#yes this ask is from the first time the sens played the jets. sorry.

[lisatelramor]

Not Left To Stand Alone

Summary:  Saguru had spent the last 16 years in London, but when his life there fell apart, moving to Japan seemed like the best option for a new start. He wasn't expecting his new neighbor to be his old classmate, Kuroba Kaito.

Chapter 1

No matter how many times he traveled to another country, Saguru had yet to get used to the jet lag. He sank into his new desk—in the far corner of the teacher’s room right next to a window. The desk was empty except for his briefcase and two fountain pens looking lost in the wide space. He was sure in a month it would look well lived in. Desks, no matter how much one organized, never remained neat for long. He always ended up with students’ late papers or notes from colleagues in one place or another; loose pens and books stacked up until the space didn’t seem like nearly enough. He sighed, massaging his bad right leg. His knee was aching again. It looked like rain.

On the outdoor track his window overlooked a group of students ran erratically. He was sure that in a month they would be running in unison, back in proper strength and the new members adapted to the pace of the older members. Saguru stopped rubbing his knee. It wasn’t getting any less sore. Tomorrow would be his first day teaching English to Japanese high schoolers. There was a certain irony returning almost sixteen years later to Ekoda high to teach.  It was a bit strange to think that Konno-sensei was still teaching 2-B. Although she was Shizume now, not Konno. She had asked him to call her Erika. It felt a bit unreal.

Saguru sighed again. He should have stayed in England. He taught chemistry not English. He slouched in his chair. It needed a cushion. He was going to have to teach the class standing and moving from classroom to classroom for seven hours. Just one day of meetings and he was exhausted. He should have stayed in England, except there was nothing there for him anymore. Mum moved to Japan two years ago after retiring to live with Otou-san, and after his last case… He wouldn’t be taking any more cases. He probably should have left sooner.

“Hakuba-san,” another English teacher for level two classes said from the door of the staff room. He could barely see her face through the stacks of paper. It was Kate, he thought, a woman from the United States that came to teach as a college graduate and never left. She was married to the level one math teacher if he remembered the flurry of introductions correctly. Kate—no, Takata, he wasn’t in England anymore—smiled. “How’s your desk?”

“Fine.” Saguru smiled stiffly back, the muscles protesting with disuse. “The window is nice.”

Takata laughed. “Ishida-san thought you would like it. Kenta was eying it when Yumi-san left on maternity leave. I told him he wouldn’t even be able to clear his desk off before you arrived let alone move into Yumi-san’s.”

“I like the view.” He smiled a bit more genuinely, tinged with bittersweet emotions. “It’s nostalgic.”

“You used to go here, right?” Takata leaned against her desk. It had photos of cats and her husband and a four year old boy with brown hair and eyes rounder than most Japanese. She had a good looking son. Saguru hoped he wouldn’t go through the same problems Saguru had had as a mixed race child. Those had led to him spending his formative years in England rather than Japan. He had spent so much time in England even he sometimes forgot he was born in Japan and spent the first six years of his life there. Saguru tore his eyes away from the photo.

“Yes. I was in Shizume-sen—Shizume-san’s homeroom. I was only at Ekoda for around a year. My transcript says two years,” Saguru said, “but I spent much of my time in England for familial and job reasons.”

“You had an international job in high school?” Takata whistled. “Wow. Why the heck are you here teaching then?”

Saguru played with the clasp on his briefcase, lips tight. “I would prefer not to discuss the specifics of my circumstances.”

In an instant Takata was on her feet bowing. “I apologize, that was rude of me. We have plenty of time to get to know each other. I am sorry for being nosey.”

Saguru waved a hand. “No. It’s all right.” He turned away, effectively cutting the conversation short with his body language. “We have time to get to know each other more.” Outside on the track the students had taken a break. They milled together on the side of the field drinking water and laughing as one boy chased another in a circle squirting water at each other from their water bottles. He had a moment where their images overlapped with Kuroba and Aoko, the water bottles replaced with a mop and confetti bombs. He shook his head. “Thank you for your concern,” he said. “I think I will settle in fine here.”

“A-ah… I hope you do.”

He smiled, a fake, polite smile. “I should be going. There is not much I can do until I have met my students.”

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She stepped away from his desk, trying and failing to hide her curiosity as Saguru reached for his cane. The polished wood was firm and smooth in his hand as he levered himself upright. His knee throbbed. Saguru let his breath out through his teeth and picked up his bag with his free left hand.  Maybe Otou-san was right. He should get a knee replacement. There wasn’t a guarantee that it would solve the problem though. His doctor had recommended it years ago, but he had been young and stubborn. Now he was getting on middle aged and stubborn. Thirty-four wasn’t quite middle aged was it?

