think you should leave now before I begin hitting you over the head with the stick again."

Stay tuned for the final installment coming soon.


Anonymous said...

It is spelled Marian. Not Marion.


Big Shooter said...

Thanks for pointing that out. I love it when a mistake is pointed out in a wonderfully entertaining post.

Anonymous said...

It's not a mistake if it's done multiple times, and it has been spelled that way here before in the past.

Razor Catch Prey said...

We have the patience to look up the correct spelling of Thrashers players. When they no longer play for Atlanta, they get their name spelled like Maid Marion. And if that's the only thing you find wrong with this story, you have more problems than my friend whose only problem with Transformers was that Megan Fox ended up with Shia LeBoeuf. And no, I don't care if that's spelled right, either.