#Everyone’s always asking WHO is Connor McDavid on the inside

[stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu]

Watching Connor McDavid during interviews is always such an interesting exprience. On one hand is so funny, cause he always looks about five seconds away from killing himself or crying, and there’s like never an in between.

On the other hand, it’s like so sad. He’s literally so tired, since he gets asked the same three questions a billion times. He never really looks fully there during those post game interviews, especially when Edmonton was a wreck like three weeks ago.

I love watching his interviews, but it’s always such a conflicting mix of emotion. But then I guess that is just the Connor McDavid Experience™️

[hockeyblogg]

you’re all I want - f.andersen

a/n: bringing this back, one of my first Freddie writings that was totally inspired by this picture and the all stars in general. sorry that I haven’t written anything in a long while, I always get super busy for some reason, but hope you enjoy this one !!

warnings: insecure freddie.

You sat on the bench, looking up and watching as Freddie taped his stick.

He had asked if you wanted to attend the NHL All Star weekend and of course you weren’t going to turn him down, but what you hadn’t expected was for him to keep you at his side the entire time. When he was doing media; he had asked if you could stay behind the scenes, when he was meeting with all the other players; he was introducing you to them as well, and now when he finally got to the locker room where everyone was preparing for the skills competition; he asked if you could stay with him until it was time to get dressed. 

You didn’t want to seem like the clingy girlfriend and also be the only girlfriend in the room, so you were about to turn it down and tell Fred that you could just go find his family and sit down with them as you waited, but after seeing a couple of other wives and girls go in, you decided to stay with Freddie.

And you’re kind of glad for that decision.

You watched as he bit his lip in concentration, his eyes focused solely on his stick. You took this time to take him all in; the way the hair on his face was slightly scruffy, his moustache shorter than his beard. You looked at his eyebrows and how they were scrunched together, causing the wrinkle in his forehead to cease more.

You watched his hands and how they worked, how much more bigger they were compared to yours but let’s be honest; everything about this man was much more bigger than you, and you smile at the fact that he’s yours.

Those thoughts don’t last long though, you’re knocked out of them by the calling of your name, and considering you only know two other people in this locker room, you know it’s either Mitch or Auston.

You turn your head and when you catch Mitch’s stare, he’s smiling and waving you over, “C’mere a sec!” You look back at Freddie and he softly smiles, gesturing to his teammate, “Go on then elskede.” Standing up, you walk up to the two boys, “What’s up?”

“Figured you were a little bored, you wanna help me tape my stick?” You merely nod and he hands you the piece of wood, “Just hold it there while I do the top...”

You watched carefully as he taped the top of his stick and you noticed that it was different from the way Fred does his, “Are all sticks different?” you find yourself asking, and Mitch raises his brow, “like taping?” he nods and bites off the end, smoothing it down with his thumb.

“I mean, some are the same way, like the top part, but most of the bottoms are different, especially with goalies, since their sticks are bigger and thicker.” You nod along at his words, “are players picky about their sticks, or is it any way every game?” he flips his stick and leans on it, “well, some players are really suspicious and try to get it right every time, but others; like myself, it doesn’t really matter.”

“here, you try.” he hands you the tape this time, and you shake your head, “No no, I don’t want to mess your stick up.” Mitch simply laughs, “Like I said Y/N, I'm not too picky, go ahead.” You hesitantly took the tape from his hands and he slowly shows you how to do it.

You’re on your last wrap around and Mitch gently smoothes it down, taking his stick back and inspecting it, “This is a great job Y/N.” You make a face, “You don't have to lie.” He laughs, “No really, this is great...” he turns around and taps Auston on the shoulder, “Hey Aus, look at Y/N’s tape job, it’s her first one.” Auston comes around and nods his head, “Hey look at that, that’s amazing.” 

“Really?” You ask suspiciously and they nod their heads, “Yeah, here look, just ask the guys.” Auston tells you and brings a few of the other players over to take a look at it. Pretty soon, Jack Eichel, Travis Konecny, Mat Barzal, and Connor McDavid himself are all praising your work. 

“That’s really great for a first time, might be better than all of ours.”

“Are you sure you did that and not Mitch?”

“Who knows, maybe she’s the one doing all of Mitch’s tape.”

“I’m not even that good.”

Mitch was happy his friends were playing along, if he was being honest, there were some lumps here and there and he knew that he would actually have to redo it, but he didn't want you to feel bad, especially after he told you it was fine no matter how you did it. He especially didn't want Fred to come after him for making you upset. 

So, he watched as you smiled brightly at the praise, and eventually the conversation turned to the competition, you asking each of the guys which skill they were in and them asking more about you, telling you; any friend of Mitch is a friend of ours.

However, as you were talking with the younger guys, your boyfriend was on the other side of the room with a frown set on his face.

Freddie hated when he got this way, when he felt so, old.

He didn’t mind it at all when he saw you with guys you’re age, he’s not a controlling person, but there’s just something inside that makes him feel guilty, as if he's keeping you from living your life the way he thinks you should be.

Watching them all make you laugh, seeing how well you vibe with them and relate to them, the way he feels he can’t, makes him feel, dare he say it, insecure about his place in your life. You need someone who can converse with you like that, someone who's young, fun, and carefree. Fred’s too old to do the fortnite dances, too old to be speaking in ‘vine talk.’

I mean, he couldn’t even offer you to tape his stick, which would’ve been a young, fun thing to do. Instead, he did it himself because he was too superstitious that he wouldn’t play properly if anyone but him got his equipment ready. Something only the old guys do.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice you're staring and when he hears your footsteps coming toward him, he averts his eyes from the floor to his pads, trying to make it look like he wasn’t just doubting himself.

As soon as you saw his frown and the crease on his forehead, you knew something was bothering him and so you wished all the boys good luck and walked over, sitting beside him and grabbing hand, “You alright bub?” He nods and sits down, undoing all the straps and you place your hand on his cheek, turning his face to look at yours,��“Bub, talk to me.” He stares at you for a second and sighs.

“I just, I'm sorry that I didn't ask if you wanted to tape my stick, I'm sorry if I didn’t notice that you were bored just sitting on the bench-” His words confuse you and you shake your head, causing him to stop, “Fred, I wasn’t bored, and I hadn’t meant to tape Mitch’s stick, he just offered. I’m fine with just watching you get your equipment ready, it’s yours anyway.” He’s still not buying it and you sigh, putting your hand on his knee, “What’s wrong?”

He shrugs, “Every time I see you around people your age, guys your age, I can't help but feel out of place, and it’s not that you can’t hang out with them but I always get this feeling of...” he trails off and you finish for him, “Guilt?” he nods but his eyebrows are furrowed and you huff a laugh, “I feel the same way too Freddie, whenever I see you with people your age, I always feel like I'm a little kid you have to watch over. But, at the end of the day, we have each other to remind ourselves of how much we love each other. I love you so much Fred, I could care less of how old you are. I could care less if you have a ten ‘o’ clock bedtime, if you only watch golf all day, and if you don’t find some memes funny. You’re amazing just the way you are, you’re all I want Freddie.” 

He nods and leans in to place a kiss to your temple, “Thank you elskede, I love you too.” You smile and run your fingers through his hair, “I’m very lucky to have you.” He shakes his head and chuckles, “Darling I think I'm the lucky one.” 

You both sit there as he finishes up with his equipment, glancing at each other and giggling when you catch the other’s eye. Soon after, it’s time for you to leave the room so you wish him luck, and whisper that you love him while connecting your lips. 

Fred watches as you retreat down the hallway and Mitch comes up behind him, “You little sap.” 

[please-say-less]

the roommate (part four)

player: connor mcdavid | edmonton oilers word count: 1, 610 warnings: injury, jealousy author’s note: apologies for the delay in writing, but i feel as thought my writing itself has been lacking lately as i read over my drafts. personally, i don’t want to send out something that’s lackluster, and it’s been an on and off cycle for a while now where i’ll write, re-read it, hate it, and then re-write. tl;dr: oh hi thanks for checking i’m still a piece of gArBaGe

part three | part five

As committed to his parents as he was, not even the captain of the Edmonton Oilers had taken a break when it came to work as everyone headed to Columbus for a single game, only to return to Edmonton the next day. You were standing along the sidelines during warm-ups swiping away at your work phone as notifications poured through on Instagram and Snapchat. Occasionally, you stole quick glances towards the Captain, but you didn’t let your gaze linger too long so as to not arouse any suspicion.

“How does someone as beautiful as you get stuck with Edmonton?”

Your face was quick to heat up, and when you turned around to see who it was, you felt yourself getting hotter, if that was even possible. You opened your mouth to say something back but couldn’t find the words to muster up, so you stared at the boy, mouth embarrassingly ajar.

“I’m Zach,” he introduced himself, chuckling at your nervousness.

He extended his hand out for you to shake it, and you felt absolutely guilty as you admired the smirk on his face. You composed yourself and gave him a questioning look and shrug, as if giving him some sort of response to the question you had dodged earlier. As handsome as he may have been, you felt obligated to defend the team you worked for.

“I’m blessed to be with the Oilers,” you blatantly responded.

Although they weren’t the best team in their division, let alone the NHL, you had to admit that you worked with some of the sweetest boys who all treated you like you were family, something you found tugging at your heartstrings as of lately. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you barely even noticed Seth Jones coming over to scold him for socializing.

You weren’t exactly used to guys hitting on you, so you brushed off the encounter and continued typing away at your device. It wasn’t that you were completely against the idea of dating. It was just difficult to maintain a balance between work and personal life, and with how much time your job consumed, it was obvious where your priorities sat.

The last few days had felt too overwhelming between the long hours at your job and second job as Connor’s girlfriend. You had absolutely no time to yourself, and you were ecstatic at the thought of having the next few days off from one of your jobs. It had been too long since the two of you had done a Netflix and pizza binge.

Biting your lip, you felt yourself becoming giddy at the ideas floating through your head for plans. Midday games were your absolute favorite because it meant that you and Connor had time to spend together instead of going to bed and waking up early to catch the next flight back. You adored away games for the simple fact that no one ever recognized Connor in casual clothing, and you reveled in the anonymity.

“Hey, I figured we could hit up an aquarium,” you offered. “Maybe even catch dinner at a food truck after that, yeah?”

A grunt was your only response. He didn’t even bother to stop, let alone look at you, as he skated by, and you twisted your face in confusion as to why he was being like this all of sudden. As of lately, you could barely deal with his mood swings, and they were only getting worse for some unbeknownst reason. Whatever it was, it was just irritating that it was always you who had to deal with the repercussions.

By the middle of the game, anxiety was slowly eating away at your insides as the first two periods unbearably passed. You’d become so accustomed to Connor’s sweet little gestures that you were on the verge of becoming irate over the attitude that had suddenly washed over him. He was purposely ignoring you, and although you couldn’t wrap your mind around why, you just knew that it had managed to get under your skin. Most of your time was spent scrolling through social media in an attempt to let the storm pass, but you were becoming more and more impatient to a point where you were nearing your wit’s end. You nearly glared a hole straight through him, and he must’ve felt his shoulders getting heavy. His eyes quickly darted back to you for the slightest moment, but the moment was short-lived as you hastily stood up from your seat to call out to him.

“Oh! A nasty hit to McDavid!”

Just as the announcer had stated the obvious to what happened, you felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach as you watched him fall down on the ice after colliding into one of the opponents. Connor was still laying on the ground in the following moments, barely showing signs of movement, and medics were making their way over to him to carry him off the ice. You instantaneously pushed your way through the crowd to find your way to the infirmary in the back.

“Is he okay?” you asked one of the medics standing outside.

“Definitely got the wind knocked out of him, but we’re considering taking him to the hospital just to be sure,” he calmly explained.

Biting your lip, you tried to calm yourself as you walked through the door to see him lying on top of the exam table. He looked completely irritated as the medics were trying to convince him to head to the hospital, but he was adamant about finishing the game.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m good to go back.”

Biting your lip, you put a decent amount of the blame on yourself. Maybe if he hadn’t been looking away, he would’ve seen who he was on the verge of running into, but instead, you just distracted him and caused an injury.

Oh god, it was your fault.

“Stay here, please,” you begged as you walked up to him, placing a hand on his arm. “There’s only three minutes left.”

He felt his resolve crumble at the sight of you pleading, and after heaving a sigh, he leaned back into the pillow, turning his head the other way. As upset as he wanted to be, you knew that he wouldn’t have been able to put up a fight with you.

It was agonizingly long as you sat outside the room, waiting for him to clear with medics, but when you saw him walking out with a sling, you were thankful that he was at least up and walking. You stood and ran up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck but careful to watch out for his injury.

“Please tell me it’s nothing too bad,” you pleaded as you stood back.

“Just a strained shoulder and bruised rib,” he answered. “I’m only out for one game if it heals fast.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, his eyes studied your worried face and felt his heart soften at the sight of your concern.

“I’m just gonna go shower up real quick. Do you wanna wait for me in the locker room?”

You nodded and followed right behind. Everyone had already dispersed which left you sitting by yourself on the benches waiting for Connor. Opening your phone, you scrolled through Facebook to see a video of the accident from the game, and suddenly, you felt your heart sink as soon as his body collided with the other one. As you scrolled through the comments, your uneasiness continued to fester before you finally decided to shut the damn device off.

You barely heard him coming as you saw him walking towards you in just his pair of boxer-briefs with a white towel thrown over his hair and duffel bag in one hand.

“Can you dry my hair for me?” he asked. “I’m having a hard time lifting my arm up without it hurting.”

As you stood up, you didn’t bother to ask how he managed to slip on his underwear with just one hand, but you figured it saved him the embarrassment of having to ask you for help with that one too. You grabbed the towel and ran it vigorously through his golden locks, and he sighed before leaning forward and pressing his head against your belly. Your cheeks heated up from the intimate contact, but you made quick work of his request.

Immediately, you reached over to grab for his button down, but his hand stopped you, insisting that he just wanted to change into sweatpants. His face was beet red from embarrassment at having his own roommate helping him get dressed, but it was the lesser of two evils than having to deal with the pain.

Getting his pants on was the easier part, but as soon as you got to his sweatshirt, you realized that he had to lift his arm to get it through the sleeve. When it finally clicked in his mind, the defeated look on his face left an uneasy feeling in your stomach, and he took a deep breath before quickly forcing the fabric on. It hurt your heart immensely seeing him straining to keep from making a sound as his face contorted in pain, so you ran your fingers through his golden locks to help ease him as much as you could.

“You okay?” you asked.

“I’ll live,” he shrugged.

You helped him finish packing up his things and walked out of the locker room together. He gingerly placed his good arm around your waist as the two of you made your way out of the building, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sound of his belly growling.

“Let’s get some dinner, yeah?”

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 19 | Morgan Rielly

A/N:  Prepare your feels, guys.  I apologize in advance because it gets a bit dark. TW: mention of abuse, alcohol abuse, death

“So, like…how old were you when you learned how to skate?” Bee asked nervously as her leg was tucked between Morgan’s thighs.  

“Three,” he said, concentrating more on tightening and fastening the skate on her foot; he wanted to make sure it wasn’t too tight so her feet had enough room to breathe, but so tight as to suffocate them.  It was a delicate balance.  

“So you’ve had a little bit of practice then,” she said, making a bad joke.  Morgan looked up at her, a smirk on his face.   “Sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be nervous, Bumblebee,” he said, tightening the laces one last time.  “It’s not like I’m gonna throw you out there and let you fend for yourself.”

“I know,” she nodded her head, looking out at the rink in Hollyburn Country Club and all the people skating on it already.  “I’m just nervous about making a complete ass of myself.”

“Impossible.”

“How so?”

“Cause you’ve got a great teacher,” he winked, grabbing her other leg and putting it between his thighs.  “How does the first skate feel?”

“Good.”

“Yoohoo!  Over here!” they both heard Shirley’s voice call from beside them.  She had her phone in her hand, pointed towards them.  “Smile for the camera!”  They did as they were told, and she snapped a cute picture, giving them thumbs up before walking back towards Andy, who was waiting for her at the entrance to the ice.  

From behind Morgan, Connor knocked on the glass, and Bee could hear him yell “Hurry up!” through the glass before skating away.  She giggled as she watched Morgan tie up the skate and set her foot down.  “How does that one feel?”

“Good.  You promise not to let go?” she asked as she stood up.  

“Just like swimming,” he nodded his head, getting onto the ice before her.  “Bend your knees a little bit, okay?  You can’t start with stiff knees.”

Bee held on to Morgan’s hands as she stepped out onto the ice, slipping almost automatically, unable to keep her balance.  Morgan’s strong arms pulled her back up as she yelped in fear.  “Heeeeyyy hey hey hey, calm down, calm down.  Take it slow.  You can’t be Connor McDavid right away.”

“Who’s Connor McDavid?”

“Forget it,” he laughed.  “Just stand, okay?  Forget trying to make strides.  Just stand and get used to the feeling of the blades under your feet.”

Bee listened intently to Morgan as he patiently, painstakingly, taught her how to skate.  She clung onto his hands for dear life half the time, pleading for him not to let go, and he was so patient with her, not once telling her to let go unless she was ready.  When she finally was, he was her biggest fan, cheering her on as he skated backwards and she skated towards him.  Eventually, she grew confident enough to skate away from the boards, not relying on them to save her in case she fell and had to get up.  She was even skating with her hands relaxed at her sides and not straight out to help her keep her balance.  She even held hands with Morgan as he slowed down to skate with her, helping her stop and turn when she got too close to the boards.  She wasn’t exactly Connor McDavid – whoever that was – but she was gliding along the ice nonetheless.  She couldn’t believe she’d waited 23 years to skate.  

After about an hour and a half, Bee was tired and Shirley had approached Morgan to tell him some kids were waiting for him to get his autograph and a picture.  Bee gave him a quick kiss before she skated off and Morgan skated towards the kids.  She sat on the same bench as she had before when Morgan was fastening her skates, resting her legs as she watched him pose for picture after picture.  She felt her phone buzz from her back pocket and moved to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Angie’s voice was heard on the other end.  “What are you up to right now?” she asked.  They had been texting throughout Bee’s time there, so Angie didn’t need to ask how everything was going.  

“Just watching Morgan sign some autographs,” she said.

“He took you to an autograph signing?”

“No no.  We’re at the country club his family are members of, and all the kids swarmed him on the ice after he taught me how to skate.”

“A country club?  That’s adorable,” Angie said quickly.  “Um, listen.  I’m calling you to ask you for a favour.”

“What favour is that?” Bee asked, worried about Angie’s quick tone.

“I think it’s time to put your Instagram on private now, and I’d delete everyone you don’t know personally.”

