The cold north wind blows hard against the two men struggling through the frozen tundra of Nunavut. Stephane Robidas and Nathan Horton are well equipped to face the cold but neither man is happy. They are both on the Toronto Maple Leaf long term injured reserve list and are trying to find a way to heal their bodies. Hours of research has led them to some obscure places, none more so than this blasted ivory wasteland.

Stephane checks his Toronto Maple Leaf GPS tracking unit. The marker he placed is not far from their location. A small stand of trees seems to lie between the men and their destination. The dense woods black shadows are the first dark things they have seen in this frozen desert. Using sign language Stephane tells Nathan to be wary. In answer Nathan pulls out a Masamune tachi, three feet of masterfully folded samurai steel that could cut through a bamboo tree without shaking a leaf.

Nathan leads the way into the trees. Stephane follows, he has not pulled out his Glock 9mm pistol but he rests his hand on the butt of the gun as it rides his hip. A few steps into the woods the winds teeth lose their bite. The Leafs both lift off their goggles and pull down their scarves. The sickly sweet scent of lavender clings to the humid air around them. With every step the snow around their feet gets wetter and thinner.

“We’re getting close.” Nathan says. “Can you feel it?”

“Of course I feel it.” Stephane replies. “It feels like a Dutch oven in here.”

Nathan points with his sword. “Look.” Awe and wonder fill his tone. Slack jawed, the Leaf stares.

His companion follows his gaze and Stephane is struck dumb as well. Before them the snow recedes completely and fresh shoots of green grass sprout in thick patches between the trees. In the branches of those trees song birds fly filling the pungent air with song.

Stephane drops to his knees in the soft earth. “We found it!” He says with tears streaming down his face.

Nathan starts to laugh. For a while neither says a word. Uncomfortable in the heat, Nathan begins to peel off layers of Toronto Maple Leaf thermal gear.

“What if we need to leave in a hurry?” Stephane asks.

“Come on.” Nathan says. “You must be sweating your bag off in all that. Forget protocol and gear down man!”

Easily convinced, Stephane follows his teammates lead. Both Leafs are soon walking through the woods in their underwear, sword drawn and Glock cocked. As they make their way they soon notice that the forest is actually leading them along a specific path. The land itself seems to guide them. Any attempt to alter course is denied gently but absolutely.

“We’re being herded.” Nathan says.

“We are going the right way.” Stephane answers. “Whatever guides us has the same goal that we do.”

“So you go first then.” Nathan says.

Shaking his head the older Leaf takes the lead. As he checks his tracking unit again an alarm begins to sound. The noise blares from identical wrist watches both men wear.

“It’s time.” Stephane says.

“Oh come on.” Nathan whines. “He won’t know if we don’t do it. It’s stupid.”

“Of course he will know.” Stephane has made this argument before. “Babcock always knows. Besides, stupid or not, all we have been asked to do is work to get back healthy and say it once a day, so say it.”

After a moment of silence the two men 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 bringing us all together in Toronto and please help Steven Stamkos find his way home.”

In the silence that follows the Leafs square their shoulders and continue down the path. As they walk a sense of unease grows. There is no overt reason for the feeling, but both Leafs know deep down that something is not right. As if the trees themselves are trying to convince the two men to turn back. The urge to flee grows and grows with every step. Neither man will give in though. Their wills have been forged in the fires of the NHL and no surrender is contemplated. Even if one wants to abandon the mission, the thought of leaving a brother Leaf does not even come into question. The only way through is forward.

After almost an hour of nervous hiking the forest path finally opens into a clearing. The sun shines brightly through a roof of green leaves. Lavender flowers bloom across every inch of the forest floor. The sense of dread that has been pushing against their progress lifts off them like a curtain as they enter the clearing. In the center of the open space a small spurt of water bubbles out from a dimple of earth. A tiny trickle of a stream flows a short way from the mound then disappears under the thickest patch of lavender. Red capped mushrooms sprout along the low banks of the stream. Some are big, some are small, but all glisten wetly with a thick coating of translucent slime.

“Is this it?” Asks Nathan.

Stephane nods. “The fountain of youth.”

“So now what? We just drink it?” Nathan does not sound convinced.

“I guess so.” Stephane has not found any texts that describe how to make use of the waters. Dipping a finger into the stream Stephane takes a cautious lick. Nothing happens. He scoops some more up in his hand and takes a sip. Nothing happens.

Nathan puts his canteen into the stream. When the container is full he pours it into his mouth, gulping down lots of water. Nothing happens. The Leafs spend some time drinking their fill then lay down beside the stream.

“You feel any different?” Nathan asks.

“No.” Stephane is disappointed with another apparent dead end.

“Oh well.” Nathan tries to hide is own disappointment. “You think these mushrooms are any good?”

“I don’t know.” Stephane examines one of the fungi that is growing nearby. “We might as well try them.”

Stephane places a tiny sample of mushroom in his portable Toronto Maple Leaf mass-spectrometer. The wallet sized device whistles, beeps, then flashes green.

Without waiting for any further results Nathan picks the largest red cap he can reach and pops it into his mouth. He gags at the taste but forces himself to chew and swallow the spongy shroom.

“Anything?” Stephane asks.

Nathan does not answer. He stares at his companion. Nathan sees Stephanes head pop off his body and float lazily in the air. His teammates face elongates and white fur sprouts from his cheeks. Yellow horns poke out from his forehead. Appalled Nathan stares as Stephane turns into a floating goat head.

“You have to try these.” Nathan finally says. “Just wait there, I will catch your head.”

Lou Lamoriello sits in his office on the forty-first floor of Toronto Maple Leaf Tower. He is concentrating with such singular focus that he does not notice the door to his palatial work space opening for Brendan Shanahan, Mark Hunter, and Kyle Dubas. Mark walks straight to the full service bar that takes up one wall of the office. Brendan and Kyle head for Lou.

“Lou!” Brendan says. “Did you forget that you were supposed to fly down to Florida with the team? It’s the annual dads trip. What are you doing here?”

“Brendan,” Lou looks up, surprised by the intrusion. “What day is it? I got a little side tracked over here.”

“It’s Tuesday!” Brendan notices signs that his GM has not left his desk for days; The stack of pizza boxes; the ashtray overflowing with cigar butts and roaches and, most revolting of all; the smell. Lou has a reek about him that combines unwashed sweat and rotting food with traces of feces and vanilla bean. The latter from an air-freshener that is horribly over matched by its surroundings. “What are you doing?”

“Oh this?” Lou points at the object of his attention, a shoe box tipped on its side facing him. Strips of plasticine in every colour imaginable surround the box, as well as a pile of felt scraps and a stack of tooth picks. “I’m building a diorama of the early Jurassic time period. The golden age of the dinosaurs ”

Despite the reek Brendan and Kyle both step around the desk to get a closer look. For a long moment no one speaks. Mark joins the group. He carries three pints of beer in one hand and a tray filled with shots in the other. He puts the tray down on the desk then walks over to the group. Mark gives a beer to Brendan, Kyle, and Lou. He looks over at the diorama as he passes and his right nostril twitches in amusement. Returning to his tray Mark picks up a shot glass in each hand and downs them both at once.

Kyle finally breaks the silence. “There are little people in there riding on the dinosaurs.”

“And a city.” Brendan adds.

“Of course there are people. Who do you think invented dinosaurs? And those people needed to live somewhere right, so why not a city?”

“People didn’t invent dinosaurs Lou.” Kyle says.

“Prove it.” Lou retorts.

“Well, um, science tells us that there were no people on Earth when the dinosaurs were around.” Kyle is cautious in his explanation, knowing Lou hates to be taught anything.

Lou laughs. “What does science know? You can put your faith in that mumbo-jumbo if you like. I know the truth when I see it.”

“You’ve been to the Jurrasic time period?” Kyle asks.

“Of course not, stupid.” Lou laughs again for a long time. Brendan and Kyle both sip their beers while practicing their patience. Mark continues to down shot after shot. Finally Lou gathers himself. “Oh ass, you’re pretty funny. What am I, a time traveller over here? Of course I haven’t been to the Jurrasic. I saw it in a dream.”