Saguru blocked out the ongoing ache in the joint—compounded issues with muscles, tendons and a kneecap that had never quite healed properly after being shot—and walked as briskly as his leg allowed him for the door and the stairs to the ground floor. He wasn’t going to take an elevator, leg be damned. He wasn’t that old yet. “Have a nice evening, Takata-san,” he said over his shoulder. He didn’t bow, which he really should have since she had been working there longer, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to be home and finishing his unpacking in his new apartment that he’d failed to complete the two previous days due to his body insisting he was supposed to be sleeping when the rest of Japan was awake and moving.

By the time he reached the ground floor, his leg felt all but useless, but this would be life from now on. This had been life for the last sixteen years. It took twenty minutes to get to the train where in the past it would take him ten, and then another thirty to reach his stop. The apartment where he was living was closer to the station than his father’s home. He supposed he could have returned to live there again, but the idea of living with his parents after so long had not appealed to him, and he hated how they looked upset whenever he visited. It was another twenty minute hobble from the station to the apartment building, past a small park with children playing on it, an optometrist’s office and a bakery before he reached the right building. It was a new apartment complex converted within the last decade from four shops-and-above-residence style rooms into a series of twelve livable one to two room apartments. Hakuba had rented a one room. He hadn’t brought many things. He had a desk, a kitchen, and a futon with a western-style bathroom attached to the entry way. Unfortunately it was on the first story, not the ground level.

He glared at the steps. The steps remained present and narrow. He stumped up them, knee aching every time he bent it after a full day of use and leaned on his cane as he looked for his keys. It only took a minute to unlock the door, toe off his slip-on dress shoes and barge through the entryway to toss his briefcase on his desk. Two packing boxes sat next to it and an empty suitcase that had been full of clothing. They were now hung neatly in the closet space behind his futon with non-perishable food items his mother had sent along and a box of his old case files he wasn’t sure why he took with him. He should have burned it with Mel’s body in some kind of symbolic gesture or something. He hadn’t been able to let go, and he was still mildly disgusted of himself for it. If he was going to let go he should let go completely.

His futon was still rolled out, put in some semblance of order before he left. The morning’s breakfast dishes were dry in the dish drainer. Saguru stared at them as if they held the answer to why he was in Japan teaching English when he’d never planned to return at all.

There was no real answer in a porcelain teacup, so he put the dishes away in the cupboard before turning the desk chair around and sitting.

The room’s former occupant had scorched a corner of the tatami next to the stove. It was a half circle, like a black moon, from a sauce pan from the looks of it. The wall above the stove was stained with flecks of grease and sauce and he could picture someone cooking there, day after day, young and inexperienced and figuring out what worked and didn’t the hard way. He wished he could turn off his brain. Then maybe the deducing and observation would stop.

The cane slid through his loose fingers. It fell to the floor but he didn’t bother to reach for it. Saguru knew he should start dinner, but he wasn’t hungry. His knee was past the stabs of pain and had settled into the numb phase where so long as he didn’t move all he would feel was a dull tingle.

There was a noise coming from outside, a neighbor returning home. The sound of a key in a lock and a click of a door opening and shutting. Strange. The walls must be thin to make out so much sound. Saguru’s eyes slid closed. He couldn’t sleep yet. But a few minutes couldn’t hurt, right? His breathing and thoughts slowed. His knee stopped hurting as everything felt a bit disconnected from his body. Just free flowing thoughts and half-formed ideas that spun in and out of oblivion. Somewhere distant a phone rang unanswered.

Saguru was jolted into wakefulness at a loud pounding from near the entryway. He slid half out of the chair, catching himself on his bad leg and ending up on the floor anyway, swearing. The pounding continued, but not from his door. It was the neighbor’s door. It was dark now. Saguru could make out nine o’clock on the blinking LED numbers of his alarm clock. He hadn’t meant to be out that long.

“Open the damn door!” whoever was outside the neighbor’s apartment yelled—a woman. “Takumi was due home two hours ago!” She hit the door again as Saguru was searching the ground for his cane. “I don’t have to get Tou-san again do I?”

There was something familiar about her voice, Saguru thought. He staggered to his feet and clicked on the overhead light, blinking in the sudden brightness.

“Kaa-san!” a young male voice said from the neighboring apartment. “Just a minute! We lost track of time!”

“Don’t give me that. You say that every week—” Dear lord, Saguru hoped this would not be a weekly occurrence. Was that why there had been such a small down payment for the apartment? “—but you both know when you’re supposed to be home. It’s not the weekend, Takumi.”