Bee’s heart skipped a beat.  She and Angie had talked about the messages, but this was the first time Angie had cautioned her to go private.  Usually, Angie contributed a ‘fuck them’ or ‘You should put on all the most expensive stuff you bought and take a picture with Morgan and caption it go to hell’.  She’d never sounded so serious about it a she did now.  “Why?”

“Listen, I don’t want to freak you out, but they’re adding me now, and asking me questions about you.  I’m not saying they’re harassing me – quite the opposite actually because I’m the one telling them to fuck off – but I don’t want them to start doing that to anyone else,” she explained.  “I think it’s great that you don’t care about what they have to say, but I don’t want them bothering more and more people.”

“Yeah.  Yeah of course,” Bee said absent-mindedly.  “Fuck Angie, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said.  “They’re desperate and they don’t know boundaries.  When everybody shares everything on social media, they think they’re entitled to see everything about your life, and they don’t get that they’re not.”

“Exactly.”

“Just be careful.  Work on it as soon as possible.  Again, I know you don’t care about what they have to say, but I think now is the time to cut them off.”

“Yeah.  Yeah okay,” Bee gulped.  “Angie, what did they say to you?  Was it horrible?”

“No, nothing like that.  They’ve just been asking question about you, like what you do and if you’re dating Morgan.  One girl asked if I had any pictures of you two together.  It was really weird.  But I told them all to fuck off.”

“Angie, I feel horrible.”

“Don’t feel horrible because they don’t know boundaries.  It was fine if it was just one or two of them, but then there was a horde and it just became annoying,” she explained.  “And you know me, I’m a petty person – at least I can be.  If I were you, I’d post a single picture of you and Morgan before you go private and delete everyone.  Kick ‘em where it really hurts.”

Bee couldn’t help but laugh at her suggestion.  “I’ll think about it.”

***

Later that day, during their last night in Vancouver, Bee found herself at dinner with Morgan and his parents at the exclusive Gotham Restaurant in downtown Vancouver.  Morgan wanted to go out with a bang, apparently, because caviar was $150, then they had to get a round of oysters, the bottle of cabernet franc from Napa Valley was $345, and Bee’s filet and lobster with mashed potatoes and asparagus was a $100 plate alone.  He told the waiter everything like it was an order at McDonalds.  Though she was somewhat getting used to the big spending – at least to her standards – this was pretty extravagant.  But all she could do was blink and smile as she tallied the expense of everyone’s order.  Maybe she should have become a waitress instead, because theirs was going to get one hell of a tip tonight.  

Despite trying to feel accustomed to the extravagance around her, she was genuinely having fun with Morgan and his parents.  They were sharing stories of Morgan’s youth and what he was like as a kid, and Shirley kept sharing pictures she had on her phone of him as a kid (“I always keep some on here in case Hockey Night in Canada wants to do a quick something on him when the Leafs come to town.”).  Andy and Shirley even went so far as to tell embarrassing stories of what he would call about during his first year in Toronto when he was attempting to cook for himself.  Bee learned that he was completely useless, and that eventually the calls stopped because he just admitted defeat and ordered most of his food.

As they continued to laugh and share stories, Bee felt her phone buzz from inside her bag.  She decided to ignore it at first, but not even one minute later it was buzzing again, and she couldn’t ignore it anymore.  She quickly unclasped her purse and looked at her phone.  In large caps lock font, ‘TORONTO POLICE SERVICES’ flashed on her screen.  

Her heart began to race.  She looked up quickly at Andy and Shirley, and looked down at her phone screen again.  She couldn’t tell them that that the police were calling her, but she needed a way out.  She had to think fast.  “I’m really sorry,” she announced, getting up from her seat quickly.  “I’m really sorry, but U of T is calling me.  I have to take this.”

“That’s alright honey,” Shirley smiled.  Bee was thankful they had already finished their meal and were just waiting on their dessert orders anyway.  “You go ahead.  I’ll make sure Morgan doesn’t eat your crème brulee.”

Bee made a beeline away from the table and swiped across her screen to answer the phone call so she wouldn’t lose it again.  She made her way towards the long hallway that led to the washrooms, hoping she’d get decent service and enough silence to be able to hear.  “Hello?”

“Hello, am I speaking with Ms. Briony McTavish?”

“Speaking.”

“Ms. McTavish, my name is Greg Campbell.  I’m calling from the Toronto Police Department, 51 Division.  Do you have a few moments to speak with me?”

Bee furrowed her brows.  “Uh, of course.  Is everything okay?” she asked.  She didn’t remember doing anything illegal, and the only other reason they could be calling her was the break and enter from November.  She figured since so much time had passed, they never found anything.

“Ms. McTavish, are you currently residing in Toronto?”

“Y-Yes…” she answered.  “I mean, I’m not in Toronto right now – I’m in Vancouver visiting my boyfriend’s parents – but yes, I live permanently in Toronto,” she explained.

“And Ms. McTavish, according to records I have on file here, you were legally emancipated from your mother, Ms. Sharon McTavish, when you were sixteen years old.”

Bee’s body stiffened at the mention of her mother.  “Yes I was.  My mother was a serious alcoholic.”

“Have you been in touch with your mother since you were emancipated from her?”

“No,” Bee said definitively.  “She barely showed love or affection throughout my whole life with her, and I thought it best for my mental health not to keep in contact with her after the emancipation.  She has never tried to contact me either.”

“Ms. McTavish, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with these questions – I just need to get the specifics of the case --”

“What case is that?”

Greg hesitated on the other end.  “Ms. McTavish, I regret to inform you that your mother has passed away.  She was found dead on the morning of Friday, January 25th due to cirrhosis of the liver.”

Bee went quiet.  Her mother was dead.  Found dead.  Dead due to cirrhosis of the liver.  Dead.  Morning of Friday.  Whale watching.  She was whale watching and her mother was dead.  The silence between the two was long before Bee verbalized her first thought out loud.  “She’s dead.”

“Yes ma’am.  She passed away early Friday morning.  Her body was found by a volunteer at the homeless shelter where she was staying that night.”

If it was possible, her body stiffened even more.  “She was homeless?”

“Well, temporarily.  She was at the Fred Victor Homeless Shelter here in Moss Park.  According to the facilitators she was in-between housing, but that’s where she was,” Greg said.

Bee took a sharp breath in hearing that name again.  She took a moment to collect herself before trying to formulate a thought other than ‘She’s dead’.  “Um…so, what are my next steps then?”

“Well Ms. McTavish, you were the only person listed as being of relation to Sharon, so you automatically become in charge of her estate,” Greg explained.  Bee was thoroughly surprised she was still listed under anything to do with her mother, even after the emancipation.  “There is…not much, as you can imagine, but some decisions still have to be made.  And as the defacto executor of her estate, you may choose the next steps – if you would like her buried, or cremated…”

“Um…” Bee looked quickly back at Morgan and his parents sitting at the table.  His mom was taking a sip of wine while Morgan was nodding at something his dad was saying.  Morgan broke out into a grin soon after, as did his dad.  Morgan looked over to Bee’s empty seat.  “When…I mean, when do I have to make these decisions?”

“Well I understand that you’re in Vancouver, but is there an expected date for your return?”

“Um, I’ll be back Friday night, actually.”

“Well, then I will give you my contact information, and when you get back, I can meet with you at the station and explain your next options,” Greg offered kindly.  “I don’t want to rush you to make decisions, and I know you were clearly not close with your mother and haven’t been in contact with her for a while, but do you think there will be a funeral service?”

“No.”

“Or a burial?”

“Cremation. I don’t…I don’t want anything fancy.”

“Alright Ms. McTavish.  We will speak when you’re back in Toronto.”

Bee hung up the phone, looking down at it until the screen went dark and she couldn’t even formulate a coherent thought about the conversation she just had.  Her mother was dead.  Her mother – whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to for seven years – was dead.  Her mother, the serious alcoholic.  The emotional abuser.  The not-a-mother-at-all.  She tried to compose herself, even though she wasn’t crying at all, as she looked back at Morgan and his parents.  They were still laughing about something.  

She returned to the table, trying to mask her uneasiness at the phone conversation she just had.  She pulled out her chair, getting the attention of everyone.  “Everything okay?” Andy asked as she settled back into her seat.

“Everything’s fine,” she nodded her head quickly, tucking herself in and stuffing her phone back into her bag.  

“You sure?  Who was it?” Morgan asked, grabbing her hand gently underneath the table.  

“It was just a registrar from U of T,” she lied, smiling at him.  “Just wanted to confirm something on my transcript before they printed my copy for the interview.”

She could feel his thumb rubbing her hand gently as his dad recapped the story he had been telling quickly before continuing it.  She felt bad about lying, but there was no way in hell she was going to say something and ruin such a perfect night.  Though she smiled and laughed along, squeezing Morgan’s hand as it rested on her thigh, all she could think about was the image of her mom lying on a bed in a homeless shelter.

Dead.

***

When they arrived back at the Rielly house that night after dinner, Bee made sure to pack up her belongings, save for what she was going to need tomorrow morning and wear on the flight.  To be respectful to Morgan’s parents, she and Morgan had stayed in their respective rooms the entire trip, not daring to try to sneak into each other’s, but tonight he was with her, helping her pack and getting everything ready.  His parents had already called it a night and were in their room at the opposite end of the house.  The house was so big that they probably wouldn’t even have known or heard if either of them had snuck into the other’s room at night.  

To be completely honest, Bee wanted nothing more than that to happen tonight.  She didn’t know what she was feeling in relation to the news she got after dinner, but she knew that she didn’t want to be alone.  She knew that she wanted Morgan with her, around her in some capacity.  

When they were finished packing everything and had changed into their pajamas, Morgan watched as Bee stared at the wall absent-mindedly, something obviously bothering her.  He came up behind her and sat on the bed beside her, giving her a quick kiss on the temple and leaving a trail of kisses on her shoulder.  “Briony…” he mumbled against her skin.

“Hmm?”

“Are you sure it was just U of T that called at dinner?” Morgan asked.

She knew he would ask sooner or later.  She’d tried not to let anything show, but besides Angie, there was nobody more in tune with her emotions than Morgan.  She knew he’d pick up on it.  “Why?”

“Listen, I don’t mean to pry.  It’s just I noticed that you were a bit different since you got back.  My mom noticed it too because she’s sensitive about these things but she didn’t want to say anything.  Is…is everything okay?”

Bee let out a shaky breath, one that, truthfully, she had been holding in since she got the call.  “Mo…”

He grabbed her had and brought it up to his lips to kiss it gently.  “What’s the matter, Bumblebee?  Tell me.”

“It wasn’t U of T that called.”

“Okay.  Who was it?”

“It was a guy named Greg Campbell.  He’s a police officer with 51 Division in Toronto.”

Morgan looked at her skeptically.  “You’re telling me after all this time they found your stuff?”

“No…it’s not…” she shook her head.  She let out another shaky breath before continuing.  “Um, he called me to tell me my mom passed away.  A volunteer at a homeless shelter found her, and she died from cirrhosis of the liver.”

Bee could practically see Morgan’s heart fall into his stomach.  He opened his mouth a few times to say something, but nothing came out for a while, until, “Oh my God, Briony…wh…why didn’t you say something?”

“I wasn’t going to say something at dinner with your parents,” she said.

“Briony, your mother passed away.”

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.  She’s dead, and I always knew she was going to die from the alcoholism, so this isn’t as much of a surprise to me as you think it is,” she explained.  “I don’t…I’m not upset by this.  I haven’t spoken to her in seven years.  She was abusive.”

It was the first time she had said the words so definitively out loud.  She was abusive.  They weren’t pretty words, but they needed to be said.  And Morgan needed to hear them.  It was the reason she wasn’t crying.  She couldn’t feel sadness or sympathy for her abuser, or for a woman who wasted her life on alcohol instead of caring for her daughter.  

Morgan had no choice but to accept what she was saying.  He could tell her ‘But that’s your mom’ over and over again until he was blue in the face, but it wasn’t going to have an effect on Bee.  To Bee, Sharon wasn’t a mom.  There was nothing that could convince her that she was.  And truthfully, Morgan knew she was right.  And if that’s the way Bee felt, then that’s the way he felt about it too.  If she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, then he would try not to make a big deal out of it either.  “She…cirrhosis of the liver?  What is that?”

“It’s complicated, but just know it’s not good.  It’s a common by-product of severe alcoholism,” she explained.  “But the fact of the matter is that she died.  When we go back to Toronto, I have to deal with her funeral and her estate.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said automatically.

“You don’t--”

“I want to,” he interrupted her.  “What did I tell you?  You don’t have to go through this stuff alone anymore.  We’re going to go through this stuff together.”

Bee looked at him.  All 6’1” of him, blonde hair, blue eyes, muscles tucked into pajama shorts and an old t-shirt.  He was so boyish and so handsome and he had his pick of any girl in Toronto and he managed to choose the one with the fucked up childhood and alcoholic mother who had just died.  And he was still here after learning all that.  He still flew her to Vancouver to meet his parents.  He still volunteered to see a dead alcoholic’s body ravaged by cirrhosis.  She didn’t deserve him.  “Morgan?”

“Mhmm?”

“Can you…can you just like, hold me?”

“C’mere, Bumblebee,” he moved to hold her in his arms as he tucked them both into bed.  She used his chest as a pillow as he wrapped both his arms around her.  “I love you Briony.  We’re going to get through this together.”

“I love you too.  And I know we will,” she said, looking up at him.

He gave her a quick kiss.  “I don’t know what you’re feeling right now, and I know I won’t be able to understand, but you’re allowed to feel whatever you want,” he said.  “I know that she was your mom, but she was a horrible mom, so there’s gonna be, like, a range of emotions.  But you’re allowed to feel it all.  Don’t think you’re not.”

“I’ll be okay, Mo,” she said, giving him another quick kiss before relaxing her head on his chest.  He ran his fingers through her hair soothingly, reducing all the stiffness and pent up emotion she had in her.  She knew he would try to stay awake as long as possible, just in case she said anything or wanted to talk about it further, but after a while, she felt his heartbeat steady, and she knew he was asleep.

***

Bee had slept all of twenty minutes at most.  When she looked over at the alarm clock and it read 3am, she sighed heavily.  She didn’t know what to do.  She wanted to sleep, she really did, but every time she closed her eyes and her mind started to drift, an image from her childhood would reappear, and she’d snap her eyes open and be wide awake again.  Images of her mom passed out on the couch when she got home from school; of sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, watching her mom open another bottle on the kitchen counter; of looking up at her mom sleeping on the bed in the homeless shelter while she was sleeping on the floor using her backpack as a pillow.  

Slowly but surely, she manoeuvred herself out of Morgan’s grasp, sitting on the edge of the bed for a while, staring out the window into the pristine darkness of the West Vancouver sky.  Her mother was dead.  She always knew she would have to say that one day, but she didn’t imagine it being so soon.  A small part of her actually thought she wouldn’t have to say that one day, because nobody would contact her to tell her, so she wouldn’t know at all.  But she knew now, and she couldn’t get it out of her head.  

After coming to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t be able to sleep, she thought going to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water was a better alternative to looking out of a window into darkness.  She tip-toed quietly down the stairs and made her way there, grabbing a glass and trying to figure out how to work the built-in icemaker on the Rielly’s new fridge that looked like it belonged in space rather than a house.  When she couldn’t figure it out, she resorted to just getting water from the tap and drinking it warm.  

“Are you okay?” Bee suddenly heard a voice whisper.  She jumped dramatically, turning around to see Andy standing at the entrance of the kitchen in his pajamas with a bathrobe on.

“Oh God.  I’m sorry.  You scared me,” her hand went over her heart.  

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked, laughing a bit.  “You thirsty?”

“Uh, yeah…” she said, looking down at the glass of tap water in her hand.  “I couldn’t figure out how to use your space fridge to get ice though.”

Andy snorted.  “Maybe we should go back to using ice trays,” he laughed, pulling open the fridge door to get out the orange juice.  He grabbed a glass and set it down on the table, pulling out a chair.  “Sit, honey.”

Bee didn’t want to say no.  There was no reason she could have, anyway, so she took the invitation and sat in a seat opposite of him as he poured orange juice into his cup.  She watched as he took a long gulp, swallowing almost half of the juice he just poured, before he focused his attention back to her.  “Was everything okay after dinner?”

Bee tried to look away from him but she couldn’t.  He was staring right at her and she was sitting across from him and there was no way in hell she could deny him an answer.  The only thing she could do was prolong it.  “Why do you ask?”

Andy shuffled a bit in his seat.  “Listen.  I don’t mean to pry,” he said, starting the conversation the exact same way Morgan did.  God, now she really knew where he got it from.  “Shirley and I just noticed a little bit of a…shift when you came back.  I just want to make sure everything is okay.”

She decided to just come right out with it.  “How much has Morgan told you about my mom?”

Andy looked taken aback by the question.  It wasn’t like she was trying to call his bluff or anything – she knew Morgan had told his parents about it, as evident from the conversation she had with Shirley on their first day here – but she wondered if he talked about it more with his mom, or if Shirley told Andy.  His answer was important because it determined how she would start and handle the conversation.  “Morgan’s told me about her addiction issues.  How she was an alcoholic,” he clarified.  “A pretty severe one, it seemed.  And how you guys moved around a lot because of it.”

Bee nodded her head.  “Well, that phone call at dinner was from a police officer named Greg Campbell.  He called to let me know my mom passed away.  She was found dead in a homeless shelter due to cirrhosis of the liver.”

Andy stayed quiet.  It wasn’t a lot of information to take in, but it was a stab in the heart nonetheless.  Over the past few days he’d been able to see how happy she made his son, and it was something he loved to see.  To hear that she had gotten a phone call like that, on her last night of what was supposed to be a vacation, was horrible.  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said solemnly.

“And that’s the thing – I’m not,” she admitted for the first time out loud.  “I know…I know that sounds harsh and rude and completely…inhuman, but I’m not sad about it.  I’m not sorry.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t be sorry for someone that never acted like a real mother,” she said gingerly.  She ran the risk of exposing her entire heart and soul to her boyfriend’s father over the kitchen table at three o’clock in the morning, but right now, she didn’t care.  “She was never loving.  She was never caring.  She never did anything to prove herself worthy of the title of being called mom.  She cared more about herself and her addiction than she ever did me.”

“That’s understandable --”

“Plus,” she inadvertently interrupted him, “she never worked to make herself better.  I can’t feel sad for a person that caused me so much pain in my life, regardless of whether or not she was my mother.  She never acted like it.  And after not seeing her for almost seven years, I don’t even feel a connection to her anymore.  Quite frankly, even when I was living with her, I hardly did.”

“I get it, Briony.  I get it as much as I can get it,” he said.  She was thankful he acknowledged that he could never truly know.  “I know how much pain she caused you and I know she didn’t make your life easy.  You don’t have to feel sympathy or sadness.  She doesn’t deserve that from you and I get it.  But you have to be feeling something.”