“A dream?” Brendan asks.

“Well, not my dream exactly,” Lou explains. “I was sent the vision of the past by a person from that time. Obviously the best way to project into the future is through dreams.”

“Obviously.” Kyle says.

“I am confused.” Brendan says.

“It’s pretty simple. Back before the Earth split people used way more of their brain potential than they do today.”

“Earth? Split?” Brendan is more confused than before. Kyle just shakes his head.

Lou sighs. “You guys don’t know anything do you. Hundreds of millions of years ago the Earth was twice the size it is today. Not only was it bigger, it was also colder. It was this cooler temperature that allowed humans to reach almost fifty percent of their brain use potential. anyone could accomplish simple things like telekenisis or telepathy, most would have been able to see into the future using their dreams, and the truly dedicated could send themselves into the future through their dreams as well. That’s how I met Tha’zen, she is a dreamer from the Jurrasic time period and my great-to-the-tenth-power aunt. Not only is she teaching me about the past, she is teaching me how to see into the future. Of course I can’t do even a fraction of the things she can do, but I’m getting stronger everyday.”

Mark knocks back a shot in the silence that follows. Then another, and another.

“So what your saying,” Kyle attempts to wade through the glut of information he has just received. “Is that the reason humans can’t use more of our potential brain energy is because we will overheat, but we used to be able to before the planet was broken?”

“Exactly!” Lou is impressed that Kyle has grasped the concept so quickly.

“And your saying that all this happened without leaving any evidence? No archaeological trace at all?” Kyle feels like his point is invulnerable

“Evidence? Bah-humbug!” Lou spits. “Archaeologists only believe evidence that proves established theories. Anything that challenges what is accepted is ridiculed until it it is eventually proven irrefutable. You can keep your science. I don’t need an equation to tell me gravity works.”

“But how did the planet split?” Kyle cannot resist engaging once again. “Why don’t more people have these visits from the past? And what does any of this have to do with dinosaurs?”

“Excellent questions.” Lou grins. “First, lot’s of people have visits from their ancestors, it’s just that most think of them as crazy, awesome dreams. It takes a special kind of person to see the truth when it’s revealed. Truth like the evidence of a catastrophic space collision starring us in the face. The moon was once an interstellar comet of immense size, it collided with the Earth which was called Tiamat at the time, splitting it. The moon was then caught in the gravitational pull of the remnants of the planet that we call home. The rest of the debris is still floating between us and Mars as the asteroid belt. This is such an old story that just about every creation myth references it in some way or another. Of course no modern people take ancient stories seriously, how could they be true, right? Sometimes I hate our species”

“But what about the dinosaurs?” Kyle is still confused by the explanation.

Lou is about to go into further detail when Brendan’s phone rings. The president has zoned out and only after a full minute does he realize it is his phone making noise.

Brendan check the caller ID. “I have to take this. Just, um, don’t wait for me.” He holds the phone to his ear as he steps out of the office. “Mike, I am so happy you called.”

It is Mike Babcock, head coach of the Toronto Maple Leafs, he is with the team in Florida. “Hello Brendan, I am glad we got a chance to talk too. The team is having their game day nap. The dads and I are about to go to Hooters for some wings. I just snuck out for a second to see if you wanted to say it with me real quick here.”

“I’d love to.” Brendan says. After a moment of silence the two men 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. So the dads are having fun Mike?”

“Fun?” The coach chuckles. “They are worse than the players, all they do is day drink and brawl. Is Lou ever going to come down? Even bad help is better than no help at all.”

Brendan peeks into Lou’s office where the GM is shouting at Kyle. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Well great. Talk to you later Brendan.” Mike says and hangs up.

Brendan watches as Lou strives for ruder and more creative ways of calling Kyle stupid. Kyle nods patiently and sips his beer, doing his best to keep an open mind. Mark pours the last two shots down his throat then crushes the glasses in his bare hands. The glass is powdered and Marks hands are not even scratched.

“Finish up in here without me guys. I have a hair appointment to get to.” Brendan does not have a hair appointment, but he leaves his management team to their work knowing they will keep guiding his Leafs the only way they can, like pros.

Brendan Shanahan holds his torch high as he leads Lou Lamoriello through the Toronto Maple Leaf labyrinth. The flames send out a smoky orange light which bounces off the many precious gemstones embedded in the rough stone walls. They have been traversing the underground maze for over an hour and Lou has long since given up trying to remember all the twists and turns along their path.

Brendan finally stops at what appears to be a dead end.

“If you don’t know the way I am gonna be really cheesed off.” Lou says.

In answer the president of the Toronto Maple Leafs presses two of the gemstones in the wall, a small diamond and a large topaz. There is an electronic buzz and the wall before them splits open to reveal a small chamber.

The walls of this secret room are different than the walls of the labyrinth. They are cut straight and smooth and, they are painted lime green. Lou can see the colour easily because, also unlike the maze outside, the room is well lit from above and below. The effect of the luminesent floor and ceiling is that Lou feels as if he is floating when he enters.

The room is completely empty except for a circular pen, open at the top. There are broken pieces of several toys strewn around as well as colourful pages ripped from various childrens books. The culprit behind this chaos sits in the center of the cage.

It is a pigmy marmoset with big beautiful eyes that glare hatred at the intruders. As soon as Brendan and Lou enter the room the Marmoset hisses loudly and makes to leap at them.

“Not the face!” Lou yells as he readies a defensive kick at the tiny little beast.

The marmoset hurls itself at Lou but is held back before it can reach the walls of the pen. Lou sees several thick cables running from the floor of the room directly into the Marmosets back. The cables are what keeps the beast tethered. A yellowish puss weeps from the stainless steel adaptors embedded in the creature. Even though it cannot reach, the animal claws and hisses at Brendan and Lou, looking back and forth between them trying to decide who to maul first.

“This would be funny if it weren’t so pathetic and cruel. And I like cruelty, but not to cute little animals, just big ugly ones like elephants. So whats the deal Brendo?” Lou demands.

“I brought you here because it’s time you learned the biggest secret of the Leafs.” Brendan is uncomfortable. “I wish Mike was here too. I wanted to explain this to both of you.”

“Explain what?” Lou asks.

“This monkey.” Brendan tries to fill his words with gravity.

“It’s a pygmy marmoset.” Lou corrects.

“This marmoset.”

“Pygmy marmoset”

“This pygmy marmoset is actually Harold Edwin Ballard, former majority owner of our Toronto Maple Leafs.” Brendan is expecting shock and awe, what he gets is dumbfounded confusion. “Just before he died in 1990 he used experimental military techniques to have his mind transplanted into this monkey.”

“Pygmy marmoset.” Lou corrects.

“Whatever, apparentley the transplant was a success and the Leafs have been keeping the mon… Pygmy marmoset alive ever since.”

“What are the cables for?” Lou asks.

“We aren’t sure. Brendan admits. They were originally part of the transplant process. Our techs have analyzed them but all they can tell us is that the cables are actually a junction of all the old telephone lines for the Metro Toronto area. Essentially this pygmy marmoset is connected to every land-line in the city.”

Lou is shocked. He looks closer at the creature, trying to reveal the mysteries it holds with his gaze alone.

“And you say it’s been down here since Harold died.?” Lou asks.

“That’s right.” Brendan says.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Lou says. “Even the most well cared for domestic pygmy marmosets are luck to survive for twenty years. Ballard has been dead for over twenty five. This thing should be ancient, but look at how lustrious his coat is, and look at those white white teeth. As healthy a furball as I have ever seen.”

“That’s not even the strangest part.” Brendan says. “Apparently it only sleeps after the Leafs win, but it hates to sleep. I have watched it after wins. It hisses and screeches uncontrollably then collapses like a string-cut marrionette. Exactly the same every time.”

Lou shakes his head in disbelief. The implications of this cybernetic meld of human and animal staggers the imagination. Lou can not decide if he would rather inhabit a cheetah or an eagle. Certainly some sort of apex predator. And with cellphone technology being so far ahead of what it was in the nineties Lou would certainly be able to get those cables shrunk down to a more manageable size, if he even needed them at all. Sim-cards implanted throughout his spinal column might do the same task.