Well, if he could hear everything anyway, he might as well be nosy. Saguru limped into the entryway and cracked open his front door. The woman’s back was to him, her hands planted on her hips with wild brown hair falling halfway down her back barely restrained by a hair elastic. The neighbor’s lock clicked and a teenager wearing the Ekoda high school uniform tumbled out, struggling to hop into his street shoes while holding his school bag in the other. Saguru had a moment of déjà vu as his door swung open out of his limp hand; he could swear he was looking at Kuroba. Perhaps a year or so younger than when Saguru had known him, but definitely Kuroba.  The boy met his eyes and looked away fast, embarrassed as his mother continued berating Saguru’s neighbor.

“You have four clocks in every room, don’t even pretend you don’t. I’ve seen them. You should have sent him home for dinner. That’s your responsibility if he stops by after class.”

“Maa, Aoko…” a male voice said from the doorway. Saguru felt chills go down his spine. There was a god laughing at him somewhere. Maliciously. Because there was no other way to explain how he ended up neighbors to Kuroba Kaito. Who apparently had a son and some sort of messy relationship with Aoko.

“Don’t you ‘Aoko’ me, Kaito, I—what’s wrong?” She glanced over her shoulder and Saguru was sure that he must have attracted the negative attention of some spirit because they were all staring at him as he stared at them. “Ha…kuba?”

Saguru blinked, shut his gaping mouth and reached for the door. “Excuse me,” the part of him that had had manners drilled into his skull said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The door clicked shut.

AN: I started this fic in...gah, summer of 2012? Ish? Too long ago at any rate, and sort of just...stopped working on it for like a year and a half around January 2013. Since I picked it back up again, I've been working on it pretty much continuously, and after years of poking at it, I have a very long, very frustrating first draft that I will be editing and periodically posting chapters until it's all out there for people to read. You guys have no idea how relieved I am to reach this point. I don't post longfics because I seem to never finish writing them, but here you go. My first true longfic. Hope you guys find this a fun ride. It's set in a future of Magic Kaito universe, though Detective Conan characters show up later on. The original idea for this fic came from a prompt bingo list (the same list that hikago baby acquisition fic came from actually....started around the same time...) and was for the "neighbors" square. I went "in what universe would rich-boy Hakuba ever live next door to Kaito??" and of course my brain went with the angst route rather than the crack route. ^_^;;;

Why a teacher? I can't remember my initial motives outside the ones written into Saguru's reasoning (which will come up later) but part of it was wanting to give Saguru an excuse to interact with Kaito's son and see Saguru in a mentor role. This fic, throughout its life as a word document, has been known simply as "saguru english teacher au" and some part of me remains amused by this. I'm going to try to update this every other week as that feels like a schedule I can make myself follow. *rolls up sleeves* First chapter's posted so I am doing this thing.

[flauntpage]

DGB Grab Bag: Taunting Goalies, Brad Marchand Comedy Hour, and Guarantees

Three Stars of Comedy

The third star: Brad Marchand? – Wait, really? The same guy who made a complete fool of himself over the weekend by licking an opponent for the second time this postseason, setting off the saddest controversy in recent memory? Surely he had the good sense to lay low for a few days, instead of going on Twitter and trying to land haymakers.

Apparently not. And you have to admit, as far as hockey player online roasts go, this one wasn't bad.

We'll give it a C+. Now stop licking people, you little weirdo.

The second star: This fan – OK, now that is the week's funniest Brad Marchand joke.

The first star: Shea Weber – It was a rough week on Twitter for the Habs, and I can't say I have any idea what's supposed to be happening here. But check out Weber, behind the table on the right.

He's clearly been told to dance, but he doesn't want to dance and doesn't know how to dance. I've never identified with a professional athlete more than right now.

Debating the Issues

This week’s debate: This is a debate. "In Favor" will be taking on "Opposed." But who's going to win?

In favor: Well, I like my chances. I've prepared my debating points, I've been working on my rhetorical arguments, and I think I've got the stronger case. So yes, I think I'm going to win.

Opposed: Wow.

In favor: What?

Opposed: Nice guarantee.

In favor: I'm sorry?

Opposed: You just guaranteed victory. You basically pulled a Mark Messier.

In favor: Well… I don't think I actually did. I just said that I think I'm going to win. It's not really the same thing.

Opposed: OK, Joe Namath.

In favor: Are you really going to make a big deal out of this?

Opposed: Of course. You just guaranteed victory. That's huge. The hockey world loves a good guarantee story.

In favor: Yeah, I know. I think maybe we love them too much. Because these days we can't get through a round without somebody making a vague statement about winning a game that immediately gets turned into a guarantee.

Opposed: No, you called your shot, just like P.K. Subban recently did. We'll see if it works for you as well as it worked for him.