Bee was scared to reveal what she was really feeling.  She knew if she verbalized it, if she put it out in the open, that it would become real.  It would no longer just be something she felt internally, something she could lie about to people’s faces to make them think she was fine.  “I feel…I feel relief,” she finally admitted, to herself and to Andy.  A stray tear fell down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly.  One tear was too many to shed.  “I feel like I giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders.  I feel like it’s finally…over.  That I can move on.  I don’t have to think about her anymore.  I won’t toss and turn at night thinking about what has happened to me.  I won’t lie awake thinking about what she could be doing or who she could be with or what she could have been up to these seven years, if the alcoholism got worse, if she got into anything else.  I just…I don’t have to think about it anymore.  It’s done.  It’s done.”

Andy moved his chair so he was closer to her before putting a comforting hand on her forearm.  “It’s okay to feel that way.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.  Absolutely,” he said firmly, nodding his head.  “You have every right to feel that way and it is one hundred percent validated by what you went through, and don’t let anybody try to convince you otherwise.  She was an awful mother, and you separated yourself and got out of that situation as quickly as you could, and if anybody needs to be commended in this situation, it’s you.”

“There was one time…” she began, shaking her head to herself, wondering if she should even tell him the story.  The only other person she’d told was Angie – she hadn’t even told Morgan.  “There was one time, I must have been 11 or 12.  I was so angry at her one day.  We had no food in the apartment, nothing – I had been eating saltine crackers for dinner for at least four days.  She was standing at the kitchen counter opening another bottle of vodka she’d bought instead.  And I was so angry.  I asked her, ‘Why are you like this?’  And she looked at me – she didn’t even bother answering the question – she just looked at me and said, ‘You’re staring into your future, Bee.  It’s inevitable.  What I am is what you will be.’  And I told her that hell would freeze over before I became a degenerate like her.  And she grabbed…” Bee paused, remembering the moment so vividly in her mind, as if it had just happened yesterday, even going so far as to pretend to grab a glass with her hand for emphasis, “she grabbed the glass that was on the counter, and she hurled it straight towards my head.  I ducked, and it hit the fridge behind me and shattered all over the floor by my feet.  We stared at each other for a few seconds before I said, ‘I hate you with every fibre of my being’.  She didn’t even respond.  She didn’t even grab another glass either, she just took the bottle straight to the couch and began to swig it.”

It was clear Andy was uncomfortable.  To think that a parent could ever do that to a child was incomprehensible to him – it was incomprehensible to most people, not just him.  And yet, she had to live through it.  He quickly wiped a tear that had fallen onto his cheek.  “You were born for a life so much better than what you were placed in,” his voice was soft, still reflecting and picturing the scene she had painted for him in his mind.  

“That’s what I left behind.  That’s the weight that’s been lifted off my shoulders.  I don’t have to think about that anymore.”

“Did it ever happen again?  Did your mother ever hit you?” Andy asked.  

Bee shook her head vehemently.  “She was always too drunk.  It was more so emotional, if we’re referring to abuse.  And, you know, neglect.”

“You deserved so much better.  No child should have had to go through that,” he said, shaking his head.  “I’m so happy you found us Briony.  I’m so happy that you overcame that and you’re here with us now.”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“There’s no reason to thank me.  You did it all yourself.  I’m just thankful that you’re part of our family now.”

A sob escaped her at his last comment.  She couldn’t hold it in anymore, and she let go, letting the tears well up in her eyes despite telling herself she wouldn’t cry.  She didn’t want to shed tears over her mother, but she could shed tears over Andy saying something like that to her.  “You have no idea,” she said, shaking her head.  “You have no idea how amazing these last few days have been.  I’ve never felt so whole in my entire life.”

“I know sweetheart.  I can tell.”

“I can’t even begin to, like…” she couldn’t find the right words as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand.  “I immediately felt this sense of like, warmness from the moment I met Morgan.  He made me feel like I wasn’t alone anymore.  That I had somebody.  He’s been so good to me, Andy.  So patient.  You have to know how good he’s been.  So understanding.  You have to know you raised a good kid.”

“I know, sweetheart.  Morgan adores you.”

“And then this week happened and you and Shirley and Connor have just been so nice and I…I know it’s sad to say but the only other people I’ve felt that with is my best friend’s family.  But you guys are just so good, and I’ve had to pinch myself constantly this entire week.”

��I --”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that comment you just made, about being part of your family.  I don’t…I don’t know.  But I love Morgan so much, and I know he loves me, and I know I’m gonna spend the rest of my life thanking my lucky stars that all this happened.  And you have to know, you have to know, if hockey ended tomorrow I’d still love him with everything I have in me because he makes me feel so whole --”

“Sweetheart, sweetheart, I know,” Andy stressed, grabbing hold of her hands and squeezing them tightly as she let out a quick ‘I’m not in it for that’.  “I know.  You don’t have to prove yourself to me.  I can see it.  Shirley and I – we can see it.”

“I just don’t want you to think --”

“I was never thinking that at all,” Andy shook his head.  “You’re the farthest thing from what you’re implying and I know how much you care about my son.”  He let go of her hands so she could wipe her remaining tears away.  “Listen to me.  You are deserving of every little good thing that comes your way, via my son or otherwise.  You can’t feel like you don’t deserve it.  Everybody deserves good things to happen to them.”  Bee nodded her head at his words, trying to internalize them as much as possible.  “You’re a great girl Briony, and you deserve the world.  Everybody around you sees it.  You just need to start seeing it too.”

Bee took a couple of minutes to calm down.  She knew that everything Andy had just said was right, and she needed that time to really take it in.  To accept it and own it and live with it as her new life mantra was going to be a separate battle, but right now, she needed to acknowledge the deeply intense heart-to-heart she’d just had, and how she felt much more clear about things – about her future – than she had coming into the conversation.  “Thank you for listening, Andy.”

He smiled.  “There’s no reason to thank me.  This is what dads are for, Briony.”

“I’m sorry if I --”

“Don’t apologize for a single thing,” he said.  “You just remember what I told you.  That’s the only thing you need to do here.  Remember that you are deserving of love.”

“Is everything okay?” Morgan’s voice, groggy and sleepy, was suddenly heard form the entrance of the kitchen.  He stood in his pajamas, taking in the scene before him.  

“Briony and I were just thirsty,” Andy said quickly, giving Bee a quick wink before getting up and putting his glass in the sink.  “She couldn’t work our space fridge to get ice, either.”

“We should go back to using ice trays,” Morgan quipped.  Briony couldn’t help but laugh – he and his father were truly the same person.  She walked towards him, a small smile creeping on her face.  He hoped that in his state, he wouldn’t notice that she had been crying, or that her eyes were red from the tears.  “You okay?” he whispered.  

“Yeah.  Let’s go back to bed,” she said, looking back at Andy.  “Thanks again, Andy.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he smiled as they disappeared down the hallway.

When they got back into bed, Bee cuddled closer to Morgan, draping her arm over his torso so she could feel the warmth of his body heat against hers.  “You sure everything is okay?” he whispered.

She nodded her head.  “Yeah.  Andy’s a really good dad,” was all she could say.

“He’s the best,” Morgan agreed, his eyes fluttering closed.  “He’s who I want to be.”

“You’re already there, baby,” she whispered before they both fell asleep.

[badstoriesaboutgoodpeople]

Hot Tubbing

Hey, sorry this took me so long! Hope you guys like this, it was pretty fun. Obligatory disclaimer, this is fairly under negotiated in the moment, it’s just kinda something that happens. We’re pretending everyone extra involved is single.

Warnings: smut, stuff goes down that probably shouldn’t happen in a hot tub, there are multiple people involved so I mean you could probably call it an orgy but I just hate that word so much

Word Count: 1,444 

You’d ended up back at the house you shared with your boyfriend Leon after a game. You’d invited some of the boys over, not wanting to go out to celebrate the win. You had a hot tub and liquor, what more could you want? All in all McDavid, Nurse, Khaira, Klefbom, and Currie had joined you. You all changed into bathing suits and scurried into the hot tub, evenings in Edmonton were cold no matter what season it was. Leon joined the party later, bringing a speaker, a bottle of wine and assorted other drinks, and some snacks. You sat in your usual spot in the corner, right in front of one of the jets. Leon sat to your left and Darnell on your right. It was a bit of a tight squeeze to fit 6 hockey players and yourself in the hot tub but you all made it work. It meant you had to end up sitting in Leon’s lap, but neither of you minded. You poured yourself a glass of wine and the guys grabbed beers, and you all began to chat. You’d turned the jets on and turned up the music, and spent the early part of the night just discussing plans for the summer and drinking. After a while, the alcohol and warm water had everyone relaxed. You were pressed close to Leon’s chest, and he’d place the occasional kiss on your neck or whisper in your ear about what he wanted to do once everyone was gone. You shifted in his lap, fully aware of what you were doing to him. He said nothing but brought his hand to rest on your thigh under the water. It drifted higher as conversation continued, Leon keeping his face neutral the entire time. Eventually he slid your bathing suit bottoms to the side and gently ran his fingertips over your clit. You let out a content sigh, which caused everyone to look over at you, as everyone had grown silent. Leon must’ve smirked or raised an eyebrow, as the group quickly seemed to understand what was happening. Suddenly the boys were putting down their drinks, and paying more attention to what was going on in front of them. You felt your face flush with embarrassment that everyone caught on so quickly, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to be ashamed for doing it. You’d shared your fantasy with Leon one night, him sharing you with the boys, and he’d confessed it had come up between them once or twice. You never planned anything, but the understanding that it was a possibility was always there. Well, there’s no time like the present, right? Leon was the first to speak, his fingers continuing to move the whole time.

“Well, who’s first?”

“We should let the rookie go first,” muttered Connor, running a hand through his hair. Josh’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he nodded his head. Leon moved to untie your bathing suit, and pulled it off and over your head, throwing it onto the deck near the door. Your bottoms soon followed, and then he urged you off of his lap and over to where Josh was sitting. Everyone had to scooch over a bit so you had room for your legs to fit onto either side of Josh’s, but nobody seemed to mind. You were soon situated on top of him, and you could feel him hardening beneath you. Nurse leaned over to Khaira and muttered something to him, and you heard Khaira agree with him. You turned your attention back to Josh, who seemed unwilling to initiate anything. You leaned down to press a small kiss to his cheek, and to whisper in his ear.

“You’re allowed to touch me, I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” This seemed to reassure him, as he brought his hands to rest on your hips. He tilted his head up far enough to place a tentative kiss on your lips, which you quickly deepened. You ran your hands up and down his upper arms, and raked your fingers over his toned chest and abs. Soon your hand wandered further down to the waistband of his swim trunks. You started to slide them down, and he quickly got the message, and he lifted his hips to pull them down to his mid thigh. You were beginning to grow impatient, so you wasted no time in sinking down onto him. You let out a small moan as you bottomed out, and Josh let his eyes slip shut, biting his bottom lip slightly. You heard a wolf whistle from behind you, and you looked over your shoulder to wink at the boys behind you.

“Keep it down back there, we wouldn’t want the neighbours getting suspicious,” you said as you began to move up and down. Josh pressed kisses to your chest the entire time, leaving small marks when he had built up the confidence.

“Come on rookie, make her come, show her a good time,” said Klefbom from his spot beside the two of you. Josh began moving his hips to meet yours and brought a hand down to rub your clit. He brought his lips to yours to muffle the noises you began making, whispering something about not wanting to disturb any of the neighbours, not unless you wanted any more of an audience. It wasn’t long until you came, your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Josh managed to choke out.

“Go ahead rookie, fill her up,” said Leon, and with that Josh came, moaning quietly into your neck.

“Nursey and I call dibs next,” said Khaira from his new spot on the edge of the hot tub. You got up slowly and made it over to where the two of them were sitting. Darnell fucked you from behind while you sucked off Khaira, and Klefbom and McDavid took their spots after they both came. Oscar fucked you slow and gentle until you were begging for it, whimpering around Connor, who had his fingers threaded through your hair, moving your head up and down on his dick. Connor pulled your head up when Oscar started to pick up the pace. He looked down at you with dark eyes while you tried to contain your moans. Eventually you took him back into your mouth, and moaned around him when Oscar made you come for the second time that night. Connor came soon after, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut. Oscar leaned down to bite where your neck and shoulder connected to muffle a groan as his hips stuttered and he came inside you, adding to the mess of cum and your own wetness sliding down your thighs. You were too far gone to really care by that point. You were soft and pliant for Leon, who had you draped across his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. He slid into you slowly but made no moves to fuck you just yet, content to fill you up while he whispered in your ear about how good you’d been for everyone. Eventually he began to move his hips slightly, knowing the perfect angle to make you come. As he continued to fuck you he slipped into German, mumbling in your ear in his accent that never failed to make you weak in the knees. You didn’t need to know what he was saying to know he was praising you. You tried to open your mouth, ask him for something, beg him to make you come even though you were so sensitive it hurt, but you couldn’t quite form the words to do so. You felt everyone watching as Leon brought you closer to the edge, and when you came again you couldn’t help but whimper into Leon’s neck. He shushed you gently, sucking a mark onto your neck as he came, letting out a muffled moan of your name. He helped you out of his lap and pulled his shorts back up, before getting out of the hot tub and grabbing a towel to wrap you in once you stepped out. The others followed, everyone heading inside to get dressed and call Ubers, promising to return for cars in the morning when they were sober enough to drive. Once you and Leon were alone you both took a shower, and he tucked the both of you into bed, now dressed in comfy clothes. You were just beginning to doze off when you made a realization, eyes shooting open as you cursed under your breath.

“What was that baby?” asked Leon sleepily.

“We probably have to change the water now, don’t we?”

[matsbarzal]

Here Comes Goodbye - Connor McDavid

Notes: Hola cuties! So, I was listening to some nice Rascal Flatts earlier when I remember I needed to write an angsty McDavid imagine, which voila, led to this. Hope you enjoy!!

Mentions: Steph LaChance

Warnings: Pregnancy, Angst

Requested: Yes | No

Up Next: I haven’t decided. I may put off some of the smuts but yeah.

Teaser: Stage one, confusion. Stage two, disbelief. Stage three, anger.

You wouldn’t be able to bare looking Connor in the eye when he got home and you told him you were leaving.

Your body couldn’t handle the frustration that you knew you were going to feel when he begged you to stay, what was growing inside of you wouldn’t be able to handle the stress of the fight that was guaranteed to ensure the moment he stepped into your shared apartment.

It was all becoming too much, he was never here, which you understood, hockey was his life, nothing could ever top it. When he was here, he was distant, but the icing on the cake was when you watched him allow girls to crawl all over him in the boys snap stories. But you also knew you were leaving for selfish reasons, you didn’t want what was growing inside you to mess up his career, he was too young, he wasn’t ready for a baby, neither were you, but you knew you could do it without him.

Having thought you timed how long it would take you to pack and leave before he got home, you were definitely shocked to hear the turning of a key in the front door just before he stepped into the house. Most of your bags were already by the door, meaning he knew what was going on the moment he stepped into the house.

“(Y/N)!” Connor called, frantically looking in every door frame to find you, before laying eyes on your frame that was currently sitting on the master bed.

“What’s going on? Why are all your bags packed?”

“I’m leaving, Con.”

You said the words as your hands began to shake. You didn’t know what to expect from him, you didn’t know if he’d be angry, hurt, upset, you truly didn’t know.

“What do you mean? Why?”

Stage one, confusion.

“I can’t do it anymore, Connor. I can’t be the girlfriend of a hockey player anymore. You’re never home, even when you are all you can think about is hockey, you let girls crawl all over you like you don’t even remember me. I just can’t do it anymore.” A tear slipped down your face as you wrung your hands, refusing to meet Connor’s eyes.

“You knew this was gonna be how it is, hockey is my life. You’ve never had a problem with it before, why now?”

Stage two, disbelief.

You didn’t know how to explain it to him. You didn’t know how to explain that you were leaving so your baby wouldn’t have to think that he didn’t love them because he was never there, so the baby didn’t have to wonder if it came second to daddy’s job. You didn’t want your baby to feel how you’re feeling, you didn’t want it to ruin his career.

“I’m pregnant, Connor. I can’t bring a child into this lifestyle and have them think the things I do.”

The immediate silence after your words had you looking up at him, and you knew it had gotten to the point you didn’t want it to.

Stage three, anger.

“So, you were just going to up and leave and not tell me? Not tell me you’re carrying my fucking baby in your stomach? Act like everything is all fine and dandy until you gave birth and I finally find out I’m a dad? Huh? I can’t believe you would stoop so low as to keep a child away from their father.”

You couldn’t believe the words tumbling out of his mouth. He made it seem like you were trying to spite him, like he was the victim in all of this which had you standing up to glare at him.

“Excuse me? Do not put words in my mouth. Never did I say I was gonna keep the baby from you, I’m leaving so it doesn’t ruin your career. I planned on telling you eventually, but I refuse to bring a child into this lifestyle, just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean I don’t.”

You were absolutely livid as you watched Connor glare back at you, the frustration on both of your faces adding more stress to the situation.

“I can’t believe you’re being so selfish. You knew this was how things were gonna be when you moved here with me! You can’t just up and leave every time things get difficult, I get fucking fed up with your shit sometimes and you don’t see me up and leaving!”

“You do fucking leave! You leave every time to go on a road trip when we get into a fight, you up and run to the rink, or to Leon’s or to anyone who will let you crash for the night. I’m leaving because of you, Connor. The end of this relationship is your fault, not mine.”

The tears were coming down your face at an alarming rate, as you could see the tears forming in Connors eyes while he said a statement you never thought you would hear from him.

“Get out. I don’t want to hear from you again. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Four months later, you were back home in Toronto, and you were happy. As happy as you could be with constant backache, bladder issues, and a baby sitting on your spine, but you were happy. Your family was happy to have you home, your parents taking you and the unborn baby back into their home with open arms, already spoiling the two of you as you waited for the birth that was fast approaching.

Being back home meant you were constantly surrounded by the loving embrace of all your close friends, something you lacked in Edmonton which was probably one of the many multiple reasons which had you feeling like you were going crazy. In the months since Connor told you to get out, he had only been in contact with you once to send you the remainder of the things you left at his apartment.

Thankfully, just because the two of you were on the outs didn’t mean you and your mutual friends were as well, which is why you were at lunch with Steph LaChance, pictures of your most recent ultrasound on the table in front of you.

“Jeez, he’s getting so big!” She exclaiming, examining the pictures in front of her.

“I just can’t believe it’s a boy, I was positive it was a little girl in there.”