“What was the name of the doctor that did this?” Lou asks.

Mike Babcock walks into the room before Brendan can answer. The head coach is a tornado of energy that sucks in the eye of everyone in the room. Even Harold is mesmerized by the presence Mike exudes. The animals eyes lock on the coach and it sits completley still.

“Hello, sorry I’m late. You know how busy I get on game day. Who’s this little fella.?” Mike steps into the pen before Brendan or Lou can answer and holds out his hand to Harold the pygmy marmoset. “Don’t be scared.”

Harold backs away from the outstretched hand and Mike edges a little bit closer.

“That’s Harold Ballard.” Lou says. “You already missed the story, don’t ask Brendan to tell it again. Your lucky I’m not in charge here. I’ve fired coaches for only showing up ten minutes early. Can you believe this guy, Brendo?”

“Don’t worry about it Lou. Mike is very busy.” Brendan says. “The reason I asked you both to come down here is because we need to figure out what to do with this creature. Our analysis proves that in some way the play of the Leafs is directley linked to the behaviour of little Harold here.”

“The curse of the Ballard era.” Lou whispers.

“I don’t know about any of that.” Says Mike. “Look at the thing, it’s in pain, and it’s frieghtened. Come here little fella, it’s okay.” Mike slides a little closer and picks up Harold. The pygmy marmoset stiffens at the contact then relaxes into Mikes arms, head resting on his shoulder. “There, there, little one. There, there.” Mike repeats again and again as he gently strokes the animals soft fur. A gentle hum, like a pur and a groan, escapes from deep in Harolds throat.

“Aw. I think the little fuzzy is sleeping.” Lou says. “He really likes you. There’s your answer Brendan. Mike needs to stay down here and be Harolds keeper.”

Mike looks up at Lou and Brendan, still stroking Harolds fur. “There, there.” He says. Then he wraps his hand around Harolds tiny neck and squeezes with a twist. The pygmy marmoset is killed instantly. Casually tossing the corpse to the floor, Mike steps out of the pen without a second glance at the body. “Problem solved.” He says.

Brendan and Lou stare at the coach, stunned at his cold blooded display.

“Someone should say something.” Lou says. “I mean it was Harold Ballard after all, even if his mind was trapped in a horrific science experiment.”

After a moment of silence the men 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 the first to break the silence that follows. “If that was all, I gotta go. Lots to do, you know. Lot’s to do.” He walks out of the room and into the dark of the labyrinth.

Only as Mike leaves does Lou realize that the coach found his way through the maze by himself, and apparentley in the dark. “I really love that heartless bastard, but damn do I want to fire him.” He says to Brendan. “Let’s go grab a pizza.”

A dark column of smoke rises through the trees of the park ground behind Toronto Maple Leaf tower. Mike Babcock keeps his eyes locked on the inky streak as he follows a trail through the underbrush. There is a determined set to the coaches gaze. It is a look that has broken many men. It is a look that means Mike is not happy.

With each step he takes he gets more and more frustrated. Snow is slowing him down. Plus he hates walking through the woods without a rifle or some type of shotgun. Even a spear would have eased his nerves slightly, but this is not that kind of hunting trip. Mike is not hunting for game, he is hunting for his team.

When Mike arrived at the Toronto Maple Leaf practice facility this morning he was shocked to find the locker room empty of players. He asked one of the trainers what was going on and the man had handed him a note which read:

Babs,

I’m taking my team into the woods. It is time they learned a little bit about being men. We will be back before dinner. Sorry, there won’t be time for any of your teaching bullshit. This is real life.

Suck It,

Lou

As far as Mike was concerned Lou Lamoriello is exceeding his rights as GM of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Mike had planned a whole day of infotainment learning sessions with fun nutritional snack breaks and on-ice activities. Now everything was ruined. Mike is thinking of ways to make Lou pay as he marches through the woods. Finally he crests a hill and is looking down on a small clearing with a fire pit in the center.

His Leafs are standing in a circle around a small fire making more smoke than flame. Lou stands nearest to the pit in the center of the circle, arms waving as he speaks to the group. Mike is silent as he creeps closer to hear what Lou is saying. He makes sure to stay hidden as well, not wanting to tip off the GM to his presence. When the nearest Leafs are close enough to touch, Mike stops and listens.

“And after several dates, or more, the lady might invite the man into her apartment or maybe she will ask if she can visit the mans. This is when the man needs to be extra careful. If he has decided this is the sort of lady he can see himself having a future with than the man might accept the lady’s offer, and we will talk about that in a minute.” There are a few snickers from the Leafs but mostly the team just watches and listens to Lou. “If the man has decided he does not have a future with the lady then at this time he must do the right thing and gently let her down. Make sure you tell her it is not because of her looks, even if it is. A lady would always rather think it was her personality that you don’t like, not her face. Now there will probably be some tears at this time, The man must never give the lady a hug, the poor fragile thing will get all mixed up and we don’t want that. A gentle pat on the head, the way a man might show affection to a favoured hound, is a nice way to remind her you don’t care that she is crying.”

As Mike is listening his focus is distracted by the weak fire struggling in the pit. There is way too much wood thrown on without any regard for air flow. Unable to tolerate the poor work any longer Mike stands and walks to the center of the ring. He hears a few startled gasps from the players but gets straight to work on the fire.

“Go on Lou.” Mike says without looking up.

Lou clears his throat. “Mike, hey, ah, I’m glad your explosive diarrhea stopped. I brought the team to the woods just like you asked.”

Mike looks up and squints hard at Lou but then gets back to work on the fire.

“So.” Lou says. “Lets talk about getting intimate with a lady. I know that you boys are all old enough to have seen some pornographic materials, but let me tell you that real intimacy is very different than the pictures you see in magazines. A lady needs a gentle touch. Try putting on some sort of jazz music and lighting a candle. Have a cute little pet name for her, like Honey or Sugar, so that you don’t have to worry about forgetting her name in the heat of passion. Make sure you have some towels ready. And for Gods sake use lubricants, it’s just considerate.”

Mike is only half listening as he clears the pit of the excess wood. He finds a few smouldering sticks and a few embers in the center of the otherwise cold pit. Grabbing a branch he begins to strip it of twigs. Once it is clear he breaks the branch into smaller sticks. Mike then takes a handful of the twigs and places them in the pit, building a miniature log cabin around the glowing embers. Once this cabin is three inches high Mike tears a pinch of fleece lining from his jacket. He places the fleece in the cabin then lays the remainder of the twigs on top as a roof. Mike swiftly forms a teepee around the cabin with the larger sticks then leans right into the pit, getting his head as close to the flame as he can. For indeed the fleece has ignited quickly. Now Mike blows ever so gently and as he breathes deeply the fire grows larger. Some of the twigs are catching now. Mike blows again, slowly and evenly, and when is breath is done he pulls out of the pit and begins breaking down more of the larger sticks into smaller pieces. These he uses to build out the teepee as the fire spreads.

“Now I have some very important safety tips I want to talk to you about.” Lou continues. “I cannot stress enough the importance of stretching. Not just your back, but your legs and your shoulders too. I like to make a sort of a game out of it, making my special lady wait while I limber up. Anticipation can be very erotic to a lady, plus watching your powerful male physique will be sure to get her engine purring.

“Also, you always want to make sure you’ve gone to the toilet before getting intimate. I know that a man can get very excited and forget, but it is very important. A lady will get offended if you so much as pass wind while getting intimate. Now sometimes, if you have a very special relationship and a very special lady, you might find that toilet time is part of your intimate moments. Always follow the ladies lead in this regard and, remember this fun little rhyme, never piss where you kiss.”

Groans ripple through the Leafs as the mental image their GM is creating gets branded into their imagination. Mike banishes the thought with ease as he continues to build his fire. It is raging now, the hungry flames craving more fuel as they grow higher and higher. The Leafs begin to edge back from the heat.

Mike is dazzled by the blaze. In a trance he feeds more and more wood into it. Silently he whispers a mantra as if the words were a spell and maybe words do have the power to create.