In favor: But that's the thing. I never actually said the word "guarantee," and neither did Subban. He just kind of mumbled something about "we're gonna win a game." That's expressing confidence, which is what you'd expect him to do.

Opposed: That's still good, right?

In favor: Sure, but it's not a guarantee. Neither is saying "We'll be back," like Connor McDavid did. Or like John Tortorella did. Or like pretty much everyone does when you ask them if they think they're going to win the next game, because what else are they going to say? "I think we're going to lose"?

Opposed: Well, no. But they could sound a little less confident.

In favor: Sure they could. That happened… once. And that guy was never allowed to live it down.

Opposed: OK, but you have to admit, there's something great about a player making that kind of public statement. Fans love it. The media eats it up. The player's teammates probably appreciate it. What's the problem here?

In favor: The problem is that we're long past overkill. Ever since Messier wound up on that famous NY Post cover and then backed it up with a hat trick, we've been chasing that high. And now we turn every little expression of confidence into a guarantee story. It's ridiculous.

Opposed: I mean, if somebody makes a point of saying something like that to the media…

In favor: It doesn't even have to be the media these days! Mike Babcock basically says "see you later" to some random arena workers, and suddenly he's guaranteeing victory too. It's completely out of control.

Opposed: Well, there's no turning back now. You've guaranteed a win. You have to own it. You'd better come through.

In favor: I really, really didn't do that.

Opposed: Too late. Here comes the verdict guy.

The final verdict: Opposed wins.

In favor: Dammit.

Opposed: Don't worry. When you make a guarantee and then lose, nobody remembers it.

Obscure Former Player of the Week

All respected hockey scholars agree that the 1992-93 season was the greatest ever, and that year's playoffs were no different. By this point in 1993, we'd already celebrated May Day and been horrified by Dale Hunter, and we were just days away from David Freaking Volek, with Kerry Fraser's missed call, McSorley's stick, and Roy's wink still to come.

In fact, just about every day of that postseason provided a memory. Like tomorrow, for example. If we go back 25 years ago on May 11, we'd find a crucial overtime between the Kings and Canucks, in a matchup that featured future Hall-of-Famers like Wayne Gretzky, Luc Robitaille, Pavel Bure, and Jari Kurri. But with the series tied at 2-2 and the favored Canucks on home ice, the role of the overtime hero was played by this week's obscure player: Kings winger Gary Shuchuk.

Shuchuk went undrafted before breaking out in his fourth year with the University of Wisconsin, where a 41-goal season was enough for the Red Wings to make the 22-year-old Shuchuk the 22nd pick in the old supplemental draft for college players. He played six games for Detroit that season, scoring one goal and hammering one Cam Russell, while spending most of the year in the AHL.

That would be it for his Red Wings career, as he spent the next two years in the minors before being dealt to Los Angeles in the blockbuster Paul Coffey/Jimmy Carson trade. He'd play parts of four seasons for the Kings, scoring only 10 goals in 136 games. But it was his first playoff goal that Kings fans will remember him for, as he buried Robitaille's feed for the winner against the Canucks.

That was one of only two playoff goals he scored in the NHL. Shuchuk was out of the league by 1996, and went on to a career in coaching. He spent several years behind the bench in the NCAA, and was last seen serving as coach and GM of the Janesville Jets in the NAHL.

Be It Resolved

OK everyone, huddle up. We need to talk about something. It's been a long time coming, and frankly, I'm amazed we even need to have this discussion. But apparently we do, so here goes.

NHL fans, you are doing the goalie taunt wrong.

Not all of you, of course. But enough of you that we clearly need a refresher on how this works. We've already been down this road once before, when everyone insisted that you could taunt a goalie three seconds into the game, before they'd even given up a bad goal, or even any goal at all. That didn't make any sense—you can't mock a guy who's working on a shutout. Some of you are still making that mistake today, and worse. But it's become slightly less common, so that's progress. But now we have a new problem emerging.

First, the background: The goalie taunt has been around since the early 90s. It was "borrowed" from baseball, where fans would target Mets' star Darryl Strawberry with a mocking "DAR-RYL" chant. It made its way over to hockey, with the first high-profile victim being Blackhawks goalie Ed Belfour. When he was having a rough night, opposing fans would ride him with mocking "ED-DIE" chants. The tradition spread from there.

So while the taunt has been directed at countless players over the years, those are the still the two archetypes. They're the chant in its original, purest, most effective form. "DAR-RYL" and "ED-DIE."

Notice anything about those names?

First of all, they're using the players' first names. That's not necessarily crucial, but it works better—it's just way more condescending to use a player's first name. "BRA-DEN" is better than "HOLT-BY." "PEK-KA" is better than "RIN-NE."