Steph laughed, before stopping and looking at you with a serious expression, “Robot Connor would never reproduce a girl. He can’t carry on his hockey legacy in one unless she’s gods gift to hockey.”

You laughed awkwardly, the mention of his name making the conversation uncomfortable.

“He asked about you… last time he called Mitch, asked to talk to me because he knows we’re friends.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t shocked. You were completely surprised, you were positive he was done with you the moment you received the box he had sent to your parents house. “Oh really?”

Steph nodded her head, “He wanted to know how things were with you, if you were seeing anyone. He didn’t ask about the baby until the end of the conversation. Wanted to know how far along you were, and if the little tyke was healthy.”

A watery smile crossed your face at her words, the tears welling in your eyes, “Oh.”

“Oh no, sweetie, don’t cry!” She moved so she was beside you, pulling you into her side while you rested your head on her shoulder, small sobs leaving your throat.

“I’m… sorry… the baby… has me… so hormonal.”

She laughed into your head, as you pulled away, small hiccups leaving you.

“I thought he didn’t care, Steph. You didn’t see him that night, I’ve never seen him so angry with me.”

She nodded sympathetically, running her hand up your back, “Oh sweetie, I know. I believe you.”

Steph continued to calm you down for a few more minutes, until eventually you were calm enough to continue the conversation, which led into other topics.  

“Why’d you bring me here, Steph?”

“It’s Mitch’s summer party! You always come, you can’t just not come because you’re pregnant, silly.”

You were now eight months along, large enough so that you were waddling and were constantly worried about if you were going to go into an early labour with Brayden.

“Is Connor here?” You questioned, refusing to get out of the car until you heard your best friends answer.

“I don’t know, truthfully, he didn’t come last year, so who knows.” She shrugged her shoulders, climbing out of the car and gesturing for you to get out of the car and follow her.

Pouting your lips, you undid your seatbelt and got out of the car, following her into the house. There were plenty of people you had known for years, most of the Toronto-born and raised NHL players that Mitch was close with were present, plenty of people you guys went to school with, and everyone in between.

Before you could walk into the kitchen, you heard your name being called, “(Y/N)! Future MILF and love of my life, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

None other than a bleached blond Dylan Strome was wrapping you in his arms, his lanky arms managing to make one full loop around your body. He pulled away and pressed his hand to your stomach, cooing words you couldn’t make out towards it.

“Future hockey star in there, right?”

“No, I’m thinking more soccer? Maybe like football? Something his sperm donor wouldn’t like, ya know?”

Dylan shook his head with silent laughter, before his body language instantly got tense as he looked at something behind you. Before he could mutter out a word, a soft voice could be heard, “(Y/N)?”

Shutting your eyes tightly together, you turned around to face the man you didn’t want to see. “Connor.”

He looked at you sheepishly, as you both watched Dylan retreat from your forms to the kitchen where Mitch, Steph and now Dylan were eyeing the two of you.

“So, uh… it’s um…”

“Don’t say it’s nice to see me, because we both know you’ll be lying.”

You had to stop yourself from grinding your teeth as he stared at you awkwardly, his hands dug into his pockets.

“So I’m just gonna leave you alone now…” before you could go, he latched his hand around your wrist and looked at you with a serious expression.

“Please, just let me talk to you for a few minutes… please.”

Reluctantly agreeing, you followed him outside to the empty garage, the both of you standing opposite one another in awkward silence.

“I heard the baby’s a boy.”

He broke the silence with his statement, as you nodded your head awkwardly, lifting a hand to place it against your belly.

“Little Brayden, yeah. All the gear to prove it and everything.”

Connor laughed at your words, a small smile tugging onto your lips at the sound.

The laughter led into more awkward silence, only broken by his next few words.

“I still love you. So fucking much-”

“Connor…”

“No, let me finish. I love you so fucking much, ever since you left all I’ve been able to think about is everything I’ve done wrong. I love you, and I want to be a family with you, I don’t want him to grow up without a dad. I don’t want you to be with anyone else, I want you to be with me.”

He let out a breath that he had been holding in after he finished his rant, as you looked at him in shock.

“Connor… I…”

Your words were cut off by the feeling of water rushing down your leg, a feeling of dread filling your body. “I think my water just broke.”

“Brayden Connor McDavid, ten fingers, ten toes, six pounds, six ounces, a little tiny but he’ll grow.”

Connor proudly showed off the baby to everyone who walked in the room, emphasis on the middle and last name every time one of your close friends, who didn’t like him, walked into the room.

After putting the baby back in the crib, you patted the spot beside you, instructing Connor to sit down.

“Connor, I love you. But I don’t think we can go back to how we were. That takes time, it’ll take time for me to trust you again, and I can’t move back to Edmonton with you right now, this baby needs some stability.”

He nodded his head in agreement, “No, I completely understand that. But I want you to come back one day, when you’re ready. You and Brayden both. I love you, and I want us to be a family, the three of us.”

“I love you too, Con, and that little baby boy over there.”

[carey-pricemas]

Stuck- Connor McDavid

Ok so I went fluffy with this instead of smutty anon so I hope that's ok! Also pineapple on pizza discourse is mentioned! Anyway enjoy guys!

Warning: none

Anon Request: Stuck in the elevator with Connor mcdavid pls

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              Your day literally couldn't get any worse.

              You had woken up late, spilled coffee all over your white shirt, your boss yelled at you for someone else's mistake, and you were rear-ended on the way home.

              You ran your hand through your hair as you stepped onto the elevator.

              Home. You were five floors away from a nice hot bath, a bottle of wine, and whatever you could dig out of the freezer for diner.

              Pathetic, party of one.

              "Hold the door!" You stuck your arm out to keep the elevator from closing as your neighbor rushed into the elevator carrying a pizza. "Thanks" he said. You smiled at him and tapped the 5 button. "How was your day?" he asked as the doors slid closed.

              "Oh um" you paused. "It sucked to be honest." He chuckled.

              "I'm sorry to hear that."

              "What about-" you were cut off as the elevator made a terrible noise and stopped, the lights flickering off. "Oh my god."

              "Crap" he muttered. He stepped forward and tried to press all the buttons, but nothing worked. He finally pressed the red emergency button.

              "What is your emergency?"

              "The elevator got stuck" he said. The voice gave him some instructions to try and jump start it, but when nothing worked, she said she would send someone, but it would be a while. "Thanks." He stepped back and sat down. "Why don't you have a seat? Sounds like it will take some time."

              "This is just the cherry on top" you said as you slid down to sit next to him. He chuckled and you shot him a wry smile.

              You didn't know anything about him except he seemed nice, always said hello when he passed by you, was super cute, kept weird hours, and always smelled terrible.

              Although right now he just smelled like pizza, which was making you hungry.

              "I'm (Y/N)" you said, holding out your hand.

              "Connor" he said grinning. He shook your hand and you noticed how big his hands were. "I guess we really haven't ever met have we?"

              "No normally I'm coming home when you're leaving."

              "Ah well you know how it is." He gave you a sheepish shrug.

              "Actually I don't. You always seem to keep weird hours."

              "Wait" Connor looked at you with hope. "You don't know who I am?"

              "...Should I?"

              "Everyone else in Edmonton does."

              "Ok well" you pushed your hair back. "I don't."

              "Want some pizza?" he asked, changing the subject. He opened the lid of the box and grabbed a piece before pushing it in your direction.

              "...There are pineapples on that pizza."

              "Don't knock it until you try it" he said. You took a piece and sniffed it before taking a tentative bite. The sweetness of the fruit and savory of the ham it was paired with exploded in your mouth. You moaned and took another bite. "I've made someone a believer!"

              "This is really good. I can't believe it!"

              "My friend introduced me to it." You both sat in silence eating the pizza. "You know the Edmonton Oilers?"

              "Yeah it's a hockey team." You looked at him and waited. Connor stared at you, waiting for something to click in your mind.

              "You seriously don't know who I am!"

              "Look Connor" you rolled your eyes. "I've had a terrible day and I know it’s a crime in Canada, but I'm not a diehard hockey fan. So who are you, oh noble Connor?" Connor laughed.

              "You heard the name Connor McDavid?"

              "Yeah" you said. "They call him the next Gretzky. The captain right?" Connor nodded. "What does he have to do with- OH MY GOD." You looked at Connor with wide eyes. "You're-"

              "In the flesh" he joked.

              "No way. That's so cool!" Connor laughed. "I promise now that I know I won't bother you about it." You crossed your finger over your heart. "Neighbor's promise."

              "Well" Connor scratched the back of his neck. "I hope you will. I've actually been meaning to ask you out. See if you wanted to come to a game some time and then get dinner with me?"

              "I'd like that, Connor" you said smiling. "You're pretty cute, even if you smell."

              "I do not-" Connor was cut off as the lights flickered back on and the elevator continued its upward climb. You both rose to your feet as you reached the fifth floor, rushing out of the confined space.

              Connor walked you down the hall to your door.

              "Well then Connor. You know where I live. Don't be a stranger" you said with a wink. He grinned at you as you slid inside. You had just enough time to kick off your heels before you heard a knock at the door. You opened it back up to reveal Connor.

              "You said to not be a stranger."

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Ok there you go! Let me know what you guys thought! Up next: Auston smut or Alex Nylander for everyone!

[sutterbabe]

#8 Auston Matthews

Hi!! I love your writing!! Can you do an Auston imagine where you guys are babysitting a teammate's kid and he kinda drops hints about how he wants kids?

I sorta changed it a little bit

I babysit this gorgeous little kid called owen and I love him so much he is the purest being on this planet. 

Song suggestion of the day: Boo by shortstraw

Song i was thinking about when writing this: Whatta man by Salt-n-pepa esp the line: ‘I think i wanna have your baby’ lmao 

If you were being honest, the best part about getting to know the wags of some of the older guys on the leafs roster was the fact that you’d get to babysit their kids. You and Auston had been together for almost five years, which simultaneously felt like forever as well as no time at all. When you’d first gotten together, you guys went out a lot more but now you weren’t so interested in the bar/party/club scene and more interested in hanging out at home with each other and doing weird adult things you never thought you’d want to do (okay, you’d gone to one winery for a wedding but still). Obviously, seeing as you guys didn’t have kids and weren’t sleeping off big nights out, you found you had a lot more free time than Auston’s teammates. Given that, you guys were happy to give families like the Bozaks a break and babysit for them. Kanon was nearing eight and the biggest ball of energy you had ever seen. So at first, when it came to babysitters, Zach had ALWAYS been favoured above you. You get it, the guy writes children's books and he’s like the nicest dude ever. Heck, if you had kids, you’d definitely want him looking after them. Then slowly but surely, Zach was high in demand and you guys got a shot at kid-watching duty. Look at you now, regulars!

To be honest, you didn’t blame most of the parents for wanting to get out every once in a while. Kids are full on. But totally worth it. You could not wait for the day you got to welcome your own baby into the world. You knew Auston loved kids, but if he wanted them.. well you assumed he wanted them eventually. With you? hopefully. In the next few years? yeah, no. Which was sad but you totally got that he wanted to figure himself out first. He’d been in the NHL for seven years and hockey was a big deal for him. You didn’t really know if he’d even thought that much about having kids.

“What are you thinking about?” Auston asked, glancing over at you.

You glanced over at him from looking out the window as you drove and smiled softly. “Nothing.”

He smiled at that, reaching over to hold your hand as he drove. “Okay.”

You giggled at that. “You’re really cute.” you told him and you caught him flush gently at that.

“Thanks, gorgeous.” he mumbled, unable to wipe the massive smile off his face that occurred every time you complimented him. You smiled and leaned across to kiss his cheek.

“I don’t think i told you this enough, but you looked really good the other night.” you added.

“Well, I know I definitely looked like nothing compared to you.” he replied. “Did my best to clean up nicely though, didn’t want to kill your aesthetic.”

You laughed. “What aesthetic? My ‘try-not-to-fall-down-the-stairs-in-those-heels’ aesthetic?”

“No your ‘I-am-literally-the-hottest-person-on-the-planet.’ aesthetic.” Auston replied replied with a chuckle. “Besides, those shoes have me convinced that people who wear heels would survive the apocalypse.”

You laughed. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing but I’ll take it anyway.” you informed him as he pulled into the Bozak’s driveway. You were there a little early to help keep Kanon busy while Tyler and Molly cleaned up the house before people started arriving.

Yeah so apparently adult things also included ‘casual drinks’ at people’s houses. Which was fine but like a lot of small talk so you and Auston either ended up hanging out with people’s kids (or dogs if they didn’t have kids), which you had no complaints about. Everyone didn’t seem to mind, as it at least kept the littlies occupied.

Kanon was waiting outside the front door for you, bouncing excitedly on his heels.

“Hey, bud.” Auston grinned, crouching down to greet him with their customary fist bump before Kanon was ushering you through the house to the kitchen where Tyler and Molly were getting everything ready.

“Mooomm, Auston and Y/n are here!’ Kanon announced as he dashed into the kitchen.

“Careful, buddy, no running in the kitchen remember.” Tyler said, catching his son round the chest before he could barrel into his mother.

“Okay.” Kanon replied, but all four of you knew that he’d be doing the exact same thing again within the next half an hour. 

Tyler shook his head with a chuckle as Kanon raced off to his room to get who-knows-what. “Hey,” He greeted, reaching forward to clap Auston on the back in greeting as you hugged Molly ‘hello’ and handed over the salad you’d made.

Kanon was actually pretty quiet compared to normal. He’d been at a sleepover last night so he was still pretty exhausted. 

“Wanna go see how, Kanon’s doing?” Auston suggested, after growing tired of all the small talk he was making.

“Bit eager tonight?’ you chuckled.

“Well, just want to get in as much practice as possible.” He reasoned.

“Practice?” you questioned, but Auston avoided the question, branching off from the adults and going to hang out with Kanon.

“They’re boring. All they talk about boring things.” Kanon noted when you joined him. “I don’t ever want to be an adult.”

“Well.. we’re adults...”  You started.

“But you’re cool. You’re not boring.”

“So if, you have to be an adult... you’d be a cool adult, like us?”

“I’d be a cool adult, but I wouldn’t be you.” Kanon told you pointedly.

“Who would you be? Connor McDavid?” Auston chuckled. “I wouldn’t be him, ‘cause he’s a boring adult too.” 

you elbowed Auston in the ribs gently as you hid a chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“I’d be me, but old.” Kanon told-you a matter of factly. 

You nodded in agreement. “Good plan.”

“So what makes us cool? Because I don’t wanna get boring like all the adults.” Auston said, dropping his voice to a whisper like he was being let into some big secret.

Five minutes later Kanon had make you a whole flowchart for avoiding ‘boring adult status’.

“Okay. Number one!” Kanon announced. “Are you an adult?”

“yes.” you and auston both answered simultaneously before chuckling lightly.

“Okay.” Kanon said, circling ‘addalt’ in a different coloured pen.

“Do you have children?”

‘No,” you replied as Auston said “pretend we do.”

You glanced at him and he shrugged casually. “Well, we don’t want to be boring for our kids do we? Gotta start preparing so we don’t become boring parents.”

Kanon eyed you both suspiciously. “...okay. Step one if you have children is... No Embarrassing them!”

“Okay.” you said. “Auston, you got that one?”

“Are you ready for number two?” Kanon questioned.

You both nodded.

“No having parties without other kids there. Otherwise your kids will get bored!” Kanon told Auston sternly. “And last. No talking about boring things. So don’t talk about bills or roadworks or the weather!”

“What about... work?” you asked.

“No work! You can talk about hockey and toys and movies but no work!” Kanon warned, making you nod rigourously.

“yes, of course not.”

He narrowed his eyes at you both. “But you guys don’t have a kid!”

Auston nodded. “I know. But do reckon we should? Would we be good at being cool parents?”

Kanon thought for a moment. “Yeah. Then I wouldn’t be lonely everytime all the adults come to our house. But I don’t think you would be boring adults.”

“Well, thats very important to not be boring. That’s why we wanted to ask you lots of questions, since you’re the cool expert.” Auston explained.

Kanon nodded. “That was a good idea.”

After the guests had returned home, you stayed back for a bit to help clean up.

“you alright, Y/n? Looks like there’s something on your mind.” molly noted as she glanced across from where she was picking up glasses to take inside.

You sighed. “I think Auston wants kids.”

“Why the sigh? Isn’t that a good thing?”  Molly questioned with a hint of confusion.

“Well he hasn’t like... outright ever told me he wants kids but.. some of the things he’s been saying these past few weeks... I don’t want to interpret it all wrong and get my hopes up when he isn’t ready.”

“Y/n,” Molly smiled. “Theres no harm in talking to him. “Besides, guys are weird. He’s not going to come straight out and ask you to have his baby.”

you laughed at that. “They are definitely weird.” you agreed.

“Kiddo in bed,” Auston announced as he walked into the kitchen with a grin, Tyler following by his side. “Let’s hope I have the same magic touch with our kids, huh?”

You and Molly exchanged a glance. “Subtlety is definitely not his forte.” Molly murmured, making you laugh gently.

“Well, we better head off. You ready to go, Y/n?” Auston asked.

You nodded, turning to Molly and giving her a hug goodbye. “Thank you so much for having us!”

“Oh you’re very welcome. We’ll see you at the game!”

“I can’t wait till we have that.”

“Have what?” you questioned, glancing over at Auston as you dropped your bag on the kitchen bench.

“A family.” he shrugged.

“Is that what tonight was all about?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed defeatedly, caught in the act. He ran a hand through his hair before glancing up at you. “I really want to start a family with you, Y/n.”

you giggled. “Well you could’ve just said so.” you replied with a grin, throwing your arms round his neck and placing a gentle kiss to his nose.

[valencing]

hockey opus part two

dear @disarmd, it is i, your esteemed hockey bnf. last week, i started writing hockey fic based exclusively on your brilliant and inspiring primer/prompt post. as we discussed, any additional hockey knowledge would only interfere with my Art. for example, you wrote: 

this is connor mcdavid… he was like super extra special talented, got given Extraordinary status (like as an official designation) so that he could play with kids much older than him, and then they called him McJESUS and expected him to SAVE THE OILERS…so like you’re young and talented and everyone has crazy expectations like CRAZY and he’s like “okay, like i do want to be the best, but obviously that is a lot of pressure but it’s fine i’m… fine.” Saviour!! Pressure!! Try hard!! 

this is dylan strome. he’s like not that good in the face just if we’re being super honest, so i chose a picture where you can’t see his face…he was drafted the same year as connor and they played together on the OHL team SO THAT’S LIKE STEVE AND BUCKY, BASICALLY, aaaaand just like with Steve and Bucky, AND ON AN EQUALLY SERIOUS LEVEL, while Connor has gone on to do GREAT (like this year he has the most points scored of anyone in the whole entire league at this very moment), Dylan Strome was DRAFTED AND THEN SENT BACK DOWN TO THE AHL (like the minors) because he’s not a good enough skater and BASICALLY EQUAL TO BEING KIDNAPPED AND TORTURED BY HYDRA, THAT’S AN OBJECTIVE FACT…So Dylan is s u f f e r i n g...but like!!!! being surpassed by your bff. mAYBE A DARK SPIRAL? maybe someone needs to be saved. maybe it’s connor who crumbles under the pressure and needs to be saved!!! so many things!!!! 

which tells me all i need to know to write connor/dylan. here's the fic, in faithful accordance with your vision, not to mention content warnings for alcohol, depression, violence, and suicidal ideation. 