“Dear God and Lord Stanley thank you for bringing me here to Toronto, and please help Steven Stamkos find his way home.” Mike repeats the words over and over. Adding wood until there is none left by the fire. Finally he steps back and admires his good work.

Lou is walking around the fire now as he continues. “And of course, you should always have a safe word. Safe words aren’t just for you, they are for the lady as well, so pick a word that works for both of you. Try to have fun with it, pick words that you aren’t likely to use anywhere else like Vitamin or Eskimo. Don’t pick words like But or Can. These common words might lead to confusion and embarrassment.

“Finally and, most important of all, vaginal intercourse is for making babies and only making babies. If you are not trying to make babies you need to do anal. Every proper lady knows this. You need to be prepared to indulge her no matter how disgusting it may seem.” Lou looks around at his team, catching the eye of each of his boys. “Mike did you have anything you wanted to add?”

“No, I think you covered everything pretty good. Lets head back to the ice. Lou can you wait till the fire burns out?” Mike walks back the way he came without a word. The Leafs are behind him.

Kyle Dubas has the biggest office on the fortieth floor of Toronto Maple Leaf tower. He is there late in the evening of the first Tuesday of the year playing Star Wars Battlefront on his PS4. He only plays the Walker Assault mission and is currently on a massive twenty-five kill streak. Kyle is on the Imperial side for this round and he lucks out, finding the Walker power up, giving him control of an AT-AT, one of the greatest killing machines from a long long time ago in a galaxy far far away.

Suddenly a snow speeder latches a cable onto his Walker’s legs and Kyle knows he is doomed. “Nooo!” he yells.

“Ass?” The speaking tube Lou Lamoriello has had installed between their offices blares into life. “Ass, is that you?”

Lou calls every assistant GM in the NHL ‘Ass’, so Kyle no longer takes it personally. Still, Kyle was not expecting Lou to be in Toronto. He should have been with the Leafs on their road trip through California. Kyle is tempted to ask Lou why he is still around, but knows the best option is to pretend he’s not there. Kyle places the O-P volume of an encyclopedia in front of the speaking tube to block any more sounds. He would have turned off the lights in his office but he needed to focus on the game. With one Walker down, the Imperials were going to be hard pressed for the win.

Kyle tunes out all distraction and becomes a one man wrecking crew, swatting rebel scum away with ease. Just as a ten-kill streak ends in a hail of blaster fire from two directions, Kyle’s office door is thrown open and Lou walks in.

“Ha! I caught you. I knew that encyclopedia was a scam. Who only buys O-P? I better not find you blocking your speaky again or there’s gonna be real trouble.” Lou stomps over to Kyle’s desk and picks up the encyclopedia. He spends a frustrated moment trying to rip it in half, then settles on throwing it to the ground and jumping on it. Lou growls as he hops.

“Shh.” Kyle says as he re-spawns into the game. “We are winning. It shouldn’t take long.”

Lou finally stops hopping and slumps into one of the couches. The effort of attacking the book has exhausted him. The encyclopedia is dirty, but otherwise unharmed.

“Are you playing a video game?” Lou looks at the 72 inch screen hanging on Kyle’s wall. “Are you a Storm Trooper right now? Oh my God. This is beautiful. You’re in Star Wars. You are in Star Wars. Holy crap, there are X-wings in the sky. Wait. Stop. Just look up for a second.”

Kyle does his best to ignore Lou until finally, just before it is destroyed, the second Imperial Walker blows up the Rebel transport and the round is over. Kyle has won the top player honours for the round.

“DubStep420? Is that you?” Lou asks.

“I made this account when I was in high-school. I don’t want to change it. Everyone fears the Dub.” Kyle laughs as he says this and reaches for his beer.

“You got any more of those?” Lou asks.

“Sure, even if I don’t have a bar in my office like some people.” Kyle is referring to the full service bar that Lou demanded be built into his office before he agreed to take the job of GM in Toronto. “The fridge is just beneath the T.V. Help yourself.”

Lou pulls out three beers. One he throws Kyle’s way without much warning. Kyle is forced to drop his controller to catch the bottle.

“Hey, can I try this game out?” Lou asks.

“No.” Kyle answers as he picks up the controller and starts another round. He is on the Rebel side this time. “If you want you can watch and roll joints, but you have to be quiet.”

“Oh my god! Are you a Sullustan?!” Lando Calrissian’s Sullustan co-pilot in Episode VI always made Lou laugh. “This game is amazing!”

For the next hour Lou watches as Kyle destroys his online opponents. After the first twenty minutes, and the first joint, Kyle starts to relax. He has never spent so much time bonding with Lou one on one. The nature of their relationship was a challenging one. The whole world, Lou included, knew that Kyle was going to take Lou’s job at the end of his contract. Kyle knew he had a lot to learn from Lou, but he had always thought that Lou didn’t like him. Maybe Kyle was so busy projecting his own insecurities that he failed to notice Lou was just as scared. Anyone who loved Star Wars and rolled tight joints had to be a decent person. This revelation shocks Kyle with its simplicity.

Lou’s phone begins to ring. “It’s Stan over in Chicago.” Stan Bowman is the GM of the Chicago Blackhawks. “This asshole is gonna try to pull some bullshit. After we finally made nice, even.” Lou puts the phone on speaker then holds a finger to his lips, indicating that Kyle should be quiet. “Hey Stan, awful late for a social call. You know there’s no backsies right?” After many years and many failed attempts, Lou and Stan just negotiated their first trade together yesterday.

“Hello Lou, Don’t worry, I am still happy with our trade. I was hoping we could do a little more business.”

“Of course we can.” Lou winks at Kyle. “I’m always open for business. You know that. What do you want?”

“I am in a real bind and I need a favour. Trevor Van Riemsdyk really wants to play with his brother, but Coach Q thinks he has promise.”

“I won’t give you James.” James Van Riemsdyk is Trevor’s older brother and he is having a good year for the Leafs.

“No, I know.” Stan says. “What if I give you Trevor for, maybe, Polak and a second rounder.”

Kyle is shocked at the ask. Trevor is a promising young player, but a solid veteran and a draft pick is way too steep a price. Kyle shakes his head ‘no’ immediately.

Lou agrees and stifles a laugh as he answers.“You’re dreaming. How about TVR for Marincin. Straight up.” This counter offer is part of the dance. Lou hopes to get Stan to admit what he really wants.

Stan is quiet. The silence goes on for a long while. Finally the Chicago GM speaks as if the words were a spell. “You will trade me for Trevor Van Riemsdyk.”

“I will trade you for Trevor Van Riemsdyk.” Lou answers in a monotone voice.

“You will give me Roman Polak and Scott Harrington for Trevor Van Riemsdyk.”

“I will give you Roman Polak and Scott Harrington.” Lou repeats.

Kyle is worried now. His GM seems to be under some kind of spell. If this trade actually happens, it would be a disaster. No one would understand the logic of two players for one half decent young defenceman. How was Bowman doing this? Kyle is on the verge of smashing Lou’s phone when the wily old GM flips the whole scenario on it’s head.

“You’ll never learn will you Bowman.” Lou laughs. “Your feeble little mind tricks have no effect on me. You think because we made one deal I would be vulnerable? Ha!”

“Damn! I really thought I had you that time.” Stan ends the call with a curse.

“And that’s how you deal with that asshole.” Lou sparks another joint, then takes a swallow of beer. “Are you gonna keep playing? I want to see you fly a tie fighter again, that was awesome.”

Kyle smiles, in awe of his mentor. As always, Lou is completely unreadable. Kyle believed he was totally under Stan’s control, but he had shrugged it off as if it were nothing. “How come you’re not with the team?” Kyle finally asks.

“I’m catching a charter in a little bit. I had some rancid buffalo meat I had to move tonight. Traded it to some hippies for a broken down Chevy.”

“Well I am glad we got this chance to hang out. You want to say it one time?” Kyle asks, knowing Lou is reluctant to join in this particular ritual.

“You guys are crazy. You know this prayer of yours is never gonna work.” Lou has always struggled to have faith in something outside of his self.