But far more importantly, "ED-DIE" and "DAR-RYL" are both two syllables. That's the key. The chant only works if it's two syllables. Not one, stretched out. Not three or more, jammed together. Two. Only two.

You'd think that would be obvious, but you'd be wrong. On Saturday in Nashville, Predators fans went after Connor Hellebuyck with the taunt. Not only was it way too early—it turned out he played great in a 6-2 win—but even worse, they went with "HELL-E-BUYCK." That is not how this works, Nashville. We've all loved your transformation from questionable market into one of the very best fan bases in the league, but that doesn't get you off the hook. It's "CON-NOR" or nothing.

But that wasn't even the worst example. Back in round one, Bruins fans decided to target Frederik Andersen—and rightly so, because he was largely awful in the series. But Boston fans went with "AND-ER-SEN." What? That's unforgivable. The guy's first name is Freddie—it rhymes with the original NHL goalie chant. Hitting a struggling goalie with a "FRED-DIE" chant was the world's easiest layup, and Bruins fans blew it.

And yes, I know what some of you wondering: What happens if we want to mock a goalie and neither of his names are two syllables. Well, then you don't get to use the chant. Sorry. Jonathan Quick, Cam Ward, and Mike Smith are all immune. It's not fair, but that's life.

So be it resolved: The goalie chant has to be two syllables, and whenever possible it should use the first name. Making goalies cry is all in good fun, but respect the game's traditions, dammit.

Classic YouTube Clip Breakdown

Our pal Gary Shuchuk got to be the big story of those 1993 playoffs for about 24 hours. The next night, Stumpy Thomas had four points as the Islanders forced a seventh game against the Penguins, and Volek made history 48 hours later. That left one second-round series still in play, with the Maple Leafs hosting the Blues in a Game 7 that figured to be a goaltending showdown between Felix Potvin and Curtis Joseph.

That turned out to only be half true, as Potvin earned the shutout in what ended up being one of the biggest Game 7 blowouts ever. The Maple Leafs scored four times in the first period and were up 6-0 by the second intermission, with just about everything getting past Joseph as the Leafs cruised to the easy win.

And yet, all these years later, the one play from that game that everyone still remembers is one of the few saves Joseph managed to make that night. As we approach the moment's 25th anniversary, let's relive it here.

We pick up the action about 14 minutes into the second, with the Leafs leading by five. The game is basically already over, but the two teams are still going end-to-end because that's the only way anyone knew how to play hockey in 1993.

Our clip begins with everyone going "Oh yeah, John Cullen was on the 1992-93 Leafs." By the way, our play-by-play voice for this clip is Bob Cole, which I don't have to tell you will make everything that's about to happen roughly a million times better.

The Maple Leafs shoot the puck into the Blues' zone on a typical dump and chase. But this is a Norris Division game, so there are more hits in the next few seconds than we see in most full games today. Eventually, three players stop throwing checks long enough to realize the puck has ended up at center ice. Two of those players are Maple Leafs, so it's an odd-man rush.

Those two Leafs are Wendel Clark and Glenn Anderson, who I'm just going to go ahead and assume is humming "The Leafs Are The Best" throughout this entire play.

At this point, Clark winds up for a slapshot, and every Maple Leaf fan in the world knows exactly what's going to happen—he's faking the shot to set up a pass. We know this because Clark has been in the league for eight years at this point and has literally never taken a single slapshot in his entire career. He never had to, because he could put a wrist shot through a goaltender's chest. To be honest, we weren't even sure he knew how to take a slapshot. What would even happen if he ever tried?

Oh.

So yeah, Clark lets it rip, he hits Joseph right between the eyes, and Joseph's head falls off. [Does math.] Yeah, the physics checks out on this one.

The Gardens crowd, not surprisingly, doesn't have much sympathy, and they cheer louder for this than any of the goals that night. Were we all horrible people in the early 90s? I think we may have been. Ah well. Shout-out to the one fan who reacts to the play by clapping directly in front of the camera.

What comes next is my favorite moment of the entire sequence. Joseph pops up, apparently somehow still alive, and he tries to no-sell the whole thing like he's the Ultimate Warrior. It's actually a spectacularly bad-ass moment, right up until the point where Curt Giles runs over to give him a big hug. You can actually see Joseph try to turn away, but Giles isn't having it. He chases him into the corner like a concerned helicopter mom. It's adorable.

By the way, I have no idea what the St. Louis Blues did to Wendel Clark in a previous lifetime, but he apparently devoted his life to getting revenge.

Joseph eventually shakes off Giles and skates around trying to look tough while periodically checking to see if his ear is still attached. This would be a good time to remind you that this is the same series in which Mike Foligno kicked him in the face. I feel like every modern-day goalie who tries to draw an interference call by flailing around for ten minutes every time they feel any contact should have to go the penalty box for two minutes to watch old clips of Joseph shrugging off attempted beheadings.