*

The first time Connor maybe saw Dylan again, he was in a cab on his way home from an afterparty. He'd started levitating a few inches off the ice halfway through the game and then scored literally hundreds of points. As a result, he'd had kind of a lot to drink at the party, which was why it seemed likely that Dylan wasn't really there.

Connor's cab was stopped at a light when he heard something outside in the street. It sounded like Dylan saying "There you are!" but in kind of a mean way. Dylan was his friend. His best friend. His––never mind. Connor would know that voice anywhere. But he hadn't heard it since that terrible day when he and Dylan were torn apart. When they took Dylan away. 

Filled with a sudden, desperate hope, Connor lowered the window and peered out into the darkness. Dylan was wearing a uniform Connor didn't recognize. He didn't look too friendly.

"NHL," snarled Dylan. "Oiler. Watch out."

"Dylan?" Connor didn't understand, but he stretched out a hand to his buddy anyway.

"I'll kill you," said Dylan. Then the light turned green and Connor, helplessly, left him behind.

*

"It wasn't him," said Connor's original character teammate Joey, when Connor told him what happened. "Come on, bro. Dylan's in the AHL now. We're never gonna see him again."

"You don't know that!" Connor said. "Sometimes people get out…I've heard stories."

"Santa Claus ain't real, pal," said Joey.  "Now listen…how many points are you gonna rack up tonight? One thousand? Two thousand?"

Being reminded of the game made Connor's heart sink. That was the problem with hockey. First you played a game, then they made you play another game. Sometimes weird shit happened on the ice, like the players on the other team would temporarily turn into swine or whatever, and people would go nuts as if Connor did it on purpose.

"What if I didn't score at all? What would happen then?" Connor tried to keep his voice steady.

Joey just laughed loudly and slapped him on the back. "Good thing we'll never know."

Connor closed his eyes. Only one person had ever seen him as a full person and not just a hockey saviour. "Oh, Dylan," he whispered. "I miss you."

*

"And the winner is CONnorrrrrr McDAAAAAAAvid," said the announcer after Connor scored the final goal of the game. "McDavid five THOUSAND points, Other Guys ZERO."

"Oilers five thousand points," called Connor, but the shouts in the arena were already drowning him out.

"CONNOR! CONNOR! CONNOR!"

"Oilers! Oilers! Oilers!" mumbled Connor, but it was no use. He skated slowly and extraordinarily over to his teammates.

"Nice work, McDavid," said Joey. "Guess we'll let you stay on the team for now. Haha!"

"Good move with the flock of doves," said Connor's coach. "That really got in their faces."

The doves had just randomly appeared, like all the other inexplicable crap that started happening after he and Dylan began playing for different teams. "That wasn't me," said Connor.

"You don't have to pretend around us," said Coach. "We know who you are."

"Who?" asked Connor, trying to follow.

Coach winked. "Let's just say we're all counting on you. Canada is counting on––"

The sound of machine gun fire cut him off. "Get down!" Connor yelled. He hurled himself on top of several of his teammates to protect them. The shots were coming closer and closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see black skates, clomping closer and closer, cracking the ice with every step. Connor looked up. It was––

"Dylan?"

"Shut up!" Dylan growled. He stamped down on the ice again and took aim.

"No, Dylan!" Connor yelled. "Shoot me first!"

A shot rang out, and Coach fell. Drops of blood hit the ice and froze. Connor crawled over to Coach. He was still breathing. Connor pressed his hand to what seemed like an unimpressive shoulder wound and looked up at Dylan. A mask obscured half his face. Dylan had always been a little insecure about his looks.

"You don't have to do this, bro!" Connor said.

"I do though," said Dylan. He whipped out a knife. But at that moment, there rose a mighty storm, and the wind blew Dylan back across the ice, and Dylan fell, because he wasn't a good enough skater, and then the wind lifted him up and bore him away.

"That wasn't me," said Connor immediately, because all his teammates were staring at him like what the fuck.

The medics were converging on them. Coach groaned softly.

Joey said, "Do we have to cancel tomorrow's game now? Justin Trudeau and Queen Elizabeth were gonna come."

Connor felt a stress headache coming on.

Coach grimaced as he was loaded onto the stretcher. "Gotta figure out what's going on. No game. We'll take a week off."

Connor's headache lifted. A week off! All of a sudden it felt like there was more oxygen in the arena. "Thanks, Dylan," he whispered gratefully. Then he saw how everyone was looking at him. "Sarcasm! I was being sarcastic."

"If that was your buddy, he's a goddamn psycho," Joey said. 

"Good point," Connor agreed. Dylan always did have his back.

*

During the investigation, no one had to go to hockey practice. Connor kept his phone off so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. Once he tried to leave his house but when he looked up from the front porch, an airplane was skywriting WHAT WOULD MCJESUS DO overhead, so Connor decided to go back inside.

By the second day, Connor was getting worried about letting everyone down, so he went into his workout room to do his hockey exercises. Sooner or later the break would be over and he'd have to be in top form so no one would get mad at him. Just thinking about messing up on the ice made him feel sick to his stomach. It was almost a relief when Dylan crashed through the window, tackled him from behind, and rolled them over and over until they came to a stop by the treadmill with Dylan on top.

Connor reached up to pull at Dylan's mask. Dylan glared at him. "Oh, Dylan," said Connor. "To me you are beautiful."

Dylan let Connor pull the mask off. His face was gaunt. He looked like the ghost of the man Connor once knew.

"Bro…what have they done to you?"

"Everything," said Dylan hoarsely. 

"Was it the AHL?"

"Ssshh," said Dylan, looking from side to side as if someone else was listening. "I can't trust you. You're the target."

"I'm Connor!" said Connor. "Don't you know me?"

"I only know suffering," said Dylan. "That and death. Nothingness. The void." He looked searchingly into Connor's eyes.

Something about what Dylan was saying sounded appealing. "They don't play hockey in the void, do they?"

"No," Dylan growled. "They don't."

"Good," said Connor. "Take me there."

"What?"

"Deliver me," said Connor. "I'm ready." He smiled up at Dylan and waited for his final release. How lucky he was, to leave this terrible world. How grateful he was to go with Dylan's body pressed close to his.

Dylan raised his knife. At that moment a gentle breeze wafted the scent of flowers into the room, along with the sweet sound of distant harmonies. Dylan blinked down at Connor in confusion. The knife dropped from his hand. "Connor? Davo, is that you?"

"Duh," said Connor. "Of course it's me."

"Oh my god, Davo," babbled Dylan. "I dunno what I was doing. Did I hurt you?"

"No," said Connor sadly. It looked like he wasn't going to be murdered by his true love after all.

"I'm so sorry, bro. I'm gonna show you how sorry." And then Dylan's mouth was on Connor's, and it was almost everything Connor had ever wanted. Dylan kissed him desperately, touching him everywhere as if trying to make sure he was still whole. "I can't believe I almost destroyed your hockey career," he whispered. "I can't believe I almost ruined Canada."

"Not your fault," Connor muttered.

"Now you can still save the Oilers!" said Dylan. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying," said Connor. "Everything is fine."

THE END

[drabblemesilly]

Connor McDavid #15 + Dylan Strome #6

Requested by Anon:  Hi!! I was wondering if you could write an imagine about the reader going to world juniors with Connor mcdavid to support team Canada and Dylan strome? Thanks so much!!

*You’re welcome and thank you too! This is more of a frienship thing than a romantic drabble but I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you like it too. :)*

Word count: 982

“What?” you asked pointedly when Connor gave you a look of amusement. Passing him the sign that you stayed up all night making for his best friend, you asked him, “why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged, putting the sign under his armpit, “I like your outfit.”

“Oh shush,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m just showing my support for your best friend,” you told him, knowing that he’s going to get a kick out of your Team Canada number nineteen jersey, red toque, red war paint, and black jeans.

Everyone who knows Dylan Strome and Connor McDavid knows they’re best of friends. Heck, half of the hockey world was heartbroken when Dylan was sent back to Erie mostly because of his Connor McDavid connection. And then there was you, little old you, who Dylan always teased was getting more quality time with Connor.

You almost laughed when you remembered that one time, after Dylan went back to Erie, you and Connor went to visit him in Pennsylvania. He was ecstatic when he saw your boyfriend and instantly, his face fell when he realized that you tagged along.

“No McStromer alone time?” he asked, teasingly glaring at you.

Connor sniggered, “sorry, bud,” he said, giving his best friend a one-armed hug before looking back at you, “someone managed to tag.”

Dyl just rolled his eyes and dragged Connor inside his apartment.

You would punch him but you knew he was just playing. Connor says Dylan’s just salty but you know that he’s just teasing you because he’s protective of his best friend. You’re not close, you really don’t talk much just the two of you, except for the occasional messages here and there but you’ve grown fond of Dylan Strome and you would fight tooth and nail for that guy.

You have come to think of Dylan like family and families stick together.

So here you were, at the first game of the WJC, together with eighteen thousand people, ready to lose your voice cheering for one of the most important people in the life of the most important person in yours.

Go Stromer!

Connor put his arm around you as you entered from the back of the arena, “you know he’s not going to see this sign right?” he chuckled, “our seats are far up.”

You grinned at him, “that’s why you’re going to take a picture of me holding it,” you said, “and anyway, it’s the thought that counts.”

Today was the only day you were going to be able to watch a game live so you’re going to make it count. You’re prepared to lose your voice and your sanity, albeit temporarily, to cheer for Team Canada and you already know that you won’t be regretting anything in the morning.

“Oh hey,” Connor stopped walking before looking down at you, “we’re here early, you think we can see them before they warm up?”

You shrugged, “you’re the one who knows the protocol.”

Connor chuckled, “we have time,” he said before leading you down to a hallway that you thought would open up to where the locker rooms were.

“It’d be funny if we end up in Russia’s locker room,” you sniggered, “like, hi homies!” you said cheerfully, “good luck but not really.”

Chalk it up to them having telekinetic power when it comes to each other but Dylan strode out of the double wooden doors just as you round the corner. He was in his Team Canada hockey hoodie and tights.

“Stromer!” Connor yelled to catch his attention.

Dylan turned to look at you, his face brightening when he realized who just called him. He skipped, like the actual kid that he is, over to you and gave Connor a big bear hug.

“Davo!!” he said excitedly, shifting from one foot to another, “you’re here!!”

You cleared your throat, “me too!” you said cheerily.

Dylan glanced at you and groaned, leaning over to whisper to Connor, “you know who to blame if we lose.”

“Which you won’t, dummy,” you said, stepping forward and giving him a tight hug, “I saw you in your promotional pictures,” you tapped his right chest, “the ‘C’ looks good, cap!”

Going back to the OHL was a good thing for Dylan to prove his critics wrong. He was ready for the NHL, he was good enough, he was deserving of the third overall pick. When he was given the captaincy of the under-twenty team, you gave him a big fist bump from Edmonton. He deserved that too.

“You’re going to be great,” you told him.

“She believes in you so much,” Connor said, “that she even made you this,” he unfolded the sign he was holding and showed it to his best friend, “it’s giving me second hand embarrassment.”

Dylan cackled when he saw the picture of him you superimposed on a Speedo-wearing model with the words that read, ‘you’re not Davo but you make me proud-o.’

Dylan held his hands up in surrender, “you suck,” he was still cackling, “please don’t raise that at any point during the game.”

Connor ran a hand through his hair, “I won’t wish that sign for me,” he pulled you closer to give you a quick kiss in the head, “but as she says, it’s the thought that counts.”

That softened Dylan’s face and he took a few beats to look at you and Connor, “thanks guys,” he told the both of you, giving you each a squeeze, “I’m really happy you’re here.”

Connor smacked the back of his head, “what are you talking about, goof? Where else would we be?”  he snorted.

Dylan grinned, “you’re solid,” he said, backing away, “I’m gonna make you proud,” he chuckled before giving you a wave and walking back into the room.

“Hey,” Connor called out, “break a stick eh?”

Dylan gave you and Connor one last smile before joining the rest of his team.

They won that night and you raised the sign like it was Simba at the start of The Lion King.

[spine-buster]

Chapter 23 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

@wrestlewriting @wrasslin-x @thegenericluchadora @thewriterformerlytaggedas@fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign@baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt@newjapan @corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27@kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @ohcristimhookedonhavocimsodunne@fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay@50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns@kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey @ourscratcheddreams @sleeplessandcynical @badame124 @thevixeniris

“How do I look?” Gemma asked one last time as the limousine stopped, the driver putting the car in park and exiting.

“Like I said…you look delectable,” Fergal eyed her.  She’d chosen a floor length black dress with a gold belt and straps, and an exposed back.  At first she wanted to wear something that looked like a nun’s habit but he managed to convince her out of it.  He was trying every day to make it known to her that despite the “new body” she always harped on about, she was still attractive and sexy; still allowed to feel like a million bucks.  She had looked at herself in the mirror for a good ten minutes with the dress on.  When she made a quip about gold being her colour anyway, he knew she’d chosen the dress.

They posed on the red carpet for a few pictures before a handler ushered them inside.  Upon entering the building they were met with a few more photographers, taking informal pictures of them before Gemma had to do the media scrum.  

Fergal watched as she looked around the room, mentally counting the amount of reporters lined up interviewing hockey players.  He squeezed her hand to get her attention.  “You alright?”

Before Gemma could answer him, her name was called loudly from beyond the media scrum.  Gemma turned her attention away from Fergal, trying to find the voice that had called her name.  Fergal watched as Gemma’s face lit up.  “John!”

A good looking man in a very well tailored suit speed walked towards her, engulfing her in a giant hug.  Fergal noticed the media pass around his neck sandwiched between their bodies.  “God, I’m so glad I get to see you before the ceremony!” the man exclaimed, letting go of his hug but still keeping his hands on her arms.  Fergal was watching closely.  “How are you?  How’s everything?”

Gemma shrugged her shoulders, a giant smile on her face.  “Everything’s good.  You know.  Could be better but it’s still good.”

“Making the best of a shitty situation.”

“As always.”

Fergal stood awkwardly watching the interaction before the man looked his way.  His hands dropped from Gemma’s arms.  “You must be Fergal,” he said, extending his hand.  Fergal shook it politely.  “I’m John Patterson.  Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Fergal nodded his head.  “How do you know Gemma?”

“We’ve worked together in the past,” Gemma answered for him.  “John works for the Leafs now,” she looked towards him.  She backhanded his arm playfully.  “Are you head of PR yet or what?”

“I’m working on it,” John blushed.  “But speaking of, make sure you stop by Patti for us so we can get an interview with you – lifelong Leaf fan and all,” he turned to point out the reporter in the scrum Gemma would need to speak to.  “Will I see you at the after-party?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, good.  I’ll come find you,” he hugged her again.  He turned to Fergal.  “It was really nice to meet you, man.  I’ve heard so much about you.  But I’m working tonight, so I’ll catch up with you at the after-party.”

“Yeah, cool, nice to meet you too,” Fergal said, John leaving halfway through the sentence.  

Yet another man in a suit approached them, this time much older.  “Ms. Fitzgerald, are you ready?  You’ll begin just as Mr. Bergeron moves on.”

“Yes sir,” Gemma nodded her head, flattening out her dress.

Fergal knew that was the moment where she’d be gone for at least fifteen or twenty minutes and he’d be left alone in the background.  He knew he would have to ask her the only question that was currently on his mind.  “That John guy, you said he worked with you before?”

“Mhm.”

“Where?  Hockey Canada?”

“Uh, not entirely.”

“Well, where then?”

Gemma gulped, wishing the first reporter would call her over.  She saw Patrice Bergeron moving along to the second reporter.  “You remember how I told you I’ve only really had one serious boyfriend before you?”

Fergal’s heart fluttered for a moment – not in the good way.  “That was him?!”

“Mhm.”

“That’s your ex-boyfriend?  He works for the Leafs?”

“Mhm.”

“Wait…” Fergal replayed the conversation.  “Why did he say he’s heard so much about me?”

Before he could say anything else, the older gentleman approached them again.  “Ms. Fitzgerald, you may go ahead to the media scrum now.”

“Gemma.”

“I’ll be back.”

“Gemma,” he said sternly, but she left him there to process what he just heard and ask himself a million more question he’d have to wait to get the answer to.  

He watched her every move as she made her way through the scrum.  In that time, his brain was on overdrive trying to come up with some answers.  So, she had an ex-boyfriend who worked in the hockey world.  He knew she had one; she just never specified who he was or what field he worked in.  Now Fergal knew.  John was attractive.  A ‘Suit’ type.  Slightly older than Gemma but of course, younger than himself.  Anyone Gemma knew would be younger than him, Fergal reasoned.  He was ten years older than she was.  He was an old geezer.  And it was possible (was it clear?) that they still kept in touch.  How else would John know she was with him?  Nobody mentioned it on WWE programming.  He never tweeted out any pictures of them together.  She didn’t tweet out any pictures of them together.  This was their first official event together.  He didn’t even hug her during his return match, at her request.  Unless he knew because of Fergal’s attendance at the Leafs game where they honoured Gemma.  But they weren’t even together then.  Did she tell him over text?  Over phone call when he wasn’t around?  What was that conversation like?  Why did she even feel the need to tell him?  Why -----

“You alright?” Gemma’s voice interrupted his spiralling train of thought.  “We should go sit down.  It’s just through there.  We’re in the fourth row.”

Fergal didn’t want to wait any longer for answers.  “What happened with you and John?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why’d you guys break up?”

Gemma tugged at his arm, pulling him through the black curtain so they were alone in the area between the media scrum and the main area, where nobody would hear what they were talking about.  “We were just on different paths,” she began, looking at him.  “I was traveling a lot and then he got the job with the Leafs.  There was never any ill will or anything.  It was very mutual, and we knew it had to be done.  We were very mature about it.”

“That’s why you two still talk.”

“Yeah.  He’s a good guy.  There aren’t many like him in hockey – at least in the offices.  He doesn’t let his position get to his head.  That sort of thing.”