“Yeah well.” Kyle shrugs than bows his head. Lou does the same. After a moment of silence they speak in unison as if the words were a spell, and maybe words do have 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.”

“Alright, let’s do this. My flight leaves in four hours.” Lou is excited to see more of the game. Kyle is just excited to spend more time with Lou.

The top floor of the Toronto Maple Leaf tower holds the private sanctum of team president, Brendan Shanahan. Aside from his hand-picked staff, who are very well paid for their discretion as well as their skills, no one is allowed into the president’s space. The one exception to this rule is Games Night.

With the non-stop business of the NHL regular season, scheduling time for fun was difficult, but Brendan was adamant that mind and spirit be given the chance to unwind regularly. The gaming group was the same each week; Kyle Dubas, Mike Babcock, and Lou Lamoriello of course, as well as Jeff ‘Snacks’ O’Niell. Only on Dungeons and Dragons night, were they joined by NHL commissioner Gary Bettman.

It was Lou’s fault that Bettman was part of the game. He’d let it slip that they were starting a campaign at the draft. Gary had said he’d never played Dungeons and Dragons and wanted to try it. The scrawny little wiener had looked so pathetic and desperate that Brendan could not refuse. Now the commish was part of the campaign narrative and they couldn’t play without him. And because he was so flaky and non-committal, getting Gary to come over on Games Night always proved to be a struggle. Because of Gary, they hadn’t played DnD for weeks, and it was hard for Brendan not to hate him a little. However, with everyone in the holiday spirit, the game is on and their session is running late into the night.

A fresh mug of espresso and Bailey’s is placed on Brendan’s coaster by a beautiful naked woman. Only Gary ogles her openly, licking his wormy lips. The rest of the players are focused on Lou, the Game Master for this campaign.

“As you approach the multi-coloured lights dancing in the darkness, you begin to hear a faint note of music. As you get closer, you can hear a voice whispering a song. It is a song of welcoming, a song of beckoning. Everybody roll a wisdom check.”

All the players, except for Gary, roll their twenty-sided dice. “Can I shoot a fireball at the lights?” he asks.

“You have to roll your wisdom check before you can do anything.” Lou says.

“Yeah but my guy was gonna shoot a fireball at the lights before anything happened.” Gary argues.

“No Gary. I am the GM. I decide what happens. You were sneaking up to get a closer look at the lights with the rest of the group. No one is attacking anything. You are rolling your wisdom check.”

Gary rolls his d20. “Twenty! Ha ha. Now I cast a fire ball.”

Lou sighs and rolls his eyes. “Just wait. How many of you got over fifteen?” Only Gary and Snacks raise their hands. “Okay, The rest of you are under the spell of the music and can take no further actions. You don’t feel any fear as the music takes over your entire psyche. All you want to do is get closer to the lights so you can dance with them.”

“I cast fireball into the lights!” Gary leaps up in triumph as he announces his intentions.

Every player at the table groans. “Please don’t.” Snacks says, then he looks over at Lou. “Do I notice him casting his spell? Can I push him or throw a rock at him to disrupt the casting?”

“He’s not hiding his actions.” Lou says. “ But you’re focused on the lights. Roll over twelve and you will happen to glance over in time to disrupt his spell.” Snacks closes his eyes and rolls. The table cheers, except for Gary. The dice reads thirteen. “Okay, you disrupt his casting.”

“What the hell.” Gary says. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because you’re stupid.” Snacks says. “We’re trying to sneak through the forest and all you want to do is blow stuff up. Never mind that it’s one of your best spells and we might actually need it later, we’re trying to be stealthy here.”

Lou interjects. “Your argument has caught the attention of the faerie Queen. Now that she is actively targeting you, there is no defence against her spell. You are both under her control. You feel no fear, and just want to dance with the lights.”

“I told you I should have blown the lights up.” Gary says.

“It’s an in-game event Gary.” Brendan says. “You just let it happen. If you try and pick a fight with the faerie Queen she will probably just kill you.”

“Enslave the party for all eternity actually.” Lou says.

Mike looks over at Gary with his most serious angry face. “If you are all done trying to mess with our game, some of us are trying to play here. Lou, what happens next?”

Lou looks around at the players, hesitating for dramatic effect.

“You awake with the rising of the sun. After a quick inspection, you find that all of your equipment is where you left it. However, all your gold has been taken. Also, you are each missing your left boot. You may roll a perception check if you like, to see what you remember of the night’s events.”

Gary laughs. “That reminds me of this one time in Mexico when we woke up behind a burrito shack without our shoes and wallets. Hey, have I told you guys about my latest awesome idea for the league?”

Brendan interrupts. “We don’t talk about work on Games Night Gary. I’ve told you a million times.”

“I know, but I just want to tell you one thing.” Gary persists. “Imagine the NHL in Mexico City.” Gary raises his hand to receive the impending high fives, but none come his way. “I am telling you, Mexico is the next big hockey market. They are going to love us down there. Plus, think about how much fun the players will have on their road trips. Awesome right? Guys?”

“I rolled a seventeen for my perception.” Kyle says, mercifully bringing everyone’s attention back to the game.

Lou checks a chart he’s devised for the game. He laughs a quiet little laugh, then looks at Kyle. “You have a memory of  dancing with a large cluster of faeries. You remember taking a sip of some sort of faerie drink. The only other thing you can recall is the sensation of many tiny hands rubbing all over your body. Roll a d6”

Kyle rolls a six-sided dice. “Three,” he says, reading the result.

Lou looks back at his chart. “The faeries have removed all of your body hair, including your eyebrows and your beard.”

“No-o-o!!!” Kyle wails as he role-plays his character’s reaction. Kyle is playing a dwarven fighter and the loss of his beard is a serious trauma. The group laughs, and then continue around the table, finding out what each character remembers from the night with the faeries. Finally it is Gary’s turn.

“You gonna roll your perception?” Lou asks.

“No. I don’t care what happened with the stupid faeries. I can’t believe you stole all our gold.” Gary puts on a pouty face and slumps low in his chair. His tiny child sized frame fits easily between his seat and the table, and soon only the top of his head is visible to the other players. “This sucks.”

“Relax Gary.” Mike says “What do we need gold for anyway? We’re trying to sneak into the haunted castle to stop the rising tide of undead terrorizing the countryside. We won’t be able to spend any money until we get through the castle anyway.”

“And you know what’s always in a castle?” Snacks joins in.

“What?” says grumpy Gary.

“Traps.” Kyle cuts in.

“Traps.” Snacks agrees. “And treasure. Lots of treasure.”

“We have to find our shoes before we can go any further.” Brendan reminds the group.

“Bah, maybe you elves and humans do.” Kyle says in character. “We dwarves are made of sterner stuff than that. Why, I have callouses on me little toe that would dull a butcher’s blade.”

“As calloused as yon feet may be,”  Mike says. “we must enboot thy foul toes else we alert the whole  forest of our passage.”

Kyle gives Mike a dumbfounded look.

“He’s saying your feet stink.” Snacks provides.

“Of course they stink!” Kyle says. “Why, a dwarf is as proud of his odour as he is of his be…”

“His what?” Snacks probes.

Kyle had forgotten for a moment and now he would have to role-play even harder. Reaching up to touch his smooth cheeks, Kyle wails and the group laughs again at his theatrics.

“My beautiful beard,” he pretend cries.

It takes the group a little while to get their shoes back. The Faerie Queen had hidden them up a nearby tree and hilariously, Brendan’s elven Druid had failed his roll to climb it. It was Mike’s heavily armoured paladin that actually got up the tree, but he fell out as he knocked the shoes down.

An alarm suddenly starts to beep from Mike’s pocket. He pulls out a small digital watch, pushes a button on the side of it, and says. “It’s midnight fellas. We need to say it one time here real quick.” Looking to Snacks and Gary, he adds. “ You two just hang tight for a second.”

The four members of the Toronto Maple Leafs 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.”

“Jeff. Hey Jeff.” Gary is not subtle as he tries to get Snacks’ attention. “You think I can call this tampering?” His smug look of satisfaction is wiped away as Mike open-hand slaps him hard in the face and continues his prayer.