My second favorite moment in the clip: Joseph still playing the tough guy when Kerry Fraser comes over and briefly makes him laugh. Poor guy just wants to look cool in front of his friends, and he has to deal with mom hugs and dad jokes. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE YOU GUYS ARE SO EMBARRASSING.

"The mask saves Curtis Joseph's life." Man, no kidding. Some things were better in the old days, but I feel like "Nobody's head explodes into a cloud of mist from a slapshot" was an improvement.

And with that, our clip ends. The Leafs scored another goal about one minute after this play, mainly because Joseph instinctively climbed over the glass and fled the arena as soon as they crossed the red line.

Epilogue: Clark tried really hard not to murder anybody for the rest of the series. Joseph finished the game and went on to a long career that included two stops in Toronto. Giles is still following him around trying to hug him to this day. And Fraser was so traumatized by what he'd witnessed that he vowed to shut his eyes the next time he thought someone was going to get hit in the face.

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 .

DGB Grab Bag: Taunting Goalies, Brad Marchand Comedy Hour, and Guarantees published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

DGB Grab Bag: Taunting Goalies, Brad Marchand Comedy Hour, and Guarantees

Three Stars of Comedy

The third star: Brad Marchand? – Wait, really? The same guy who made a complete fool of himself over the weekend by licking an opponent for the second time this postseason, setting off the saddest controversy in recent memory? Surely he had the good sense to lay low for a few days, instead of going on Twitter and trying to land haymakers.

Apparently not. And you have to admit, as far as hockey player online roasts go, this one wasn’t bad.

We’ll give it a C+. Now stop licking people, you little weirdo.

The second star: This fan – OK, now that is the week’s funniest Brad Marchand joke.

The first star: Shea Weber – It was a rough week on Twitter for the Habs, and I can’t say I have any idea what’s supposed to be happening here. But check out Weber, behind the table on the right.

He’s clearly been told to dance, but he doesn’t want to dance and doesn’t know how to dance. I’ve never identified with a professional athlete more than right now.

Debating the Issues

This week’s debate: This is a debate. “In Favor” will be taking on “Opposed.” But who’s going to win?

In favor: Well, I like my chances. I’ve prepared my debating points, I’ve been working on my rhetorical arguments, and I think I’ve got the stronger case. So yes, I think I’m going to win.

Opposed: Wow.

In favor: What?

Opposed: Nice guarantee.

In favor: I’m sorry?

Opposed: You just guaranteed victory. You basically pulled a Mark Messier.

In favor: Well… I don’t think I actually did. I just said that I think I’m going to win. It’s not really the same thing.

Opposed: OK, Joe Namath.

In favor: Are you really going to make a big deal out of this?

Opposed: Of course. You just guaranteed victory. That’s huge. The hockey world loves a good guarantee story.

In favor: Yeah, I know. I think maybe we love them too much. Because these days we can’t get through a round without somebody making a vague statement about winning a game that immediately gets turned into a guarantee.

Opposed: No, you called your shot, just like P.K. Subban recently did. We’ll see if it works for you as well as it worked for him.

In favor: But that’s the thing. I never actually said the word “guarantee,” and neither did Subban. He just kind of mumbled something about “we’re gonna win a game.” That’s expressing confidence, which is what you’d expect him to do.

Opposed: That’s still good, right?

In favor: Sure, but it’s not a guarantee. Neither is saying “We’ll be back,” like Connor McDavid did. Or like John Tortorella did. Or like pretty much everyone does when you ask them if they think they’re going to win the next game, because what else are they going to say? “I think we’re going to lose”?

Opposed: Well, no. But they could sound a little less confident.

In favor: Sure they could. That happened… once. And that guy was never allowed to live it down.

Opposed: OK, but you have to admit, there’s something great about a player making that kind of public statement. Fans love it. The media eats it up. The player’s teammates probably appreciate it. What’s the problem here?

In favor: The problem is that we’re long past overkill. Ever since Messier wound up on that famous NY Post cover and then backed it up with a hat trick, we’ve been chasing that high. And now we turn every little expression of confidence into a guarantee story. It’s ridiculous.

Opposed: I mean, if somebody makes a point of saying something like that to the media…

In favor: It doesn’t even have to be the media these days! Mike Babcock basically says “see you later” to some random arena workers, and suddenly he’s guaranteeing victory too. It’s completely out of control.

Opposed: Well, there’s no turning back now. You’ve guaranteed a win. You have to own it. You’d better come through.

In favor: I really, really didn’t do that.

Opposed: Too late. Here comes the verdict guy.

