Water is beginning to seep out of Lou Lamoriello’s office into the hallway of the forty-first floor of Toronto Maple Leaf Tower. Lou is under the sink behind the full service bar that takes up the west wall of the room. Earlier, the GM had noticed a small drip coming from one of the shut-off valves and decided to repair it. The fix had not gone to plan. He had attempted to tighten the packing around the valve stem but had twisted too hard, and the valve broke. Water was flowing uncontested onto the office floor.

“Lou! What is going on?!” Lou peeks out from behind the bar to see Brendan Shanahan with Mark Hunter and Kyle Dubas, standing at the door.

“Hey Brendan, just doing a little plumbing.” Lou says. “Did we have a meeting today?”

“Mark is flying to Greenland later.” Brendan says. “He wanted to say goodbye.”  As the Toronto Maple Leaf director of player personnel, Mark is always travelling to or from far off places searching for prospects that others might overlook. It is a lonely and a thankless task that Mark does better than most.

“Well isn’t that sweet.” Lou says with a sneer. “Have fun, bring me back a snow-globe.” Lou tucks his head back under the bar. The spray from the broken valve makes it impossible to see. “God fuck a donkey.” The cold water quickly steals all feeling from Lou’s frigid fingers. “Piece of ass shit.”

“Mark, can you help him please.” Brendan says. “Kyle can you call a plumber.”

As Mark and Kyle move to respond, Lou protests. “I don’t need a plumber Brendan. I have done this dozens of times before. I just need to get the thing onto the other part but it’s broken at the whatever you call it.”

Mark shoulders Lou aside and grips the copper supply pipe underneath the valve. With no outward show of strain, he crushes the pipe in his hands, pinching off the flow of water. With the water stopped Lou can easily see where he was having problems. Of course fixing the valve will no longer be enough.

“Great work Brendan. Your orangutang over here crushed the pipe. Now I need to fix even more plumbing.”

Kyle answers before Brendan can object. “I sent a text to the Toronto Maple Leaf plumbing service on the fourteenth floor in the tower. They said they can come out tomorrow sometime between noon and midnight.”

“Well great, How the fuck will I fill my ice cube trays until then.” Lou is livid. “What the hell is the point of having our own team of plumbers if we can’t even get them out here right away. What am I supposed to do? Get water from the sink in my washroom? I am a busy man. I don’t have time for this kind of amateur hour, bush league, bullshit.”

“Calm down Lou.” Brendan says, as he wades over to take a seat at the bar. “Smoke a joint, have a beer, just relax. We have a game tonight and I was hoping you could give us some insider info on your old team.”

“Oh no, my weed!” Lou splashes from behind the bar to his desk. The water level has reached a few inches above the floor and the bottom drawers of Lou’s desk are wet. Frantically Lou pulls open one of these drawers and lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s okay guys, I had my stash in a jar.” Lou holds up a large glass jar with a screw top lid. Sitting down, Lou begins to go through his soggy belongings.

At the bar Mark has mixed himself and Brendan a morning cocktail. Kyle is taking it easy and is just drinking beer. The water he’s standing in is making Kyle’s feet cold, so he sloshes over to a chair. After taking off his wet shoes and socks Kyle tucks his feet underneath him and pulls out his smart phone. His thumbs are soon shooting texts furiously across the digital ether.

“So Lou, ” Brendan says. “can you give us any dirt?” Brendan downs his drink and slams the glass onto the bar. Mark takes the glass and mixes another drink.

“Dirt on what?” Lou is just finishing his joint roll. Knowing he will have to share the GM has rolled a mammoth dubbie, bigger than a babies arm.

“On the Devils.” Brendan answers. “You know, the club you ran single handedly for thirty years.”

“Oh yeah.” Lou says. “I almost forgot.” Lou picks up the phone on his desk. “Nancy, where is my pizza? I ordered it hours ago.”

The man on the other end of the line sighs. “It’s still Nathan, Lou. And you haven’t ordered a pizza today. You did order a pizza yesterday. And you ate it. Would you like me to order you one?”