“Thank you for bringing us together here in Toronto and please help Steven Stamkos find his way home.” After another moment of silence they look up and play continues.

“So, you all get your shoes back, and inside each one you find a full heal potion.” Lou says. “It’s roughly seven in the morning, the air is crisp and the sun is shining. What do you do?”

“Do we recognize where we are in the forest?” Brendan asks.

“You do.” Lou answers. “You know exactly where you are. The court of the faerie Queen did not move you anywhere.”

“How long will it take us to walk to the castle, assuming we go slowly and try to avoid detection?” Mike asks.

“You will get to the castle around sunset, unless you’re delayed.” Lou says with a smile.

“He’s smiling guys.” Snacks says. “That is never a good sign. Let’s just take it real slow through these woods, okay.”

“Can you believe Han Solo dies in the new Star Wars? I was so bummed.” Gary just blurts this out for no reason.

“Oh my god! What!?” Kyle shouts. “Bettman you fuck! I told you we haven’t seen it yet.”

“You are such an asshole.” Mike says shaking his head.

“I told you we were waiting for Mark to get back from Finland.” Kyle means Mark Hunter, the Toronto Maple Leaf director of Player Personnel, who is in Helsinki watching the World Junior tournament. Kyle, Brendan, Mike and Lou had promised to wait until they were together to see Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Mike and Lou went on opening day, but Kyle and Brendan had kept their promise. “Why? Why would you do that?” This time Kyle’s anguish is real.

Brendan stands up and points to the door. “Get out,” he says to Gary.

“Brendan, please, give me a break.” Gary has always been a sniveler and his puckered little rat face slides into full suction mode with ease.

“OUT!” The president rarely raises his voice, but when he does it makes an impact.

Gary stands up and backs away. “Okay, okay, yeesh. It’s just a movie. At least I didn’t tell you Han is the bad guy’s father. Oops.”

“Get the fuck out of here Bettman! You are the worst guy ever!” Lou screams at the retreating commissioner.

Several beautiful naked women bring everyone a drink to help them calm down, and then the game continues.

“Okay,” says Lou. “As you walk through the forest a tree suddenly falls and lands on the halfling wizard, crushing and killing him instantly.”

“I search his corpse.” Snacks says before anyone else can. “Did the tree crush his heal potion?”

A low cloud hangs over the city of Glendale, Arizona. The Toronto Maple Leaf reconnaissance drone darts in and out of the cover this cloud provides. The drone is being controlled by Kyle Dubas. Kyle rubs his weary eyes and takes another sip of Joker energy drink. He is sitting on a hotel bed looking through his computer screen at the streets of Glendale, which are quiet at 3 am on a Tuesday.

“Still not seeing any activity, Captain.” Kyle says into his mic.

The Captain replies. “We have to focus.” As captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs, Dion Phaneuf has many responsibilities. He takes them all seriously. None more so than his role as The Captain, the world’s foremost supplier of vigilante, super hero, justice. Flying above the desert city he looks for crime, and as always, Kyle supports Dion in any way he can.

Kyle always has to work harder at this role on the road. In Toronto Kyle is hooked into every grid, controlling the city like a puppet-master. When the team is travelling, Kyle has to use the drones. State of the art surveillance technology can only cover so much hostile territory, and in a quiet city like Glendale, he was really just flying around hoping to get lucky.

“I am going to swing by Glendale High School one more time, then check out the trailer park.” Kyle says with a yawn. “Birth place of Jenny Garth just so you know.”

“You gotta stay sharp.” The Captain says.

“Got something.” There is commotion in the high school parking lot. As Kyle’s drone gets closer, what he thought was a fight turns out to be a beating. “You better get to the high school quick.” Four large men are filling in a fifth prone figure with boots and fists. Dion arrives like a meteor and the four are knocked to the ground from the impact of his landing.

The Captain picks up the beaten man and takes off for the nearest emergency room. He bursts through a wall and lays the victim on the triage nurses desk.“Help.” he says. The nurse is speechless as Dion takes off back through the hole in the wall, racing for the high school.

The four men are back on their feet when The Captain lands, more gently this time. They spread out and two of them pull out knives from their cheap leather coats. They are used to intimidating people and are slow to adapt. A skinny one without a weapon steps forward.

“You done fucked up son. No one gets in the way of the boss’s business. You best fly on up outta here.”

“Dion, somethings not right.” Kyle is getting a very bad feeling. “These guys aren’t surprised by your powers. They don’t look the least bit frightened by you. We have to find out more about this boss of theirs. You have to let them get away.”

“I know.” Dion says.

“Damn right you know.” The thug does not realize Dion is talking to someone else. “Everyone knows this is Ten Eels turf. Now I gots to gut ya for getting in our way.”

The thugs move in to attack. The Captain moves faster. He holds back his strength as he strikes though, not wanting to incapacitate, only motivate. Two are down with split lips  and bloody noses before they can even take a step. The leader pulls out a long knife from behind his back and Dion breaks his hand by accident. Disarmed, the man falls to the ground screaming. The only thug standing turns and runs. The other two help the skinny leader to his feet and take off behind him.

“I’ll follow them.” Kyle says, all thoughts of sleep demolished by the thrill of the chase. The thugs run through the high school grounds and then surprise Kyle by opening a manhole and jumping down below the street. “They are taking to the sewers Dion. Switching to thermal scope.” Kyle activates the drones heat detection sensors which are so finely tuned they can find a target even through meters of concrete and earth.

The thugs traverse about three kilometres of  the underground warren. They are obviously comfortable in the environment because they never slow down and never hesitate at the various turnings they pass. If Kyle wasn’t tracking them biochemically he would have lost them for sure. Finally they stop underneath a large derelict warehouse. Despite the appearance of abandonment, the drone reads the heat signatures of dozens of people inside.

“I am right above their hideout Dion, but I think you better be careful, the place is packed.

“You gotta enjoy every day.” Says The Captain.

Kyle begins to type commands into his keyboard, but not to the reconnaissance drone. Kyle has a special toy designed for when things get messy. Eager to confront the upcoming chaos, The Captain crashes though the roof of the building. He blasts through three floors into the basement and everybody inside begins to converge on the area. Things get confused as the crowd around Dion grows. Kyle can no longer separate individuals from the mass of heat in the basement of the warehouse.

“Whats happening in there?” Kyle can hear the crash and clamour of battle but he cannot tell if Dion is okay. Suddenly several rounds of gunfire go off and Kyle losses all sympathy “Get clear! Sweet Adeline is on her way.” Kyle fears the worst until the familiar figure of The Captain leaps out of the fray and onto the roof of the warehouse.

Sweet Adeline is Kyle’s pet name for the Toronto Maple Leaf attack drone and Kyle takes control of it as it soars down into the warehouse. Adeline is among the most advanced war machines in existence. Her heads-up display captures and enhances images at a rate many times faster than human comprehension. Her twin mounted vulcan cannons spew 50mm death at 700 rounds per second. Kyle addresses the assembled mob through speakers mounted in her nose.

“Run now and you can live. You stay, you die.”

One of the thugs takes a shot that glances off Adeline’s armour plated hide and Kyle opens fire.

On the roof of the building The Captain catches his breath. He almost lost it down there. It wasn’t the mob that nearly ended him, but their leader. Dion has never been confronted with anything to rival his strength on this planet. Not until today. He wants to tell Kyle to pull Adeline out of there, but he is too late.

Adeline devastates the mob. She mows down dozens, filling the air with pink mist. Suddenly, something grey and slimy fills Kyle’s HUD. Adeline fires over twenty-one hundred rounds into it with no effect. As Kyle attempts to back the drone off, his screen goes dark.

“No!” Kyle cries out. “Dion, they wrecked her. What the hell is down there?”

“Work.” Dion answers. He focuses on his opponent with his mind and finds him. Dion has never felt such a malevolent swirl of chaos. Suddenly he is pushed out by his enemies will. Dion is surprised, a physical beast and psychically strong too. A real challenge. A real test.