The final verdict: Opposed wins.

In favor: Dammit.

Opposed: Don’t worry. When you make a guarantee and then lose, nobody remembers it.

Obscure Former Player of the Week

All respected hockey scholars agree that the 1992-93 season was the greatest ever, and that year’s playoffs were no different. By this point in 1993, we’d already celebrated May Day and been horrified by Dale Hunter, and we were just days away from David Freaking Volek, with Kerry Fraser’s missed call, McSorley’s stick, and Roy’s wink still to come.

In fact, just about every day of that postseason provided a memory. Like tomorrow, for example. If we go back 25 years ago on May 11, we’d find a crucial overtime between the Kings and Canucks, in a matchup that featured future Hall-of-Famers like Wayne Gretzky, Luc Robitaille, Pavel Bure, and Jari Kurri. But with the series tied at 2-2 and the favored Canucks on home ice, the role of the overtime hero was played by this week’s obscure player: Kings winger Gary Shuchuk.

Shuchuk went undrafted before breaking out in his fourth year with the University of Wisconsin, where a 41-goal season was enough for the Red Wings to make the 22-year-old Shuchuk the 22nd pick in the old supplemental draft for college players. He played six games for Detroit that season, scoring one goal and hammering one Cam Russell, while spending most of the year in the AHL.

That would be it for his Red Wings career, as he spent the next two years in the minors before being dealt to Los Angeles in the blockbuster Paul Coffey/Jimmy Carson trade. He’d play parts of four seasons for the Kings, scoring only 10 goals in 136 games. But it was his first playoff goal that Kings fans will remember him for, as he buried Robitaille’s feed for the winner against the Canucks.

That was one of only two playoff goals he scored in the NHL. Shuchuk was out of the league by 1996, and went on to a career in coaching. He spent several years behind the bench in the NCAA, and was last seen serving as coach and GM of the Janesville Jets in the NAHL.

Be It Resolved

OK everyone, huddle up. We need to talk about something. It’s been a long time coming, and frankly, I’m amazed we even need to have this discussion. But apparently we do, so here goes.

NHL fans, you are doing the goalie taunt wrong.

Not all of you, of course. But enough of you that we clearly need a refresher on how this works. We’ve already been down this road once before, when everyone insisted that you could taunt a goalie three seconds into the game, before they’d even given up a bad goal, or even any goal at all. That didn’t make any sense—you can’t mock a guy who’s working on a shutout. Some of you are still making that mistake today, and worse. But it’s become slightly less common, so that’s progress. But now we have a new problem emerging.

First, the background: The goalie taunt has been around since the early 90s. It was “borrowed” from baseball, where fans would target Mets’ star Darryl Strawberry with a mocking “DAR-RYL” chant. It made its way over to hockey, with the first high-profile victim being Blackhawks goalie Ed Belfour. When he was having a rough night, opposing fans would ride him with mocking “ED-DIE” chants. The tradition spread from there.

So while the taunt has been directed at countless players over the years, those are the still the two archetypes. They’re the chant in its original, purest, most effective form. “DAR-RYL” and “ED-DIE.”

Notice anything about those names?

First of all, they’re using the players’ first names. That’s not necessarily crucial, but it works better—it’s just way more condescending to use a player’s first name. “BRA-DEN” is better than “HOLT-BY.” “PEK-KA” is better than “RIN-NE.”

But far more importantly, “ED-DIE” and “DAR-RYL” are both two syllables. That’s the key. The chant only works if it’s two syllables. Not one, stretched out. Not three or more, jammed together. Two. Only two.

You’d think that would be obvious, but you’d be wrong. On Saturday in Nashville, Predators fans went after Connor Hellebuyck with the taunt. Not only was it way too early—it turned out he played great in a 6-2 win—but even worse, they went with “HELL-E-BUYCK.” That is not how this works, Nashville. We’ve all loved your transformation from questionable market into one of the very best fan bases in the league, but that doesn’t get you off the hook. It’s “CON-NOR” or nothing.

But that wasn’t even the worst example. Back in round one, Bruins fans decided to target Frederik Andersen—and rightly so, because he was largely awful in the series. But Boston fans went with “AND-ER-SEN.” What? That’s unforgivable. The guy’s first name is Freddie—it rhymes with the original NHL goalie chant. Hitting a struggling goalie with a “FRED-DIE” chant was the world’s easiest layup, and Bruins fans blew it.

And yes, I know what some of you wondering: What happens if we want to mock a goalie and neither of his names are two syllables. Well, then you don’t get to use the chant. Sorry. Jonathan Quick, Cam Ward, and Mike Smith are all immune. It’s not fair, but that’s life.