“That’d be great, you’re a doll Nancy.” Lou hangs up and pulls a lighter out of his pocket. He tries to light his joint but the lighter is too wet to spark. With his joint hanging from his lips Lou starts to search for a source of flame.

“Clean up crew will be here in an hour.” Kyle says, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “I have a lighter Lou.”

Lou is pressing the tip of his joint against a desk lamp with no effect. He turns to face Kyle and holds out his hands. Kyle tosses his lighter to Lou who almost catches it. The lighter falls into the water and Lou sneers. “Nice toss ass.”

“Nice catch.” Kyle answers.

Brendan slams another glass onto the bar. “The Devils, Lou.”

Behind the bar, Mark has started throwing things into a blender, so far; whole limes, mixed nuts, various alcohols, celery stalks, ice cubes, and skittles. Brendan looks over to him. “What are you making?” Mark smiles in answer and carries on.

“Did I ever tell you about my dad?” Lou uses the distraction to change the subject. “He was a salesman. One of the best. He could sell goat shit to a cow farmer. Literally. That’s how he died. He was selling goat turds in the Congo and he picked up a little malaria. At the time there was only one way to cure a white mans malaria. And that’s how may dad became a shrunken head on an African witch doctors belt.”

“That’s awful Lou.” Brendan is sympathetic.

“Nah, my dad had a good run, and he died doing what he loved, shitting on everything around him. Just don’t ask me to go to Africa. There it is!” Lou has found a propane camping stove which he begins to set up on his desk.

Mark starts the blender and the conversation waits for the noise to die down. Lou is having trouble getting the small propane bottle threaded onto the stove so Kyle rolls his pants above his knees and sloshes over to help. Lou tries to swat him away but Kyle persists and quickly the propane is attached and the stove lit. Lou sparks up his joint and Kyle reaches for it after the first puff is inhaled. Lou takes the joint back before Kyle can walk it over to Brendan and Mark at the bar.

Finally Mark takes his thumb off the blend button and the office is quiet again.

“What are you making Mark?” Brendan asks.

Mark takes the lid off the blender and sniffs a delicate whiff of his concoction. His nose wrinkles in distaste. He grabs a bottle of hot sauce and shakes droplets of the viscous pain juice into the blender. The other men watch in awe as Mark empties the whole bottle of hot sauce and then reaches for another. When that second bottle is emptied he sniffs again and this time smiles with satisfaction.

“Oh god.” Lou says. “You’re not gonna drink that are you? He’s gonna drink that.”

As Mark drinks, Brendan walks over to Lou’s desk, making scarcely a ripple,  and takes the joint.

“The Devils Lou.” Brendan persists. “Are you gonna tell us anything about them?”

Lou looks around the room for a rock to hide under. With no chance of escape, the GM is forced to answer. He is not used to having a boss yet and the feeling is uncomfortable. Lou is  reminded of the stern gaze of his father as he looks into he iron cold eyes of his president. “The Devils. Right.” Lou stammers, playing up the old man angle to stall for time. “I wasn’t planning on going to the game. Bernier is buying the Marlies dinner tonight and I was hoping to go. You know I love free food. Hey that reminds me, we should say that thing.”

“Say what thing?” Brendan asks.

“You know, that thing where we pray to God and the Stanley Cup.”

Mike Babcock strides into the room as if he were summoned. “Did I miss it?” Mike asks. “Did you say it already?”

Lou has never been happier to see the Coach of the Toronto Maple Leafs. “Mike!” Lou welcomes him with a genuine enthusiasm “You’re just in time.”

The five men bow their heads and 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.”

“Gotta run.” Mike says. “Lots to do on game-day. You know your floor’s wet Lou.”

“Thanks cock.” Lou’s relief at the coach’s appearance is replaced by his usual disdain for the man as he splashes out of the room.

Brendan looks to Lou. “So, the Devils?”

“Oh man.” Lou says. “That joint is just what I needed. I haven’t taken a dump in days. This is gonna take a while. You might as well head to the arena.” Lou rushes to his washroom and slams the door before Brendan can respond.

“Well you were right.” Brendan says to Mark, who still has a purple moustache from his beverage. “He just cannot think of his old team as the enemy. Let’s go.”