“You have to be able to do it.” The Captain says to himself.

Dion flies back down into the basement. Waiting for him is a nightmare made out of a man. He stands over seven feet tall, thickly muscled with broad shoulders. He is almost bursting out of the grey suit he is wearing. The tailoring is expensive and shows no sign of being blasted at point blank range by Adeline’s cannons. All this is taken in as background to his grotesque nature. His skin is a slimy looking grey, his lips split in a sickly grin displaying pointed teeth. Wet droplets ooze down constantly off his bald head covering him in a greasy layer of moisture. He stands with arms wide open and his hideous hands make Dion gasp. They are as big as garbage can lids and instead of fingers, his digits are long writhing eel bodies, each ending with a viscous eel head. When he speaks his voice sounds as if he is under water.

“Greetings. I am the mighty Ten Eel. Since you killed my gang I guess you don’t want to be friends.”

The behemoth leaps forward and almost crushes Dion with a double-fisted hammer strike. The Captain narrowly avoids the blow, but as the fist slams down one of the eel heads lashes out and bites him on the thigh. Ten Eel follows up with a kick hard in The Captain’s chest and he crashes into a wall, cracking the building’s foundations. Pain flares through The Captain’s leg. He can feel a venom attempting to destroy his body. He can feel his mighty metabolism absorbing and eliminating the poison. As he stands, his opponent laughs.

“So, you won’t die quick? No problem!” Ten Eel makes a fist with his left hand and sticks his pointer eel out like a pistol at The Captain’s head. It vomits a spurt of green goo which Dion dodges. The goo is an acid which melts the wall behind him. The right pinkie eel spits out three darts which hit The Captain right on the crest of his armour. Even though the darts do no damage Dion can feel the strength behind the projectiles like that of a small calibre rifle.

The Captain goes on the offensive. He flies straight for Ten Eel’s face, putting all his strength into his two fists. His knuckles land squarely, one set over each eye and Dion hears a wet thwack. His momentum stops as though he had run into a sponge mountain and Ten Eel laughs again.

“You are pretty strong, I’ve been hit by trains that didn’t have your punch. Lucky for me you’re not strong enough to get by my SLIME SHIELD!”

Ten Eel lashes out with a roar, missing Dion with a left handed overhead smash, but catching him in the gut with a follow up right hook. As Dion is propelled back by the hit he catches the thumb eel just behind its head. His fingers nearly slip off but Dion tightens his grip, clasping that slippery eel in his titanic grasp. Ten Eel lets out a wail and shakes his hand, smashing Dion repeatedly into the floor and ceiling. The Captain holds on. Even as the other eels on the hand bite at him he tightens his grip. Dion squeezes so hard that the thumb eels head pops off.

Ten Eel screams and lashes out wildly. He hits walls and ceilings and everything except his target. The building is beginning to shake. The Captain zips past Ten Eel and picks up Adeline’s smashed remains, then flies up and out of the building, breaking through floors even as they crumble down onto the villain’s head.

As Kyle watches The Captain emerge from the wreckage with his beloved attack drone, he mouths a silent prayer.

“Dear God and Lord Stanley, thank you for bringing me to Dion and please help Steven Stamkos find his way home.” Turning on his mic he speaks directly into The Captain’s helmet. “I never could pick up the heat signature of that monster. All I saw was you getting knocked all over the place. I doubt that wreck finished him off, but please, can we call it a night? There is a game today.”

“I thought we did a great job.” Dion says, as he makes his weary way back to the hotel.

Kyle is relieved. “Come by my room, I have snacks.”

The Tampa Bay Lightning are in Toronto. The team is arriving at the Air Canada Center for a secret morning skate. Their bus drives directly beneath the arena so that the Lightning can avoid the fans and rabid media in Toronto. There is no avoiding Brendan Shanahan, Kyle Dubas, Lou Lamoriello or Mike Babcock, who wait hiding in a dumpster, as the Lightning begin to unload from the bus.

“He’s here, he’s here, he’s here, he’s here!” says Mike.

“Shhhh” Lou hisses “He’ll hear you.”

Brendan can understand his underling’s excitement. Steven Stamkos will be in the building tonight. He is playing for the Lightning, but that does not keep the president of the Toronto Maple Leafs from imagining the superstar with a Leaf on his jersey.

“There he is.” Kyle whispers as shock and awe make his jaw go slack.

Steven Stamkos is a golden god. He steps off his team bus and the heavens start to sing. The light of his presence darkens the rest of the underground parking lot. With his blonde hair waving and his blue eyes sparkling, Steven quickly takes in his surroundings before following his teammates. Brendan thinks his mind is playing tricks when Steven looks past their hiding spot, then looks back and winks.

“He winked at us.” says Lou. “Did you guys see that?”

“How did he know we were here?” Kyle stammers, struck nearly dumb by the presence of Stamkos.

“Talent.” Mike answers.

“Talent.” Brendan, Kyle and Lou echo their agreement.

They just watch as Steven walks into the arena proper. His physique is perfect. His grace is effortless and his strength is displayed with every purposeful stride. He is more of a caged tiger than a hockey player. He is more of an approaching thunder cloud than a man. And just like a passing breeze he is gone, leaving Brendan, Kyle, Lou and Mike gasping to catch their stolen breath.

The Lightning have passed. The parking lot is silent. The four men 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.”

The word home seems to echo longer than physics should allow until silence once again dominates the underground parking lot.

As usual, it is Lou who shatters the growing tension. “Let’s go to the peelers. I’m starving.”

“I can’t.” says Mike. “It’s game day, lots of work to do. Lots of work.” The coach vaults out of the dumpster and walks away, taking the same path into the arena that Stamkos walked mere moments before.

“What about you guys?” Lou asks Brendan and Kyle. “You gonna bitch out too?”

“I could use a sandwich.” Brendan answers with a shrug.

“Tuesdays they have crab on special.” Kyle reminds his boss as the colleagues depart with refuse falling off their suits.

************

Across town in Toronto Maple Leaf Tower, Jonathan Bernier looks at himself in the mirror.

“I am happy to be here.” He does not sound convinced. “Baby steps.” The Leaf walks out of the rest room and into the Toronto Maple Leaf International House of Pancakes. Jonathan always eats pancakes before a game and tonight’s game is no different than any other. As if to prove otherwise, Steve Briere, the Toronto Maple Leaf goaltending coach, is sitting at his table waiting eagerly.

“Jonathan, are you okay? Was it something you ate? Was it the salad? I bet it was the salad. Salmon salad is bad.”

Jonathan nods. “It was weird dressing.”

“Do you want something to drink? How about a drink of water? Ooo, what about some cranberry juice? My wife loves cranberry juice. I do too. You want some?”

“Get shots.” Jonathan says.

“It’s not even noon yet. We can’t have shots Jonathan, I will call Mike if I have to.” Steve only threatens to call the head coach Mike Babcock when he is super serious.

“A pitcher?” The Leaf will not give up.

“Okay, one pitcher.” For Steve, talking his young charge down from hard alcohol to beer is a win. “But only one okay. What kind of beer do you want? Do they have Kokanee here? Maybe they have Bud. I like Bud. Ooo, what about raspberry ale? Do you think they have raspberry ale? I can’t get raspberry ale when I’m with my wife, she likes cranberries.”

“Stop talking.” Jonathan says.

Steve stops talking. He looks around the T.M.L.I.H.O.P. It is unusually quiet for this time of day. He looks back to the goalie. Steve is worried about Jonathan. He will be the starting in the NHL for the first time time in over two weeks. Even if Jonathan was the backup goalie tonight, it would still be stressful. Steve is scared that Jonathan is not ready to be the starter. Just because he played very well in the minors, it does not mean that he’s prepared for the big time show time that is the league. Steve blames himself for Jonathan’s struggles so far this season, even though there are some mitigating factors. Problems with goalies are usually caused by problems with the goalie coach. No one else sees that the Leafs were all trying to learn the Babcock way early in the year. No one else cares that some of the bad goals allowed were the result of really terrible luck. No one else remembers the games where Jonathan stood on his head to stop pucks but the team just didn’t score any goals. All anyone sees is the stat line and the big fat zero in the win column. Being a goalie is really hard.