Fergal calmed down considerably.  There was no way he was going to completely freak out.  She was so calm about telling him.  And there was no way he was going to ruin her night at the NHL Awards by getting angry with her.  John did seem like a pretty levelheaded guy.  And if he was good enough for Gemma to date and still keep in touch with, he would be good enough for Fergal.  “So I shouldn’t be worried about him?”

“Oh no way,” Gemma scoffed.  “He’s married to his job now.  He wants to be like, head of PR for the Leafs by the time he’s thirty…he’s a career man.  Always was, really.  He’ll be one of those guys that doesn’t settle down until he’s in his late thirties or early forties.”

“Like me.”

Gemma smiled.  “Like you.”  She leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips.  “You don’t have anything to worry about Ferg.  He’s great but he’s not Fergal Devitt level great.”

The NHL Awards were fun for Fergal.  Though he was in a different environment than what he was used to and felt a little bit out of his element, he was enjoying the ambience and ceremony.  The more important thing was that every time he looked at Gemma, she looked like she was having the time of her life.  He absolutely loved seeing her so happy.  Throughout the night she had hockey players – guys she loved and respected and probably watched on TV – coming up to her and telling her how much they loved her.  Fergal could tell it was surreal for her.  Every time one left, she’d squeeze his arm and dig her nails into his skin.  She’d tell him who the person was, as if he would know how much weight their words and praises had on her.  ‘That was Joe Sakic, Ferg.’  ‘Ferg, that was Sidney Crosby.  Sidney fucking Crosby.  People say I’m the female him.’  ‘Holy mother of God, Fergal.  Mark Messier!  Mark Messier!’

Gemma received a standing ovation from everybody when she went out on stage, and Fergal knew she was trying very, very hard to keep her emotions in check.  To be given an ovation in a room full of your peers was a lot to handle.  He could tell, too, that one of the cameras panned right to him, standing and clapping along with everyone else, but at that point he didn’t care.  He was there for Gemma and Gemma only.  If hockey writers and reporters wanted to speculate about who he was and do some digging, he didn’t care – he was there to support his girlfriend.  That was all that mattered to him, and that was all that should matter.  

Gemma said a few kind words before presenting the Hart Trophy some young guy a guy named Connor McDavid.  It was about five minutes before he’d see her again, and by that point it was the end of the show.  Everybody in the arena began to leave for the afterparty, which is exactly where he and Gemma were headed for a bit before calling it a night.  He knew she would want to mingle with everyone so he made sure to have an extra shot of espresso to stay awake.  

As they began to make their way out of the T-Mobile Arena, both Gemma and Fergal both heard an extremely loud ‘GEMMAAAAAAAAAA!’ from behind them.  Gemma spun around quickly, only to see P.K Subban running towards her.  Her face lit up immediately as he picked her up and spun her around.

“PK!” she squealed as she set him down.  “About time I saw you!”

“I had to surprise you!  Look at you in this dress, girl,” he gave her the up down.  “Did you choose this or did your boyfriend over here?” he nodded his head towards Fergal.

“Hey, be nice,” she pointed her finger at him comically.  “And for your information, I chose this dress all by myself.”

“You must be the infamous PK Subban,” Fergal chimed in, completely taking Gemma by surprise.  She had no idea how Fergal knew who he was.  Bless him, but he was completely clueless about hockey – as clueless as she was about wrestling.  “I’ve read a lot about you.”

“I hope you’ve only read the good articles,” PK quipped.

“You bet.  One of my best buddies is from Montreal and he told me about your donation to the children’s hospital.  You’re the fucking man, PK.”

PK put his hand over his heart solemnly.  “Hey man, it’s my honour to do stuff like that, you know.  You understand completely, don’t you Balor?”

Gemma couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  Fergal knowing who PK was, bringing up his donation to the Montreal Children’s Hospital; PK bringing up Fergal’s wrestling name?  “Are you stalking my boyfriend, PK?”

PK rolled his eyes.  “I don’t stalk your boyfriend, sweetheart.  My little cousin is obsessed with him,” he focused his attention back to Fergal.  “He’s got the bodysuit and everything.  I had to buy it for him for Christmas.  He wouldn’t shut up about it and now he won’t stop wearing it.”

Fergal couldn’t help but laugh.  He always found wrestling in the most unconventional of places.  “Well in that case, he should get a little too sweet from me.”

PK’s eyes bulged out of his head as he whipped out his phone.  “Dude, he’s gonna freak.  Next thing you know we’re gonna be doing a buddy cop movie together.”

“PK --” Gemma tried to interject.

“I’ve already thought about this – what about something simple like Subban and Balor?  Or do you want to be first?  Balor and Subban?  Who’s the good cop and who’s the bad cop?” he chatted as he took the selfie.  

“PK --”

“Ooooooh dude, what about a sitcom?  Like the odd couple?  Hey could you get John Cena to make a cameo?”

“Pernell-Karl,” Gemma emphasized his full name.  “Stop scaring my boyfriend.”

“I’m not scaring him!” PK defended himself.  “He loves the idea.”

“Hey PK, let’s go!” another voice shouted from within the crowd.  

“Hey listen,” PK put his hand on Fergal’s shoulder.  “Anytime you’re in Toronto with this one over here, you let me know.  I know people who can get the pilot script going in no time.”

“PK!  Let’s go!”

He disappeared into the massive crowd of people as Fergal continued to laugh at the prospect of them in any sort of TV show together.  Judging by how well their brief meeting went, any hypothetical time they’d spend together would drive Gemma nuts.  “I love that guy,” he chuckled.

“How do you even know who he is?” Gemma asked, shaking her head.

“Hey, I do my homework.”

At the after party, Gemma was having the time of her life.  She milked her drink for a while, only because so many people were coming up to her and talking to her.  Some conversations were jovial while others were more serious – some even whispered or talked in low, hushed voices so no-one else would hear.  Gemma would nod along secretively.  Fergal wondered what they were saying – but then again, he’d know the second they got into their hotel room. 

It was only when they were alone together, briefly, that Fergal noticed her eyes go wide for a very brief second.  She immediately looked down and away from whatever she had been looking at.  

Fergal looked behind him.  Was it PK again?  Was it someone else she idolized?  “You alright?” he asked.

"Don’t look now…but…do you see that woman behind you? In that tight bandage dress?" 

He looked behind him immediately and saw exactly who Gemma was referring to.  "Yeah..." 

"That's her. That's Amanda Robinson."  

Fergal tried to remain calm.  He really did.  But at the mention of that name, he felt his blood begin to boil.  He took one good look at her and promptly decided she was the absolute ugliest woman he'd ever seen in his life. Sure, she was conventionally attractive to some, but knowing what she had done to Gemma, knowing how she had no remorse, that she practically bragged about it and was still allowed to step foot on the ice made her the ugliest woman in the world. No apology. No acknowledgement of wrongdoing.  Nothing.

"Want me to get Becky on her?" he asked, his jaw tight. 

"That sounds tempting, but I'll pass. She's not worth it."

“I ought to go over there and give her a piece of my mind,” Fergal said through clenched teeth.  

“Ferg.”

“I mean it.  She fucking injured you, Gemma.  What is she even doing here?”

“I don’t know, but please don’t.”

“This is your night.”

“Technically it’s Connor McDavid’s night.”

Fergal looked at her.  “You are the best god damn female hockey player of your generation.  Don’t you ever forget that.  She can show up here and try to get attention but nobody, nobody, not the least her, is ever going to change the fact that you’re the best.  Fuck, you’re probably better than half the guys here.”

Gemma couldn’t help but crack a smile.  “Thanks.”

“I’m stating the truth.  You’re the best Gemma.  That’s what’s going down in the record books.”

Gemma was tired as she answered questions for a room full of reporters the next morning.  There would later be a luncheon for everyone involved in the ceremony last night, especially for those who won awards.  Gemma had been invited and thought it was a nice way to cap off the weekend.  She wasn’t told about the press conference beforehand, but she participated nonetheless.

It was very different from the last press conference she held, to say the least.  At the last one, of course, she had to announce how she couldn’t play hockey again.  It was the hardest thing she ever had to do.  And to do it in front of a room full of people?  That made it even worse.  Things were different now, but she still felt slightly uncomfortable.  Usually when she did these, it was because of a good game or a win in an international tournament.  Now, instead of questions pertaining to her game, she was getting questions about her ‘retirement’.  She asked them specifically not to call it a retirement.  She wasn’t retired.  She was twenty-six, for heaven’s sake.  No twenty-six year old should be retired.  

“Ms. Fitzgerald, I’m from the Vancouver Sun.  I was wondering if you saw Amanda Robinson at the ceremony last night?”

Uncomfortable murmurs made their way through the room.  What was this douchebag trying to do?  “No, I didn’t see her.”

“Did you hear the remarks she made?” he asked again.

“No.”

“May I have permission to play the recording?” he asked, but barely waited for Gemma’s answer.  He pressed play and a reporter’s voice filled the air, asking about what Amanda thought about Gemma presenting the Hart Trophy.

“She looks good though.  I mean, I thought she was pregnant at first, but when I was told she wasn’t I figured her body just filled out,” Amanda’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard.  “I saw her still limping from her injury tonight, which is a shame because by now she should be walking fine.”

Gemma felt like her entire body was on fire.  She tried to maintain her composure, to not let the room full of press know how angry she was getting, but she rolled her eyes slightly.  It was the only action she actually wished got caught on camera.  She figured there was no more front to put up.  No more grace for the sake of Hockey Canada; no more polite attitude for the sake of her spot on the team.  

“Any response?” the reporter asked.  

“You can tell Amanda Robinson I’m still limping because it’s heavier to carry gold around the neck than silver.”

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Summarizing the Western Conference

  Today is the last Saturday without regular season NHL for a long while. We’ve survived the offseason and the too-long preseason. It also means it’s the last draft weekend, so if you’re in need of a quick reference for your drafts, head over to the Dobber Shop to grab the guide. There may be too much to take in just one day but the accompanying projections and draft lists can help in a pinch.

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Many promising young stars have been cut from their NHL team in recent days and the most recent was Lias Andersson being sent to the Rangers’ AHL affiliate. The top-10 pick from 2017 will have to wait to get back to the NHL after finishing the season with the Rangers last year.

There is nothing to panic about fantasy-wise unless you drafted him in one-year leagues. Not every teenager can step into the NHL in their first year or two. Whether he earned a spot in the NHL to start the year is another question, but this isn’t some sort of indictment on his long-term fantasy value.  

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With Seth Jones injured, Markus Nutivaara was skating alongside Zach Werenski in practice yesterday. The latter was confirmed to patrol the top PP unit, but this could give Nutivaara some ancillary value in deeper leagues. He’s also a name to keep in mind for those that play DFS.

*

St. Louis deployed some interesting power play units in practice yesterday:

PP units for tonight:

Maroon/O'Reilly/Tarasenko/Parayko/Bozak

Schwartz/Schenn/Kyrou/Perron/Pietrangelo#stlblues

— Lou Korac (@lkorac10) September 28, 2018

Now, whichever unit has Vladimir Tarasenko is the de facto PP1, but the way the talent is split leads me to believe this could be a split-TOI situation for the Blues, at least to start the year. Not that the top guys were overly reliant on PP production last year but this could be an issue for upside this year.

*

Yesterday I started my round-up for those with their drafts this weekend. My Ramblings through the offseason and preseason have comprised of tens of thousands of words and expecting people to have read and remember them all is unrealistic. I’m going to go team by team and review some notable players I’ve discussed, which will include their outlook for 2018-19.

Today is the Western Conference.

  Anaheim Ducks

With the recent injury to Corey Perry, the door for Ondrej Kase to get those top PP minutes has been kicked down. He may not skate with Ryan Getzlaf a lot but if he gets those top minutes, improving on last year’s production seems likely.

Rickard Rakell continues to be undervalued in standard Yahoo! leagues. Not many wingers can provide 30 goals, 30 assists, 3 shots per game, and triple-digit hits. Rakell is one of them.

Ryan Getzlaf can push a point per game but don’t just focus on his assist totals. He can provide two shots per game and triple-digit hits. If you’re avoiding drafting a top centre early, he’s one to grab later in drafts.

  Arizona Coyotes

The injury to Alex Galchenyuk has muddled a lot of things. With the existing injury to Christian Dvorak, this is not a team deep down the middle and we’ve seen talk about Clayton Keller or Vinnie Hinostroza possibly sliding to the middle.

Speaking of Keller, don’t be surprised if he pushes past 70 points, even if Galchenyuk misses a couple weeks of the season.

Jakob Chychrun is a guy to target in deeper drafts who can not only provide real-time stats like solid hits and blocks, and perhaps to get to the 30-point mark.

Antti Raanta should be a late target in net for a lot of people.

  Calgary Flames

In all formats, Johnny Gaudreau ranks as one of the highest players on my list. Not many players can threaten 90 points, but he can, and can do so at a wing position, even without hits or blocked shots.

Mark Giordano is one of my favourite targets outside the top-12 defencemen. He had to share PP duties with Dougie Hamilton last year and does not have that threat this year. The additions of Elias Lindholm and James Neal should add more scoring and help Giordano surpass 40 points again.

Matthew Tkachuk looks primed for a big year in all formats but even more so in leagues counting hits or PIMs.

  Colorado Avalanche

Beyond the usual suspects, one guy to watch is Tyson Jost. I’m not sure he’ll have much relevance in most leagues, but in deeper leagues, he should be the fourth forward on the top PP unit. He’s cheap source of PP points going very late. Again, only for deeper leagues.

Be wary of drafting Gabriel Landeskog too high in multi-cat leagues. Last year is probably as good as it gets. Expecting improvement beyond that is asking a bit too much.

If you miss out on guys like John Klingberg, Shayne Gostisbehere, and John Carlson, drafting Tyson Barrie is just fine. He should pass 50 points again.

  Dallas Stars

We know all about the top stars (pun very much intended). Don’t be shy to grab either Tyler Seguin or Jamie Benn in the second round. This team, thankfully, won’t be the Ken Hitchcock Dallas Stars. Look for them to get back to being fun to watch again.

Jason Spezza’s health is always a concern but he has the inside track to getting back on the top PP unit.

Valeri Nichushkin, on the other hand, doesn’t look like he’ll be featured on the top PP unit anytime soon. I love his talent but we’ve been down this road before and he’s already a bit nicked up in the preseason. Look elsewhere.

The defence corps is going to be a lot of fun to watch this year. Don’t be surprised if Miro Heiskanen has a Calder-worthy season, though his true fantasy relevance probably won’t be very high just yet, even if he does skate with Klingberg.

  Edmonton Oilers

Given the goings-on in the preseason, Ty Rattie is going to be a popular pick. We’ve seen a lot of wingers fall off Connor McDavid’s line in his brief career. I’m more focused on drafting Jesse Puljujarvi late. Surely, he has to eventually make his way to the top PP unit, right?

I also am a fan of Kailer Yamamoto but his promotion to the top PP unit seems unlikely.

Oscar Klefbom is one of the more under-valued defencemen in drafts. He’s regularly going outside the top-30 defencemen and he’s more than capable of 200 shots and 40 points.

Ryan Nugent-Hopkins being available around pick 100 and having multi-positional eligibility seems like a very nice option. Let’s just hope that 2017-18 doesn’t rear its ugly head and have a lineup shuffle every other game.

  Los Angeles Kings

To me, Anze Kopitar is one of the most over-valued players in standard Yahoo! leagues right now. He had a career year pretty much across the board and came in around player-20. He’s being often drafted around player 30-35. Expecting him to nearly repeat last year is what his ADP is demanding. I’d rather draft Jeff Carter 100 picks later.

A lot of people I’ve seen have Ilya Kovalchuk in the 60-point neighbourhood. I think, for the most part, this is people (present company included) saying, ‘I really don’t know how this is going to go.’ We give our best guess and move along. He’s a risk.

I really hope Tyler Toffoli bounces back but he should be locked out of the top PP unit. Not that he’s often found himself there in the past, but it’ll continue to hinder his fantasy upside.

  Minnesota Wild

The word is out on Jason Zucker and he’s going with frequency in the top-10 rounds of a 12-team league. There’s nothing wrong with that, though. He’s a discounted Rickard Rakell.

Eric Staal is being drafted like he’ll repeat close to last year. Maybe not quite 40-plus goals, but it seems 30-plus is the expectation. I’m not sure he’s worth his ADP. This is another instance where I’ll wait and grab someone like Jeff Carter, or even Mika Zibanejad or Nico Hischier.

I don’t have a particular issue with where Matt Dumba is being drafted, but I don’t think there’s a lot of profit to be had, either. He’s fine as a second defenceman in that he shouldn’t bust, but he won’t take another huge leap, either.

I’m a believer in Mikael Granlund’s career turnaround. You should be too.

  Nashville Predators

Eeli Tolvanen being sent to the AHL (temporarily) is not what early drafters were hoping for but this won’t last long. He’ll be back sooner rather than later.

I believe that Kevin Fiala forces his way to the top PP unit. In fact, he’ll take another step altogether. Look for him to push 30 goals.

Everyone is waiting for the year Filip Forsberg pushes a point per game in a healthy season. I’m willing to bite this year.

I’m not one buying the half-season sample from Ryan Ellis last year. He can be a 40-point guy but expecting more than that from him is expecting too much. Draft accordingly.

  St. Louis Blues

The revamped offence has a lot of things up in the air but Patrick Maroon looks locked on the top line and may even get some top PP minutes. He’s far too cheap in multi-category leagues right now.

There aren’t many players who can threaten for the Rocket Richard Trophy and Vladimir Tarasenko is one of them. Being able to draft him in the third round is a gift, it doesn’t matter the format. He looks healthy which is all that matters.

Last year was probably the high-water mark for Alex Pietrangelo. I don’t like drafting established players and expecting more out of them than the previous season just to return value on their ADP. Pietrangelo falls in this category.

Ryan O’Reilly’s ADP is hilariously low. He’s also another guy I’d flat-out rather draft than Eric Staal, let alone being able to get him several rounds later.

  San Jose Sharks

I mean, what can we say? I officially have Brent Burns first and Erik Karlsson third among d-men but picking one over the other is like picking a favourite child.

Joe Pavelski rebounding will depend a lot on the health of Joe Thornton. So goes one as does the other. I will take a gamble on Pavelski but will do so as a winger rather than a centre.

If Evander Kane can manage nearly 80 games again, his ADP is an absolute steal. If he cannot, well, he might return his ADP regardless. He can be a top-50 player in multi-cat leagues even if he plays just 70 games.

Timo Meier is a guy to get late in drafts. He quietly had 20 goals last year and has the profile of a player who can push 30 even without the top PP minutes. He’s been pretty consistently in the top-6 of late in preseason.

