In a stairwell of Toronto Maple Leaf Tower Kyle Dubas and Mark Hunter hold a heated conversation.

“Listen Mark I know its brutal but you have to tell him.”

Marks left eye twitches twice in reponse.

“Of course I will owe you one. I’ll owe you ten. Please, it can’t be me who tells him.”

One twitch.

“You know why. He hates me.”

This time Mark gives a snort and a grimace simultaneously.

“Well sure, but he doesn’t hate everyone the same way as he hates me and you know it.” An alarm starts beeping in Kyle’s pocket. “Fuck, it’s time. Please tell him for me.”

Mark leaves the stairwell, headed towards Lou Lamoriello’s office for the daily meeting.

“You’re an asshole Mark” Kyle says silencing his phone and chasing after the older man. Arriving in the office Kyle is surprised to find Lou away from his desk. Mark takes his usual seat to Brendan’s left and Kyle walks across the office to stand alone with his white board. The silence in the room is deafening until Brendan’s phone rings.

“Hey, whats going on. No way. No way! Sure thing, later though okay. Later means later. What can I say. Okay. Bye.” He hangs up then says “Only the O-Dog, Jeff O’Neil, could get excited about a vegan steakhouse. What a guy.”

There is a flush and a door beside the bar on the East wall of the office opens. Lou steps out wiping his hands on his shirt

“First good shit I’ve had in three months. Fuck I’m old. What are we doing today?”

“Can we maybe try to make a trade today Lou?” Answers Brendan.

Lou grunts and farts. “Ah fuck.” Picking up his phone Lou says, “hello? It’s Lou here. I need some pants brought to my office, quick like sweetheart.” It takes a half hour for Lou to get cleaned up and into his new gear. “Trades, okay. Who we doin Skippy?”

As is his custom Lou speaks to a point on the wall a few feet above Kyles head. Trying not to let the obvious disrespect shake him Kyle answers. “Before we get to that Lou I have some bad news.”

Mark is shaking his head slowly as Kyle continues.

“The Radisson in London refused to take omelettes off the breakfast menu while our rookies are there in September. So far none of the hotels we’ve approached in the area have been willing to do this for us.”

Lous face is turning red as he keeps his stare locked above his assistants head.

“God fuckin cheese stuffin dicks! What the fuck kind of ass quack bullshit is this! Where the fuck is the justice? I wanna fuckin know. Who lets these fuckin people just carry on ruinin lives!”

Kyle is beginning to wonder whether Lou knows what an omelette is. Mark is placing an order with the kitchen, which exist somewhere in the tower. Brendan watches in awe of his majestic GM.

“Did I ever tell you boys about ’82? A good friend of mine is eating an omelette on the go. Has a little slip and BAM! He dies. Dead. These fuckin close eyed dog rat turd fucks are gonna refuse me? What the fuck happened to Leafs nation? I’m fuckin Lou! I’m looking out for the team!”

Lou carries on in this fashion for a good while. Every time he seems to be winding down he says something that just fires him right back up. The only reason he does eventually stop is that the food ordered by Mark finally arrives. Kyle’s suspicion is confirmed when Lou digs into his four-egg southwest omelette without remark. The other three share a brief look. Mouth full, Lou addresses the space above Kyle.

“Who we doing today Skippy?”

“We want to see what we might get for Polak” Kyle answers.

“Good. You can’t trust those people. Whats his name.”

“Polak. Roman Polak. He’s on our team.”

“You say so Skippy. What can I ask for him?”

It is Brendan who answers. “I want a player and a pick, late rounds are fine.”

“Who we Trading with?”

Brendan hurls a dart at the large map on the West wall.

“Columbus? Like Ohio? They have a team? Fuckin news to me. Lets just see here.” Lou pulls out the only requested paper copy of the official NHL directory from a desk drawer. He flips through the pages for only a moment, then stops on the verge of speaking. Lou sits, mouth open and eyes staring, for a long while. Kyle allows himself a brief fantasy of a dead Lou. When at last Lou comes to, it is with violence.

“What the fuck is a Jar ‘o’Keikalekalak?”

“Jarmo Kekalainen,” says Brendan. “He’s the GM.”

“Well fuck me with a sea otter Brendan. How the fuck do I do business with a mook who has a name like Jarmar?” Lou points at the directory. “What about this guy, Bill Zito. That sounds like the name of a real person.”

Marks balled up steel fork falls to the floor. Kyle actually seems to grow a few inches, he perks up so fast.

“Zito is the assistant GM Lou.” Brendan says.

Before Lou can say anything there is a knock at the door and Mike Babcock walks in uninvited.

“Hey boys. Lou. How are we all today? Did you say it yet?”

“Not yet Mike, no.” Says Brendan.

“Perfect. We can all say it together.”

The five men all hold their hands together and bow their heads. After a moment of silence they speak in unison as if the words were a spell. And maybe words do hold the power to create.

“Dear God and Lord Stanley, Thank you for bringing us together here in Toronto, and please help Steven Stamkos find his way home.”

Mike is already gone as the other four raise their heads. They can still hear him saying “Lots to do!” as he breezes away through the hall.

Lou looks at Brendan “And for sure I can’t fire him?”

Brendan responds, “How about you make a call Lou.”

“Bill Zito right?” It is a sign of Kyle’s optimism that he speaks so boldly. “About Roman Polak.”

“What?” Lou looks up as if to see who spoke. “Zito? I can’t deal with an ass. It sets a bad example. No, I’ll just have to call Kookafuckaloohoo here.”

“Kekalainen,” a sullen Kyle says.

“Kekaleeky, like I said.”

Lou picks up his phone and the three other men activate their ear buds to hear what Lou can hear. A receptionist picks up the line after three rings.

“Thank you for calling the Columbus Blue Jackets, we play hockey. How may I direct your call?”

“Hiya doll. Get me Kekalek. Can I speak to Kekaka. Fuck. Listen, I need to talk to Mr. Kee, Mr. Ka, Kooka, Jarma. Fuck!” Lou slumps back into his chair as he hangs up. Defeated by the Finnish name.

For several hours the team tries to get Lou comfortable saying Jarmo Kekalainen. The closest he gets is Jaromir Jagralainen. Frustrated and hangry, Lou finally gives up.

“Sorry fellas, I just don’t got it in me. Maybe we can work on it again later. I gotta go. The Kensington meat auction starts in a half hour.”

“Good work today Lou.” Brendan says. “I gotta run too boys, I kind of want to try this vegan place of Jeff’s.”

Kyle looks over at Mark when the two are alone. “Well that was all obviously your fault.”

Marks right nostril flares. Once in, once out.

“Whatever tough guy you know I’m right.”

Mark picks up a coffee mug and crushes it into powder. Kyle laughs.

“Ain’t that the truth buddy. Well, I can’t stay mad at you when you bring the comedy let’s go, there’s fresh crab at the peelers.”