“Being a goalie is really hard.” Steve did not mean to make words and sounds. He looks over at Jonathan. The Leaf is staring straight at him intensely. “I mean it is, right?” The part of Steve’s mind that knows he should shut up is too used to failing to put up a fight. “Everyone blames the goalie, but then when he wins, that’s just his job. It’s not fair. Life’s not fair. Did I ever tell you about my synthetic testis? That was a bad day. It all started in the winter of ’96. Was it the winter?”

“Like I just said,” Jonathan has a fire behind his eyes that scares the goalie coach to the cockles of his heart. “Stop talking.”

Steve knows Jonathan is right. The time for talking is over. The only thing left is the doing.

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.”

“We were pleasantly surprised when you reached out to us, can I give you a tour of the tower?” Kyle Dubas is legitimately star struck as he welcomes Connor McDavid to Toronto Maple Leaf Tower.

Connor, the superstar first over-all pick of the Edmonton Oilers, offers Kyle a friendly handshake and an awkward smile. “Sure.” He says. “I always wanted to see inside this place.”

“Well it is my pleasure to finally invite you in.” Kyle puts his arm around Connor’s shoulders gently as they enter into the tower. “Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if we had won that draft lottery.” He pauses, then sighs loudly. “But everything happens the only way it can, right?”

“I try not to think about it.” The teen phoneme replies.

“How is your recovery going? Healing well?”

“It’s okay I guess.” Connor has a clavicular fracture that is mending slower than he would like.

As they take an up-escalator ride Kyle leans in to Connor and speaks softly.

“So how come you’re not with your team? The guys aren’t giving you a hard time about being hurt are they?”

“No it’s nothing like that. I like my team, I just can’t go back to Edmonton yet.”

“Why?” Kyle asks.

“It’s Messier.” Connor says.

“Mark?” Of all the answers Kyle might have expected, that was not one of them.

“I know he’s an Oiler legend and a Hall-of-Famer, but the guy is just always around. Before and after games, even when I’m training. I had to start going to the gym at night to avoid him. Now he calls me whenever he feels like it, and if I don’t answer he never stops. I just had to get away.” Connor is starting to twitch as he relives the trauma.

“It’s okay Connor, he can’t get you here.” They don’t speak for the rest of the escalator ride. Kyle discreetly sends a text to the O-dog Jeff O’Neill cancelling the retired stars meet and greet with Connor. O-dog sends back a thumbs down emoji followed by a monkey covering its mouth and a swirl of chocolate ice cream with big eyes. The escalator finally deposits them on the fourth floor and Kyle leads Connor to the west wing.

“Welcome to the Toronto Maple Leaf rainforest preserve.” Kyle opens the door and a wave of humid heat washes over the pair. Sweat immediately starts to drip into tickly places. The sound of hundreds of tropical birds shakes the air and the space is filled with every vibrant shade of green the mother Earth can produce. Trees and vines and flowers of indescribable beauty reach out as far as the eye can see, which is about three meters in the dense indoor forest.

A gravel path meanders away into the undergrowth. On either side of the path red lights shine brightly, allowing no confusion as to where the trail ends.

“Stay on the path.” Kyle says. “There are snakes and jaguars and worse out in the jungle, but the animals don’t like the light.”

“Snakes?” Connor does not follow Kyle along the path. “I hate snakes.”

“Okay.” Kyle says turning around. “We will skip the Toronto Maple Leaf reptile petting zoo then. No prob. Come on.”

Kyle leads Connor to an elevator. Relieved, the young man follows. Kyle and Connor enjoy the Toronto Maple Leaf mini-putt course, the Toronto Maple Leaf animatronic dinosaur exhibit, and the Toronto Maple Leaf hard candy factory without incident.

“This place is amazing.” Connor says between lollipop licks. “How can you fit everything in one building?”

“Well, we are always growing.” Kyle answers. “It seems like some part of the tower is being renovated all the time, and so it all comes down to the foundations. A solid foundation is easier to build on top of.”

Connor understands that this response is not an answer but does not press the issue. Suddenly they are interrupted by the noise of an approaching argument.

“God damn it Mike, you will not!”

“You better believe I will Lou.”

Lou Lamoriello and Mike Babcock do not notice Kyle and Connor right away, so heated is their confrontation.

“If I call Nylander up you are not gonna sit him, you are going to put him into the line up” A dangerous tone has crept into Lou’s voice. Lesser men would run from the threat it promised.

“Remember the last time you forced a player onto my roster?” Mike is not at all intimidated.

“Corrado is a good player, you’re just sitting him to be a prick. I’m gonna trade James Reimer if you don’t play Frankie soon.”

“I pick the players that make it into the lineup Lou, that’s all there is to it.”

“Nylander is better than any guy you’re putting on the ice right now.”

“Great, let him win the AHL scoring title, let the Marlie’s take a run at the AHL championship, and let the kid grow into a man with his teammates. I am not going to take a guy on a road trip that can’t even go out for beers with the team after a game. That’s that.”

“I hate your stubborn wrinkly balls. Why don’t you go skull fuck a snapping turtle.”

“Guys!” Kyle shouts. “Look who surprised us with a visit.”

The two men are startled by the interuption. They greet Connor and apologize for spoiling his tour.

“It’s okay.” Connor says. “I’m starting to feel a little hungry anyway, can we get some food?”

“No problem Connor, I think it’s hotdog day in the cafeteria.” Kyle turns to Lou and Mike. “You are not calling up Nylander, and when he does come up you are not going to bench him. And no trading goalies. Not yet.” Not waiting for an answer, Kyle leads Connor away from the bickering pair.

“You ever imagine what it would be like to have him on the team?” Lou asks, staring at the receding figure of the most promising young hockey player of his generation.

“All the time.” Mike answers.

Without any sort of plan or agreement the two watch in silence until Connor is gone, then 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.”

Just before Kyle and Connor reach the cafeteria they run into Morgan Rielly. The Leaf has a dvd tucked under his arm and is licking ketchup off his hands. He nods to Connor, then looks over to Kyle and shrugs.

“How are the hot dogs today?” Kyle asks.

“Nice and long and thin.” Morgan answers.

“I love wieners.” Connor says.

“Be smart about it.” Morgan warns.

“I won’t eat too many. Hey what movie have you got there?” Connor asks.

“Super Troopers.” Morgan answers.

“I love Super Troopers. Can I come watch it after my wieners?” Connor looks over to Kyle who nods.

“No problem Connor. You don’t mind do you Mo?”

“No.” Morgan answer.

“You’re going to the video room?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah.” Morgan has cleaned one hand and as he turns to leave he goes to work on the other.

“Let’s go get some beef in you Connor.” Kyle says, as he guides the teenager into the cafeteria and cuts to the front of the line.

High above, Brendan Shanahan sits in his private sanctuary drinking a cappuccino. The hook from Wu-Tang Clans “C.R.E.A.M” starts to blare from his coat pocket and Brendan pulls out his cellphone. He doesn’t know the number but recognizes the Edmonton area code.

“Hello.” Brendan says.

“Hi Brendan, It’s Mess. The Moose. You know, Mark Messier, I was in the NHL.”

“Hi Mark.” Brendan is surprised to say the least. “What’s up?”

“I’m just calling to see if you know where Connor is. Connor McDavid. He’s my friend. He likes it when I call him Connie, but I don’t call him that all the time. Have you seen Connie? Connor, I mean?”

“Sorry Mark, I haven’t seen him.” Something about the way Mark is talking makes Brendan wary of revealing the young mans visit to the tower. “Isn’t he with the Oilers?”

“No, I mean I don’t think so. I follow the team everywhere. Well, I follow Connie everywhere. But I lost him in Toronto. We were at the supermarket together and someone offered me a Lays potato chip. I had to eat it, and then I had to eat more, and then I looked up and Connie was gone. Connie!” Mark wails into the phone. “Connie!”

“Sorry Mark I can’t help you.” Brendan says and hangs up quickly. “Poor kid.”