So be it resolved: The goalie chant has to be two syllables, and whenever possible it should use the first name. Making goalies cry is all in good fun, but respect the game’s traditions, dammit.

Classic YouTube Clip Breakdown

Our pal Gary Shuchuk got to be the big story of those 1993 playoffs for about 24 hours. The next night, Stumpy Thomas had four points as the Islanders forced a seventh game against the Penguins, and Volek made history 48 hours later. That left one second-round series still in play, with the Maple Leafs hosting the Blues in a Game 7 that figured to be a goaltending showdown between Felix Potvin and Curtis Joseph.

That turned out to only be half true, as Potvin earned the shutout in what ended up being one of the biggest Game 7 blowouts ever. The Maple Leafs scored four times in the first period and were up 6-0 by the second intermission, with just about everything getting past Joseph as the Leafs cruised to the easy win.

And yet, all these years later, the one play from that game that everyone still remembers is one of the few saves Joseph managed to make that night. As we approach the moment’s 25th anniversary, let’s relive it here.

We pick up the action about 14 minutes into the second, with the Leafs leading by five. The game is basically already over, but the two teams are still going end-to-end because that’s the only way anyone knew how to play hockey in 1993.

Our clip begins with everyone going “Oh yeah, John Cullen was on the 1992-93 Leafs.” By the way, our play-by-play voice for this clip is Bob Cole, which I don’t have to tell you will make everything that’s about to happen roughly a million times better.

The Maple Leafs shoot the puck into the Blues’ zone on a typical dump and chase. But this is a Norris Division game, so there are more hits in the next few seconds than we see in most full games today. Eventually, three players stop throwing checks long enough to realize the puck has ended up at center ice. Two of those players are Maple Leafs, so it’s an odd-man rush.

Those two Leafs are Wendel Clark and Glenn Anderson, who I’m just going to go ahead and assume is humming “The Leafs Are The Best” throughout this entire play.

At this point, Clark winds up for a slapshot, and every Maple Leaf fan in the world knows exactly what’s going to happen—he’s faking the shot to set up a pass. We know this because Clark has been in the league for eight years at this point and has literally never taken a single slapshot in his entire career. He never had to, because he could put a wrist shot through a goaltender’s chest. To be honest, we weren’t even sure he knew how to take a slapshot. What would even happen if he ever tried?

Oh.

So yeah, Clark lets it rip, he hits Joseph right between the eyes, and Joseph’s head falls off. [Does math.] Yeah, the physics checks out on this one.

The Gardens crowd, not surprisingly, doesn’t have much sympathy, and they cheer louder for this than any of the goals that night. Were we all horrible people in the early 90s? I think we may have been. Ah well. Shout-out to the one fan who reacts to the play by clapping directly in front of the camera.

What comes next is my favorite moment of the entire sequence. Joseph pops up, apparently somehow still alive, and he tries to no-sell the whole thing like he’s the Ultimate Warrior. It’s actually a spectacularly bad-ass moment, right up until the point where Curt Giles runs over to give him a big hug. You can actually see Joseph try to turn away, but Giles isn’t having it. He chases him into the corner like a concerned helicopter mom. It’s adorable.

By the way, I have no idea what the St. Louis Blues did to Wendel Clark in a previous lifetime, but he apparently devoted his life to getting revenge.

Joseph eventually shakes off Giles and skates around trying to look tough while periodically checking to see if his ear is still attached. This would be a good time to remind you that this is the same series in which Mike Foligno kicked him in the face. I feel like every modern-day goalie who tries to draw an interference call by flailing around for ten minutes every time they feel any contact should have to go the penalty box for two minutes to watch old clips of Joseph shrugging off attempted beheadings.

My second favorite moment in the clip: Joseph still playing the tough guy when Kerry Fraser comes over and briefly makes him laugh. Poor guy just wants to look cool in front of his friends, and he has to deal with mom hugs and dad jokes. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE YOU GUYS ARE SO EMBARRASSING.

“The mask saves Curtis Joseph’s life.” Man, no kidding. Some things were better in the old days, but I feel like “Nobody’s head explodes into a cloud of mist from a slapshot” was an improvement.

And with that, our clip ends. The Leafs scored another goal about one minute after this play, mainly because Joseph instinctively climbed over the glass and fled the arena as soon as they crossed the red line.

Epilogue: Clark tried really hard not to murder anybody for the rest of the series. Joseph finished the game and went on to a long career that included two stops in Toronto. Giles is still following him around trying to hug him to this day. And Fraser was so traumatized by what he’d witnessed that he vowed to shut his eyes the next time he thought someone was going to get hit in the face.

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 .

DGB Grab Bag: Taunting Goalies, Brad Marchand Comedy Hour, and Guarantees syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com