  Vancouver Canucks

I’m not concerned about a regression from Brock Boeser and you shouldn’t be either. This kid is special.

Speaking of special, if I could only draft one rookie this year, it’s Elias Pettersson. Just the top PP minutes alone should mean he’ll pass 50 points. Not many rookies elsewhere can boast that.

Alex Edler can’t be relied upon to stay healthy but he’s a multi-category monster for 60-plus games. Add the replacement player you can slide in for him and he’s probably worth his ADP.

I don’t think there’s much value to be had on this roster aside from players to be featured on the top power play.

  Vegas Golden Knights

There are very few rookies who’ve impressed in the preseason as much than Erik Brannstrom. The suspension to Nate Schmidt had opened the door for Brannstrom to make the team but he was cut a couple days ago. Hold in dynasties but maybe not much here in 2018-19.

Max Pacioretty was due to rebound anyway but having a centre the quality of Paul Stastny should only cement that. He can be a multi-category beast this year at a wing position. Don’t let him pass you by.

Don’t expect Marc-Andre Fleury to repeat last year’s ratios.

William Karlsson will regress but won’t fall off the map. Regardless, Jonathan Marchessault is the guy to own off the top line in multi-cat leagues.

  Winnipeg Jets

Even with regression built into his projection, Blake Wheeler comes out as one of my most valuable wingers. He’s a gift pick in the second, even third round.

I love Nikolaj Ehlers but without the prime PP minutes, he won’t reach his true fantasy potential. Be wary of over-drafting him.

I know Jack Roslovic is a sexy sleeper pick this year (just type his name and ‘sleeper’ in the google machine) but I’m not buying that he’ll A) replace Bryan Little on the second line, and B) get top PP minutes. We’ll have to wait for his true breakout season.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-summarizing-the-western-conference/

[flauntpage]

How to Fix the NHL, a League That's Broken

We don't need a big intro. The NHL is broken in countless ways. Let's fix the NHL.

1) Get rid of the salary cap. The salary cap unfairly depresses salaries and creates parity, the most boring thing in sports. I used to be a very big proponent of salary caps so everything would be "fair," but I was an idiot. If you own a team and want to spend $100 million on it, let's go. Can't keep up with the spending? Too bad, find a new way to win. I could do 10,000 words alone on this but a salary cap hinders a lot of fun things in sports, like trades, free agency, and the ability to earn so much money that I can eventually buy the Miami Marlins after I retire.

2) Get rid of the draft. My fallback here is "get rid of the draft lottery," but again, the draft unfairly suppresses earning ability. Rich people are only in favor of a free market as long as they're the ones that get to exploit it. Let's replace the draft with a recruiting system like in the NCAA, where if you make a good enough pitch to an available player, that player will come to your team. Sure, this favors big-market clubs but too bad.

Every system for bringing workers into the NHL will have a flaw, but this one will have players like Rasmus Dahlin sitting at a table with five hats in front of him and his mom next to him. Then he will move his hand toward the Coyotes hat before laughing and putting on the Maple Leafs hat. I need that.

Listen to the latest episode of Biscuits, VICE Sports' hockey podcast

3) Get rid of fighting. Yeah, yeah. I pee sitting down and if I don't like fighting I should go play tennis or whatever. You know what? Fuck you. There's nothing wrong with peeing while sitting down and people actually watch tennis so maybe let's consider going with what that sport does, which is not allow the 567th-ranked player in the world fight Roger Federer to fire himself up. We're at a point where most fights are staged goon-on-goon affairs so if you're still into that, go watch a game from 1983 when nobody knew how to skate.

4) The FIEGI playoff format. You know it. You love it. Let’s do it.

But really, we need to get rid of this divisional nonsense. Let's meet in the middle and go to a 1-8 format. Stop changing things nobody wants changed.

5) Leaving your feet to block a shot is a penalty. I hate when sports reward no-talent try-hards, and hockey rewards them more than any other sport. It boggles my mind when people get pumped about a fourth-line penalty killer sliding to block an Alex Ovechkin bomb from the face-off circle. Seriously? You don't want to see where that slapper was headed?

This would increase goals and reduce injuries. You can dive to take away the puck if you're in chase mode, but no more squaring up a shooter and sliding in front of the shot. Remember when John Tortorella took over the Canucks and people were excited about the Sedins blocking shots? The Sedins! Get out of here with this nonsense.

6) Bigger nets. Let's go three inches vertically and horizontally and see what happens. I've heard the argument against this idea because goalies would eat more blasts in the mask but whenever that happens, it's always by accident and it's always with the goalie on his knees well below the crossbar. If anything, creating more room around the goalie's skull would reduce those instances but really, shots to the mask are always accidental and wouldn't go anywhere either way. More goals, though. Let's get more goals.

7) Puck off the netting is in play. If there's one general thing I'd change about the NHL, I'd reduce the number of whistles during games. Hockey sells itself on flow and speed, but man can there be a lot of whistles. I don't understand why shots that hit the protective netting above the glass can't be played when they bounce back onto the ice. Everyone has had time to adjust to the netting over the years and everyone knows when a puck leaves a stick if it's headed toward the netting. When it bounces behind the goal line, go get it. Keep playing.

For the sake of fairness, anything off the netting and into the net off the goalie doesn't count.

8) No more offside. This also means no more offside reviews. Everyone is happy. Why do we even have offside? If I could go back in time, I'm killing Hitler and kidnapping the guy in 1898 or whenever who was so passionate about an offside line. It's not like the offside line makes the game safer; it's there to give the defense an advantage against oncoming opponents. Why?

Removing offside is another way to get some whistles out of the game and help with flow.

9) Home teams wear white, road teams wear dark. Bring it back.

10) One outdoor game per year. I know I've stumped for giving one to every team every year, but the realistic solution to this dying gimmick is to return to playing one game per year on New Year's Day—EVEN IF THE NFL IS PLAYING THAT DAY. What a cowardly league, afraid to go up against Week 17 of the NFL schedule, which is always terrible. The NHL was like, "We are taking over January 1! Try to stop us!... but hey if there's a Giants-Falcons game that day, we can play on January 2, no problem, sorry for yelling."

And now, we break to hear from the people:

I agree. Blackouts are stupid. If you paid to watch the game on your mobile device, you can do that. Motion passes.

I normally would be on board but now that I'm running the league the idea of shortening the schedule and taking money out of my pocket doesn't work for me. Motion denied.

Yes. Public shamings for any referees that blatantly ignore penalties because they want "the players to decide the game." Do your job. I'm also making referees available to the media after every game—regular season and playoffs. Face the music, fellas!

And now, back to my genius ideas:

11) Referees must explain every video review ruling. I need more than "the call on the ice stands" or "the call on the ice has been overturned." Tell me why! It's not always clear! I don't need a 1,000-word explanation, just the basic reasoning. This is very important for goalie interference reviews. Was the goaltender outside the crease when he was contacted? Did you determine the contact wasn't enough to disrupt the goalie? What's particularly annoying is after the non-explanation explanation, you know what refs do? They go to the bench and explain the decision to the coach! Fuck that coach! What about me?

12) A 3-2-1 points system. Three for a regulation win, two for an overtime/shootout win, one point for an overtime/shootout loss. Rewarding teams with the same amount of points for a 7-0 thumping and a 1-0 win in a breakaway contest or three-on-three competition is asinine. You know it. I know it. Let's change it. Get your artificially inflated point totals for the sake of parity and making teams look better than they are out of here.

13) No more in-game coach interviews. Anyone conducting or participating in an interview with a coach on the bench during a game is subject to 10 years in prison and a $500,000 fine. The network will lose broadcast privileges for 25 years. It's time we got tough on this. Nobody wants these. Fans don't. Coaches don't want to talk to Pierre McGuire. Hell, let's give Pierre the benefit of the doubt and say he has no interest in doing it. Then who are these interviews for? "Honey, hurry up and get back here, Brian Boucher is going to ask Peter DeBoer about the Sharks' start!" Never again.

14) No more in-game, between-periods player interviews. How did this ever get started? After watching 20 minutes of hockey, I need an out of breath guy to tell me about being harder on the puck and getting pucks in deep and any other hockey cliché he can muster in 30 seconds? Just throw it back to the studio or to a commercial break. Again, who are these interviews for?

15) Fans pick everyone at the All-Star Game. We cut Colin Campbell completely out of the process (which is a good starting point for anything you do that's hockey-related) and let fans vote in any player they want. An All-Star Game full of goons? Sure. If we actually let fans pick all the players, what's the most likely outcome? That the entire Chicago Blackhawks team gets voted to the game, right? And is there anything the NHL loves more than a Blackhawks game? So we get a Blackhawks vs. Pacific game? This idea makes everyone happy.

16) Unrestricted free agency begins two years after your entry-level deal expires. As of now, 25 is pretty much the age when players can explore free agency but that number is almost always higher because teams buy UFA years and that player winds up getting there when he's 29 and on the downside of his career. I'm trying to get players to market when they are 23, which I'm sure is still a flawed idea but I'd like to care about July 1 again and I'm sure other fans would, too.

17) One interconference game between teams per season. Do the Jets really need to play the Panthers twice? Who is dying for a home-and-home between the Islanders and Flames? The current rule exists so you can see the stars in your building once a year, but come on, it's 2018. It's not 1988 when Wayne Gretzky was someone you saw for eight seconds on SportsCenter every third night; it's 2018, when you can watch every Connor McDavid shift and postgame interview on your phone.

Take those excess dates and use them for games within your conference or division. McDavid comes to your building once every two years. That should be enough. By 2025, you'll be able to buy an app that allows you inside McDavid's head a la Being John Malkovich, so let's bag this twice yearly Oilers-Lightning matchup and let those teams play rivals one more time instead.

18) Mandatory Olympics. We are going to the Olympics every four years whether they are in Vancouver or on the surface of Jupiter.

19) World Cup in years between Olympics. And then we play our silly cash grab with Team North America and Team Europe so we have a best-on-best tournament every two years. The games are always in North America. Sorry, rest of the world.

20) Get rid of the trapezoid. Martin Brodeur retired nearly three years ago. We don't need it anymore. If anything, allowing goaltenders to play more pucks would result in more goals because most goaltenders play the puck like they've never seen a puck in their lives. I want more goals with the goalie behind the net with his arms in the air or with him on his back.

Time for another interlude to hear from fans:

We gave Atlanta two cracks at the NHL and it didn't work out. Sometimes things aren't meant to be. Denied.

Yes. I will hire a Senior Vice President of Ball Sitting Prevention. Motion passes.

Unpaid labor for five years? Please wait here while security escorts you from the building. Denied.

Oh look it's more great stuff from me:

21) You can't ice the puck while shorthanded. I'm on the fence about this because teams will just ice the puck and create more whistles, but it has to generate more power-play goals so let's do it.

22) Power plays at the start of a period begin in the offensive zone. Let's say you draw a penalty with six seconds to go. Those six seconds are almost useless. Yeah, you can score off a draw but it's hard. Then the next period starts and the faceoff is at center ice. If you win the draw, you need to circle back, organize your rush, and if everything goes perfectly when you set up, you've lost 30 seconds of 5-on-4 time due to circumstances beyond your control.

Drop the puck in the offensive zone, this way if you win the draw clean, you're set up and have close to a full power play.

23) Ban the shootout. Earlier, when I said one point for a shootout win or loss, I was lying, because the shootout has been abolished and we now play 3-on-3 until someone scores. Personally, I think 3-on-3 is as dumb or dumber than shootouts, but you people seem to like it so let's compromise and play 3-on-3 until someone scores to avoid shootouts.

24) Overtime goes until someone scores. Yeah, like it says. If you can play 5-on-5 in the playoffs until 1 AM, you can play beyond five minutes at 3-on-3 in the regular season.

25) 3-on-3 wins are separated from regulation wins in tiebreaker. I quietly seethe when I see that the current tiebreaker lumps regulation and overtime wins together when overtime wins are just as stupid as shootout wins. But we don't have the shootout anymore so regulation wins are all we care about in this brave new world.

26) Organ music only during stoppages. I know this makes me seem old but they've been playing popular music during stoppages since I was a kid and enough already. Exceptions include playing "Take On Me" because it's cool when the crowd sings along and you can do a theme night if a famous musician just died. Play all their hits during every stoppage. Otherwise, organ.

27) High sticking penalties can be challenged. It doesn't happen a lot, but it happens enough where we need a safety net against guys being issued high sticking penalties when really the guy who got hit in the face was hit by his own teammate's stick. It's easily correctable and should never take more than a minute.

28) "Original Six" results in prison time. If anyone is caught using the term "Original Six" you will receive 25 years to life in a federal prison.

29) Any head contact results in an ejection and is reviewable. I understand that hockey is fast and you can wreck a guy's head with a "clean" hit that gets torso first, but aren't we at a point medically where we can say it's way too easy to destroy a brain? Do we really need a guy wiping out another guy with a "clean" open-ice hit that renders him unconscious?

The point of a check is to separate the other guy from the puck so you can take it. "Clean" hits involving the head almost always result in the receiver of the hit needing medical attention, which stops the game and defeats the purpose of the hit. There's nothing wrong with slowing the game in the context of these hits, which will all be reviewed so no one is ejected for the wrong reasons.

There's no reason to condone any head hits.

After that, let''s go to the phones one last time:

So two guys to the box for roughing and we play 4-on-4? Done. Motion passes.

This goes without saying. Motion passes with ease.

Yes, but the independent party will be me, dispensing justice free from the CBA, NHLPA or owners. I am judge, jury, and executioner. When I take over the league on Tuesday, Zac Rinaldo is out of the league by Friday. Motion passes.

Now let's wrap it up:

30) You can kick pucks for goals. If you think this is dangerous but are still steaming over me minimizing hitting in the previous rule change, take a deep breath and realize this rule is way less dangerous than mashing a guy in the head. People seem to think that if kicking is allowed it's going to result in sliced tendons, but the opportunities to kick pucks are so few and far between. Guys aren't digging in a goalies pads with their skates.

Also, one fewer thing we have to review.

31) The trade deadline is one week before the end of the regular season. You lose your star center with four games to go? Well, guess what! In my league, you still have time to trade for another one before the playoffs begin.

32) Hand passes are legal everywhere. What percentage of hand pass whistles are for actual hand passes? Most of them are just accidental deflections and redirections with the glove that happen to go to a teammate in the neutral zone. These whistles are also flow killers. I understand we have to get to commercial breaks three times per period so if we adopt all my rules we can go to commercial after goals when necessary.

33) All broadcasts need a shot total graphic on the screen at all times. I used to hate it but now I can't live without it. If I turn on a game and it's 0-0 at the 10-minute mark of the first period, seeing the shots are 8-1 tells me something about the game.

34) Linesmen can call penalties. You know what linesmen have? Eyes. You know what else? Whistles. You know what else besides that? Arms that can be raised into the air. Linesmen are basically the neighborhood kids that pretend they didn't see a crime because they don't want to be rats. If you see something, say something.

35) No more Lady Byng Trophy. Jesus, who cares? Gentlemanly play? You won't find a dumber award nobody in the world cares about than this one. "Here you go, I found a guy with a lot of points and very few penalty minutes and this is your trophy for that random collection of attributes." Let's melt it down and use it to add another level to the Stanley Cup.

36) NBC can't broadcast games anymore. We gave it a try. Time to find someone else willing to air this sport in America. Doesn't matter who. Split the package between Lifetime and TruTV. Stream games on Pornhub. I do not give a shit.

37) NHL.com’s stats page is overhauled. Sure, fixing the stats page will take 10-20 years but I will have the world's best minds on it for as long as it takes.

38) Every team needs one person wearing a 69 jersey. Someone on the roster needs this. It will boost jersey sales league-wide by about 69 percent.

39) Radar guns. The speed of every pitch in a baseball game is posted on a scoreboard, so why can't NHL arenas do it for slap shots? It's weird that we don't know how hard an Alex Ovechkin bomb is. It would be cool to look up at the scoreboard and see that PK Subban blast was 98 mph. The NHL shouldn't be behind MLB in anything.

40) You can't put the goalie back on the ice after an icing. Ever notice that when you ice the puck, you can't change personnel, but if you do it with the goalie pulled for an extra attacker, you can put the goalie back out there? That bullshit ends under my watch.

41) Delay of game penalties for goalies freezing the puck outside the crease. Sometimes a goalie will be above the crease and he'll make a save that sticks in his pads. Fine. Can't penalize that. But what about when goalies come out of the crease to catch a high dump-in to avoid the short hop? That's a penalty! Why do we allow that? I hate it and it's out.

42) Puck over glass is no longer a penalty. I love power plays and goals as much as anyone, but the punishment does not fit the crime. Treat it like an icing. The offending team can't change players and the face-off is in the offensive zone.

But besides that, I wouldn't change anything.

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports CA.

How to Fix the NHL, a League That's Broken published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Bubble Keeper Week; Saad, Nyquist, Zetterberg, and More – July 24

  It’s Keeper Bubble Week here at Dobber Hockey.

Last week I posited the question of which guy to keep as a final keeper in my home league: Viktor Arvidsson or Kevin Fiala. I wanted to address some of the comments from the community below.

Most people said Arvidsson. For the 2018-19 season, Arvidsson does hold more value. He’s likely not to be moved off the top line or the top PP unit and that slotting with his proven goal-scoring ability makes him the better overall value this year.

Like I mentioned in those Ramblings, I’m not convinced that Fiala isn’t the better player right now. If we work under the assumption that Fiala is as good as I think he is, how long does it take before he forces the hand of the coach to play him 17-plus minutes a night?

I wanted to see which players had comparable seasons to Fiala’s 2017-18. I went to Hockey Reference and these are the players since the 2005 lockout to post 20+ goals, 25+ assists in their age-21 season, while playing three-quarters of the year with fewer than 1250 total minutes. The list is short and mostly distinguished:

  The best comparable season for Fiala’s season is probably Jamie Benn’s 2010-11, though that season saw Benn play just 69 games.

I do think Fiala is the better option in the long-term but Arvidsson is likely the better option for at least another year. Striking that balance is the key to remaining competitive in keeper leagues year after year.

One commenter also suggested Dadonov. His production is good but the peripherals are not. He’s a much better option in points-only leagues than multi-cat leagues. Also, the addition of Mike Hoffman could push Dadonov off the top PP unit.

Anthony Mantha’s name was mentioned a couple times and I’ll say this: I like Mantha a lot as a player but I have little faith in Jeff Blashill as a coach and even less that the Wings will be a competent offensive team for the next couple years. Good player in a bad situation.

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If you have questions about keepers or dynasty option, hit up the comments and we’ll get to your queries.

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We are just a little over a week away until the release of the 2018-19 Dobber Hockey fantasy guide! Be sure to grab your copy from the Dobber Shop.

