Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Want to be an NHL owner?

by Todd Maternowski

Top of the morning, hockey fans! Last week we filled our tired and mundane lives with the thrill-a-minute breathless excitement of the salary cap; this week, I was planning on writing my annual column on why no one will miss the Maple Leafs if they disappeared quietly into the night, when a slew of recent events forced my hand in another, strangely-related direction. In this past week or two alone, the NHL has been rocked by owner scandals: first it turns out Preds owner "Boots" Del Biaggio had no money when he bought the team, "saving" it from leaving Nashville; then Anaheim Ducks owner Henry Samueli got hit with a $12 million fine and was banned from the sport; then James Dolan of the Rangers got sued by the NHL over some crappy website (no, not the good kind of lawsuit-inspiring website, either); then L.A.'s Philip Anschutz and Minnesota's Craig Leipold, it turns out, lent Del Baggio almost all of his funny-money to buy the Preds, and did so without telling their good friend and 'ally', Gary Bettman.

Finally, long-suffering hockey fans have the answer to the Eternal Question: "Why on earth is Gary Bettman still employed?"

Could you imagine the earth-shattering shock that would occur if the NHL had a commissioner with balls big enough to perform background checks on NHL owners? The results would be terrifying! Much better to have a tiny yes-man you can physically intimidate with ease --not to mention that the proud Dwarven people are known for their love of precious minerals and jewels, and can be easily bought off. Not that Bettman has anything to do with the warlike Dwarves, who banished him from their mountain kingdom many eons ago for craven cowardice and an epic case of b.o.

Fortunately for you, loyal readers, I kept the transcript of my interview for the Predators' ownership position from a few years back. I was legally bound to keep it under wraps, but since when does a potential NHL owner have anything to do with the outdated term "legally bound"? Pshaw!

It all started when I was a homeless meth addict living in a fort made of discarded Red Bull cans and writing hockey columns for crack. I used to hang out near dumpster #11A at the AAC, and one of my favorite pastimes was pilfering through Tom Hicks' mail.

One day I came across his monthly copy of NHL Owners Weekly, and instinctively turned to the classified ads in the back. And like a beacon of magma on the dark side of Pluto, there it was: "NEED PREDS OWNER. NO EXP NEC, WILL TRAIN. BRING $$$. NO QUESTIONS ASKED, CALL G.B.AT ###-###-####". (number withheld, because Bettman's voicemail message is so vile and putrid that many of you readers would vomit halfway through listening to it)

Seeing that this could be my big break, I called the number and scheduled an interview with Bettman for ten minutes later. Not having my best Sunday clothes on me at the time, I made an impromptu tuxedo out of old diapers and mostly-empty toilet paper rolls, and strided confidently into the back of Gary's waiting limo.

After a few introductory minutes where I fended off his clumsy sexual advances (thank god for my experiences interning for the Red Wings), we finally got down to the meat of the interview.

Bettman: Well, Todd, let's get down to it: do you enjoy wrestling small, hairy men?

Me: Could you phrase that in the form of a question?

Bettman: I thought you were here for the Preds' job?

Me: Yep, Preds, whatev. Say, are you going to eat that?

Bettman: You mean the Hart Trophy? I was saving that for my daily naptime fantasies. Get your own.

Me: No, I meant all that food piled in the corner!! Doofus! Cheesis K. Rist, you're a slow one! Derrrr!

Bettman: I'm saving that pile of food for a special promo for the fans. Tattoo the name of your favorite NHL owner on your forehead, and win a year's supply of free government cheese! Take that, NFL!

Me: If I get a tattoo of a ancient Druidic curse with your name prominently featured in it, could I get 12 slices of Wisconsin cheddar?

Bettman: Enough with the formalities, let's get down to business. Have you eve--hey, I own that!!

Me: Oh, you do? Sorry. (puts palantir down) And to answer your question, yes, yes I have. All the time, in fact. Even on my way into this limo I was doing whatever it was you were talking about. I'm probably doing it as we speak. Right in front of your face, most likely. And really, really enjoying it.

Bettman: Excellent. And do you have any multiple homicides on your record as a result of that?

Me: Not that I know of, but you know how those things can just kindof happen without your knowledge or express written consent.

Bettman: Good. What were your grades in 7th grade geography?

Me: Ummm... straight F's? I seem to recall massive population centres located in Florida, or maybe something about the polar ice caps of the Mississippi Delta. I forget --I was too busy paying off my teachers with paper route-money and hey, do you mind if I listen to my iPod while I'm talking to you? I like to do two things at once, especially if one of those things is not really listening to you.

Bettman: I like your style and unwavering command of basic geography, friend. Would you mind if we did a background check on you and your finances?

Me: I'm not your friend, buddy!

Bettman: Hey hey, no problem there, guy, background checks are for the chodes in the NFL anyways. Do you have any long-term goals?

Me: Huh?

Bettman: O-day ou-ay ave-ay any ong-lay erm-tay oals-gay?

Me: Ummm... well, to start, if elected, I plan on laughing and pointing at you during those amazing all-night heroine jags held just for NHL owners, by NHL owners. Also, I'd like to replace you at some point in my career, probably with me, or most likely a clone of me. I'm taller than you, so you wouldn't be able to do anything about it except cry a lot. My first act as commish would be to dedicate a dark corner for you to weep in. But not so dark as we couldn't see you, and point and laugh! Haha.

Bettman: Do you think that would increase our TV ratings? Crying and darkness, I mean? I mean, nothing's more popular than chick flicks right now, and I cry when I watch movies all the time. Especially Mystic Pizza.

Me: There's no, like, dress code or anything, is there? 'Cause underwear is, like, bullshit, man.

Bettman: Yes there is. I've worn this same suit for 15 years. It was passed on to me from my predecessor, Gary Coleman, and his predecessor before him, Gary Busey. But not the guy before him. But we digress: could you give me a list of your accomplishments?

Me: I narrowly avoided peeing my pants once while on the job. Actually, that's a lie. I tend to lie a lot, especially to people in positions of authority like yourself. I find it breaks up the dullness. Like when I told you I own a company that prints gajillion-dollar bills.

Bettman: YOU OWN A COMPANY THAT PRINTS GAJILLION DOLLAR BILLS!!?1!? Holy crap, you're hired!! Let's wrestle for good luck!

Me: And leave my current employer? Forget it, keep your lousy Predators. I'm keeping my gajillion dollar bills! Get your hand off my thigh!

The interview ended there, more or less, although I do seem to recall a bit more tiny horseplay afterwards --I'm not sure, but I think whatever was in that cup labelled "ROOFIES" was starting to make me a little woozy. Needless to say, when I'd left the limo I slapped myself on the forehead for passing up my dream job --the proud owner of a quasi-legitimate NHL franchise-- but in the end I learned a valuable lesson, and have been a lifelong friend of Gary's ever since.

That's it for this week's always-informative Cupcheck. Tune in next week when I host NHL Network's newest game show, "Hide the Kielbasa!"

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