Thursday, February 9, 2012
Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Tabitha’s Dallas Stars Takeover
I say, pip pip, old bean!
Good morning, hockey fans! Last week we discussed whether or not Jamie Benn is the Next Mike Modano (short answer: maybe, if we ever saw the 6-foot-3, 215-pound Modano throw more than a single bodycheck per season). This week, after two demoralizing losses and three slightly-less-demoralizing wins, it's time to shake the Dallas Stars out of their mid-season funk.
For that purpose, GM Joe N. has decided to invite noted salon consultant Tabitha McBritishperson to see what could be done about this trainwreck of a team. Here's a transcript of what transpired.
(In GM Joe's office. The walls are lined with mementos from his three Stanley Cups, including the ever-bleeding head and neck of Tommy Salo and a life-sized portrait of a winking Jason Arnott. Newy is hard at work at his desk, his hair disheveled and the Windsor knot on his tie slightly askew. The intercom buzzes.)
Voice on intercom: "A snarling she-b*tch with a heart of rusted iron is here to see you, sir."
Newy: "Ah! Please send her in." (licks hands, slicks back hair, straightens tie, rubs hands together) "Ohboyohboyohboy!"
(Tabitha walks in and spits into a replica of the Stanley Cup Steve Ott made entirely of tinfoil and novelty hand buzzers. The Cup vibrates softly in the corner.)
Tabitha: "Hello Joe, I hear you've got a difficult team of ice men here."
Newy: "We do, we do. I'm at my wit's end. I just can't seem to get through to these guys."
Tabitha: "Well, that's where I come in. I was able to sneak hidden cameras to your last game against the Arizona Phoenixes, and was able to film some particularly disturbing things. Watch."
(She pulls a remote from her skirt and presses a flashing red button. An 80-inch plasma screen lowers itself on pistons from just above Joe's desk, showing highlights of the Stars-Coyotes game.)
Tabitha: "Well here's your first problem. Those employees you have, hanging around their own net drinking lo-cal smoothies and painting their nails and playing grab-ahhs. What do they do?"
Newy: (sighs) "Those are our defensemen."
Tabitha: "And what are they supposed to be doing?"
Newy: "Prevent the other team from (makes quote marks with fingers) 'scoring goals.'"
Tabitha: "Well, here they ahh screaming like schoolgirls and diving out of the way of oncoming players. Is that what you pay them to do?"
Newy: "No, we pay them to make physical contact with the opposing forward to make things difficult, then have a teammate retrieve the loose puck and send it back up ice."
Tabitha: "When I wotch this, the only thing coming back up is my breakfast. And who are these skinny fellows skating around in circles, these ones here?"
Newy: "Those are our forwards."
Tabitha: "And they're paid to do wot, exactly?"
Newy: "Skate to the other net and score goals."
Tabitha: "Well, that's going to be quite difficult to do if every time they cross midfield, they voluntarily surrender that little black puck thing to the closest inanimate object they can find, which is usually a woll."
Newy: "Well, sometimes they don't want to get hit, it gets their jerseys slightly ruffled, and—"
Tabitha: "I've heard enough. Give me the keys."
(Newy frowns, gives her the key to the AAC)
Tabitha: "That's it, I'm taking ovah."
(Next scene. Tabitha is sitting across from the players, who are looking sheepishly at the empty patch of ground directly in front of them.)
Tabitha: "Do any of you know why I'm here?"
Jake Dowell: "Our mullets need a trim?"
(some players snicker quietly. Tabitha produces a gleaming battleaxe from underneath her chair and hurls it at Dowell, splitting his skull into thousands of bloody shards.)
Tabitha: "THAT'S for that rathah egregious turnovah against the Wild. Anyone else got something smaht to say?"
Players: (mumbling) "No, ma'am."
Tabitha: "Good, now we're getting somewhere. Mr. Morrow, you're the first mate here, what would you say is the problem?"
Morrow: "Well, we've had a lot of injuries ..."
Tabitha: "Absurd. Pittsburgh has had a lot of injuries, and they're doing just fine."
Morrow: "Yeah, but ... ok ... our travel schedule is really tough and our payroll is the lowest in the league and we play in the toughest division in hockey and almost every single one of the second games on our back-to-backs are road games against teams above .600 and—"
Tabitha: (holds up large grocery bag) "Excuse me, do you know what this is?"
Morrow: "Uhh .... no?"
Tabitha: (face makes loud cracking noises as she attempts a smirk) "I'm rathah proud of finding it. Was left right there on the ice surface of your arena after the Phoenix game."
Nick Grossman: "My lost contacts?"
(She opens the bag and dumps the contents out. Dozens of tiny roundish objects spill out over the floor)
Tabitha: "It's your bawls."
Mike Ribeiro: (excited) "I was wondering where those went! Mine are the ones monogrammed in comic sans!"
Tabitha: (rolls eyes)
(Next scene: Newy and the Stars are waiting impatiently outside the front of the AAC. Tabitha walks up holding the key.)
Tabitha: "Well, I've got some good news. I've given your lockah room a complete makeovah!"
Tabitha: "Let's get inside and see your NEW HOME!!"
(She opens the door and the players pour in. Seconds later, they run out, screaming and covered in bruises. Joe looks at her, perplexed.)
Steve Ott: "What the f**king hell was that?"
Tabitha: "Ah, you've met my army of Burmese jungle assassins. Good for keeping you ladies on your toes and getting you in the mood to get physical and win a few one-on-one battles from time to time."
Morrow: "And what about that group of 250-pound Vikings blocking the door to the locker room? What's with that?"
Tabitha: "Wot, you want other teams to just get out of the way when you want them do? Go clear the area in front of the door if you want to suit up for this team."
Ribero: "And the walls are covered in lava and hobo semen!"
Tabitha: "Then stay away from them! The best route to get to your goal is straight ahead. Bumping into wolls is for revolting toddlers."
Morrow: "This is too much for us. How are we supposed to get through all this stuff just to do our jobs?"
Tabitha: "Funny you should mention that. Here, attach these. (hands Morrow a pair of massive brass balls). There's plenty for everyone."
Morrow: "W-w-where did you get these?"
Tabitha: "From him. (points to Rube Goldberg contraption in the corner, where a man sits reading the latest copy of Bear F***ing Monthly. Underneath him is a machine that uses a massive scythe to skim off his testicles, melt its down and pop out a pair of shiny brass globes in a nearby vending machine.)
Loui Eriksson: "Is that John Shaft?"
Tabitha: "Even bettah."
(The mystery man lowers his magazine.)
Mark Fistric: "Oh, hi guys."