Don’t worry about the release being so early as it’s constantly updated with new information. There is a lot of information all through the fantasy guide so give yourself the time you need to prepare!

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Last week I mentioned that I would be starting my projections. I also mentioned that I would be writing about certain things I find as I compile my projections for the 2018-19 season.

Let’s delve into a few findings. These won’t be projections just yet, more just pointing out certain raw totals from the last two years. All data for these Ramblings is at five on five and extracted from Corsica.

  Goals

Only eight players have managed at least 20 goals in each of the last two seasons. Some of those names make sense like Vladimir Tarasenko, Connor McDavid, Evgeni Malkin, Patrik Laine, and Auston Matthews. Wingers Anders Lee and Rickard Rakell are also on the list. The final name? James van Riemsdyk.

Van Riemsdyk has been known more for his power-play prowess over the last couple years as everyone marvels over his hands around the net. That is prolific five-on-five scoring, however. Now that he’s back in Philadelphia, maybe he’ll be made a focal point of the offence where he can average somewhere in the 17- or 18-minute range per game rather than the 15:24 he has the last two years.

  Speaking of Rakell, these are the top-3 players in five-on-five goals over the last two years: Auston Matthews (55), Connor McDavid (51), Rickard Rakell (48). That’s not a typo, only McDavid and Matthews have more five-on-five goals over the last two years than Rickard Rakell.

There is probably some quibbling to be done whether he’s just a good player skating with a Hall-Of-Fame centre or a great player skating with a Hall-Of-Fame centre, but for our purposes, it doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t seem destined to split from Ryan Getzlaf anytime soon and is locked into that top PP unit. I’m curious to see where his ADP lands because there isn’t a reason to suspect a decline coming from Rakell this year barring injury or a terrible streak of unluckiness.

  Last bit on the subject of five-on-five goals, Jeff Skinner has 46 of them over the last two years, just behind Rakell. He seemed destined to be traded from Carolina but here we sit at the end of July and he’s still a Hurricane. Maybe he returns after all? Regardless, coming off a down year largely due to a shooting percentage crash, he’ll be a good value come draft day. Even if he stays with Carolina, he should be a target in fantasy drafts.

  Primary Assists

I wanted to discuss primary assists instead of all assists to start with. The reason being that secondary assists can be pretty random and the rate that second assists are handed out can vary wildly depending on the hometown scorer. The repeatability of primary assists helps us identify the elite playmakers.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Connor McDavid has the most five-on-five primary assists over the last two seasons with 50. To the surprise of some of us, look who finished second with 45 primary assists at five-on-five:

    Henrik Zetterberg turns 38 in October, hasn’t scored more than 17 goals in any season since 2011-12, and doesn’t really contribute much across the board in stats like penalty minutes, hits, or blocked shots. With the depth of the centre position, there are many leagues where Zetterberg isn’t a must-draft. Leagues that count points only, or include face-off wins, are basically the only leagues where Zetterberg can still carry good value. All the same, it shows how Zetterberg has kept himself not only relevant, but a top playmaker, in a league where youth and speed are the focus.

There have been talks and rumours whether he may or may not play next year. There’s always the question of his health even if he does play. Regardless, it’s been an impressive two years of playmaking from the future Hall of Famer.

  Johnny Gaudreau leads all wingers in primary assists over the last two seasons but note that Alex Radulov isn’t very far behind. On a team with Tyler Seguin, Jamie Benn, and John Klingberg, I think the fact that Radulov had 72 points last year gets a little overlooked. The additional ice time he received in Dallas compared to his season in Montreal helped boost his numbers across the board, even though his actual shot attempt rate per 60 minutes declined slightly.

Unless there’s some sort of trade for Erik Karlsson, it looks like the Dallas lineup last year will largely be the same this year. They brought back Valeri Nichushkin but he won’t be a big threat to Radulov’s ice time. It does seem possible that Nichushkin grabs the top-line slotting with Seguin and Benn but unless he shows more consistency than his last season with the Stars, it won’t be a long-term solution. I like Nichushkin’s skills a lot but he’s probably better suited to play more sheltered minutes on the second or third line.

  Another surprise on the primary assist leaderboard is Max Domi. He’s just below the cut-off from the top-10 listed above, but his total of 33 over the last two years is one fewer than David Pastrnak and Filip Forsberg, and one more than Josh Bailey and Jakub Voracek. Each of those wingers played on teams with high offensive talent while Domi was in a poor offensive environment in Arizona.

That should give Canadiens fans some hope. Domi’s goal scoring, or lack thereof, has been covered at length both here at Dobber Hockey and elsewhere. A jump in shooting percentage from a career-worst six percent will help but expecting him to be a perennial 20-goal guy is about the most we can ask from him. If he can settle into the production levels that we’ve seen from Zetterberg the last few years, that would be a win for the Habs.

Of course, he needs someone who can finish the play to in order to improve his raw totals and the Habs are lacking proven goal scorers. The same could have been said in Arizona, though, so his 2017-18 season is likely his floor.

  We’ve covered goals and primary assists so the next logical step is to combine the two and see the leaders in primary points over the last two years. This is the top 20:

    Again, McDavid is at the top, by a significant margin, and it’s not a huge surprise. Auston Matthews sitting third is an incredible feat considering he missed 20 games last year.

At this point I still haven’t done projections but it’s going to be tough to peg Matthews. He is undoubtedly one of the top players in the league even though he won’t be 21 years old until September. The questions are how much more ice time can he earn in excess of the 18:08 he played last year with John Tavares in town, and do the Leafs stack the top PP unit? To truly reach that next step of fantasy greatness, Matthews needs a big jump in PP production. That will ultimately determine whether he ends up in the tier of fantasy players just outside Connor McDavid, or in the tier around the top-25.

  I’ve written about him perhaps more than any other player this summer, so I won’t dig further into Jason Zucker right now. All I will say is look at his primary points total over the last two years and look at the names around him.

  There is another very interesting grouping further down the 5v5 primary points leaderboard. They are players who find themselves just inside the top-50 and all managed somewhere from 54 to 56 5v5 primary points:

    The name that jumped out immediately to me is Brandon Saad. Anyone who has read my Ramblings for the last few years knows that he’s a big favourite of mine. Last in week in a Ramblings I wrote that everyone should be drafting him this year. I also wrote about his season at the end of March and much of those thoughts hold up here. One commenter noted how bad a season he had. The article I just linked as well as some thoughts below outline why he should be targeted.

Just think of how impressive it is to put up one fewer five-on-five point over the last two seasons than names like Jamie Benn, Tyler Seguin, and John Tavares even though he had just 17 total assists and 35 total points in 2017-18. It was a brutal season for him production-wise and he’s still been as productive at five-on-five as first- and second-round fantasy picks over the last two years.

His problem is the power play. We know his career-worst 7.6 percent shooting should rebound, but whether he returns to the 50-point plateau or takes that next step in fantasy value depends on his PP production. Very few players can put up fewer than five PP points and have significant fantasy relevance. If he can get that PP time and PP production, Saad could be one of the best value picks in drafts this year.

  Also wanted to give a special shout out to Gustav Nyquist. I know he hasn’t really lived up to expectations since bursting on the scene with 28 goals in 57 games way back in the 2013-14 season. Like Saad, though, the PP production has been what’s holding him back, having averaged just shy of 10 PP points per season over the last three years. The 2018-19 season is the last one left on his current contract, so he could find himself with a new team once head-to-head playoffs hit in March (though he does have a no-trade, so he has control of where he goes). Unless the team moves to a heavily-used top PP unit, it’s hard to see Nyquist as more than a 20-goal, 50-point guy. Not bad for fantasy, but certainly capable of more.  

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-bubble-keeper-week-saad-nyquist-zetterberg-and-more-july-24/

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Down Goes Brown Grab Bag: Concussions, Hockey Tonk, and Neon

Welcome to Sean McIndoe's weekly grab bag, where he writes on a variety of NHL topics. You can follow him on Twitter. Check out the Biscuits podcast with Sean and Dave Lozo as they discuss the events of the week.

Three stars of comedy

The third star: Fire Dan Snyder Guy. This Washington fan first showed up at Game 5, then made the trip to Pittsburgh for Game 6. I'm not saying he was the turning point in the Caps nearly winning the series, but we can't rule it out.

He's basically Dart Guy, but using his powers to make the world a better place.

The second star: The L.A. Kings. Longtime readers know we've been beating the drum against NHL teams and their stupid "terms not disclosed" policies for years now. It's a battle we've been winning recently, as more and more teams have dropped the charade and just started giving their fans the information they need.

Well, the Kings have taken it to a new level:

In related news, when they're not throwing contract terms GIF parties, the Kings listen to our podcast. What a time to be alive.

The first star: Connor McDavid. He seems really thrilled to be meeting these fans at the airport who just wanted to say hi and take a photo and also awkwardly grab him.

It's been awhile since we've seen him break out his "The Oilers just won the draft lottery but I should try not to look horrified" face. I've missed it.

Outrage of the week

The issue: On Monday night, Sidney Crosby went headfirst into the boards and got up slowly, but he wasn't removed from the game by the league's concussion spotters. And that's despite Crosby's long history of head injuries, including one suffered just the previous week.

The outrage: If Crosby can keep playing after that, the league's concussion protocol isn't working.

Is it justified: Yep. The system is broken.

But it may not be broken in the way you think it is. I saw lots of fans reacting with some variation of "Well, that's just typical NHL, leaving everything as a big grey area and then doing whatever they want." Sort of like they've done for replay reviews, or suspensions, or any number of other situations where we all ended up rolling our eyes at the NHL's decisions.

But that's not what happened here. For once, the NHL didn't get into a mess by having vague, fuzzy rules that are open to interpretation. No, this time they had incredibly specific rules. And they followed them to the letter.

As TSN's Bob McKenzie pointed out, you can read those guidelines yourself since, to their credit, the NHL has posted them publicly. The guidelines spell out the situations in which a player must be removed from the game. Some of these situations are obvious, like when a player is lying motionless or can't maintain his balance; others would have to be reported by the player to a team doctor, like blurred vision, nausea, or dizziness.

Then we get to the section that covers the sort of tougher calls that a spotter might be expected to flag. Here's what that looks like:

As you can see, that's pretty specific. In fact, let's go one further: it's way too specific. And as the "Exceptions" section makes clear, the spotters are not to call down unless one of those three scenarios is in play.

According to Bill Daly, that's why Crosby wasn't removed from Monday's game. Crosby's head hit the boards, and that's not listed as one of the three possible criteria. If he'd hit the ice, he gets pulled out, but going head-first into the boards is apparently fine.

It's not hard to imagine other obviously dangerous scenarios that wouldn't be covered here. If a player gets hit in the head with a shoulder, the spotter is supposed to order him out of the game. But if he gets elbowed, or kneed, or clubbed over the head with a stick, the spotter can't do anything. Did a player get coldcocked with a punch to the face? Well, we need to know if the other player's glove was on or off. That seems crazy.

There's also nothing in here about a player's history, so somebody like Crosby who was just a few games removed from a head injury doesn't get any special scrutiny. That's been criticized, too, although I think you can see where the league is coming from on that one. A player is either healthy enough to play or he's not, and asking spotters to factor in a guy's medical history seems a little much. But they can consider the play in front of them, and Crosby's fall should have been more than enough to have him checked out.

To be clear, none of this absolves the teams or even the players themselves. There's been some question as to whether or not Crosby was even checked for a concussion during intermission. (It sounds like he spoke to a team doctor, who decided he didn't need a full evaluation.) The team's medical staff has the primary responsibility here; the spotter is simply an additional line of defense.

Even given that, what happened on Monday was a system failure. And for once, the NHL didn't fail because someone didn't follow the rules. They were followed, exactly as written. And that's why they need to be rewritten, and soon, before Crosby or anyone else get puts in danger again.

Obscure former player of the week

The Nashville Predators are headed to the conference finals, so this week's obscure player is a guy who never played a game for them: Timo Helbling. We'll explain in a moment.

Helbling was a big Swiss defenseman who was picked by the Predators in the sixth round of the 1999 draft, a few spots ahead of Obscure Player alumni Fedor Fedorov. He stayed overseas for a year before coming to North America to play out his last year of junior eligibility with the OHL's Windsor Spitfires. He'd spend the next three years in the AHL, but never cracked the Predators' lineup. They eventually gave up on him in 2004, trading him to the Lightning for the rock-bottom price of an eighth-round pick.

Helbling finally got his NHL shot with the Lightning after the lockout, playing 11 games during the 2005-06 season. That was it for him in Tampa, but he caught on as a free agent with Washington and played two more games for the Caps in 2006-07. They'd be his last in the NHL; he'd finish with just 13 games, no goals, and one assist for his big-league career.

He made some news on the way out, though. At the 2007 deadline, he was a throw-in in the trade that saw the Caps send Danius Zubrus to Buffalo for a first-round pick and a prospect, as the Presidents' Trophy-winning Sabres loaded up for a Cup run. That deal didn't work out—Zubrus was a bust in Buffalo, going goalless in the playoffs as the Sabres bowed out in the conference final.

While that deal made headlines at the time, it was Helbling's other trade that we should have been paying attention to. The Predators used that eighth-round pick in the 2004 draft that they got from the Capitals on a gangly Finnish goalie named Pekka Rinne. Thirteen years later, he's a three-time Vezina finalist, not to mention a leading contender for this year's Conn Smythe Trophy.

Be It Resolved

Folks, there's a massive problem spreading across the NHL and we need to talk about it. It's happening in rinks all around the league. Tune into any game and if you know where to look, you'll probably spot it within seconds. Worst of all, the issue seems to be getting worse with every passing week, and nobody is doing anything to stop it. Well, no more. It's time to break the silence.

It's time to talk about people who wear bright orange to hockey games.

Seriously, people, what the hell? Who goes to a hockey game wearing neon? And why are they always sitting directly behind the net?

When this happens, your brain instinctively blocks out the offending color, but inevitably, someone else mentions it. (OK, fine, I mention it. Let's not get sidetracked with finger-pointing right now.) And from that moment on, Brighty McTangerine is all you can see for the rest of the game.

It's bad enough during the regular season, but in the playoffs, just about every fan base now does the "everyone dress in the same color" routine, so one outlier can ruin a whole game. And sure, maybe some of the orange people are wearing hunting jackets. That doesn't make it OK. You're at a hockey game. Are you actively hunting right now? No? Good, take your damn jacket off and put on some hockey fan clothes.

Let's just come right out and say it: Some of these fans are clearly doing this on purpose. Surely these people have noticed that literally every person around them is wearing the same color while they're dressed like a background dancer from a Frankie Goes to Hollywood video. They don't care. They like ruining the game for you. They're monsters.

So be it resolved: no more wearing bright orange—or pink, or lime, or whatever—to playoff hockey games. And be it further resolved that teams need to take a stand here. Politely ask people to remove their brightly colored coats once they're inside. Have a few properly colored T-shirts on hand just in case. And as a last resort, throw a burlap sack over their head, haul them out of the arena, and dump them on the side of the nearest highway. Don't worry, their stupid clothes will light the way on the long walk home.

Classic YouTube clip breakdown

The Predators' trip to the conference finals marks the deepest playoff run in the 19-year history of the franchise. At a time like this, it's important to take a moment to remember where they came from.

So it's October 1998, and Nashville is buzzing with anticipation over the very first regular season game in Predators history. It's time to get fired up with … [is handed a sheet of paper that just says "Remember, it's Nashville"] … oh lord, it's going to be a terrible hockey-themed country song, isn't it?

Oh, is it ever. Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy "Hockey Tonk."

Our video begins with a closeup of a sabre-tooth tiger, and what sure seems to be the sound of an airplane toilet flushing. Weird. I would have gone with a roar, but I guess that's why sound editors get paid the big bucks.

We see a few Predators making their way down a red carpet while looking suitably uncomfortable. There's also a great shot of the expansion Predators coach, a disturbingly young-looking Barry Trotz. He still has most of his hair and has only developed a partial perma-scowl. Also, he's never once thought about strangling Alexander Ovechkin. Happier times, all around.

"Welcome to Dixie when you walk in the door, but you'd better be ready for the third World War." Uh, what? Guys, you're a terrible expansion team and it's your very first game. Maybe ease up a little on the threats of global annihilation.

I have to admit, I like the guy who brought a sign that says "NOISE." Most people would have just, you know, made noise, but this guy is mixing mediums. Also, I want that other dude's Predators mask. I would wear that on public transport just to make sure nobody ever talked to me.

At about the 40-second mark, we get our first look at what will become a running theme of the video: people awkwardly making claws with their hands. These are called Fang Fingers, and as we'll see, they don't quite have the whole concept down yet. Do you keep your fingers together? Spread them out? How much forward movement are we talking about? It's a work in progress.

Fang Fingers would eventually be perfected by Taylor Swift, seen here doing them while looking like she wants to swallow her own tongue.

Next up are two guys who I'm just going to go ahead and call the Way-Too-Excited Twins. They'll show up a few times, and will make everyone feel uncomfortable. I've never been as pumped for anything in my life as these two guys are about having tickets to a Nashville Predators exhibition game.

Not way-too-excited? This guy:

We get a quick shot of what appears to be an Indiana Jones impersonator riding on the back of a guy driving a lawn mower, because why not. This is also the part of the song where you realize there was only one actual verse, and now we're just going to repeat lines about hockey tonking all night long. Is that too much hockey tonking? That seems like too much hockey tonking.

Since I know you were wondering, this song was performed by country and blues legend Delbert McClinton, who also did the opening song from the movie Groundhog Day. [Turns earnestly towards camera] If you'd like to learn more about country music stars supporting the Nashville Predators, try this 1998 Sports Illustrated article that contains the phrase "Nashville not only can put fannies in the seats, but it also can put Grammys in the seats." I miss the golden age of sports writing.

We finish with a few uncomfortably close shots of Predators fans, including one last attempt at the Finger Fangs, during which somebody seems to be barking like a dog. When I write a book on the history of NHL expansion marketing, the Predators chapter is going to be called "Dog Barking and Airplane Toilets." (Other chapters in that book: "The Iceman's Final Guitar Solo," "I Think It Would Be Fun to Deafen Our Fans with a Cannon," and "Oops Our Mascot Caught on Fire.")

The epilogue here is that that first-ever game, against the Panthers, turned out to be a 1-0 loss. I guess it was important that Nashville fans got the full late-90s NHL experience right away. Miraculously, a few of them eventually came back, and will be packing the Bridgestone Arena this week to bark their team to victory.

Have a question, suggestion, old YouTube clip, or anything else you'd like to see included in this column? Email Sean at nhlgrabbag@gmail.com.

Down Goes Brown Grab Bag: Concussions, Hockey Tonk, and Neon published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv