Chapter 21: Patty III or The Affair of the Gift Baskets--The Consequences

Chapter 21: Patty III or The Affair of the Giftbaskets—The Consequences

"I don’t know about you assholes," Patty groaned after just one lap in the pre-game skate, "But I feel fat......"

Blake skated to a stop next to Patty, leaning over on his stick. "No shit," Blake said, "Fat and hung-over. I’m shit-faced I tell you, shit-faced!"

"Ugh," Foote said as he joined them. "My legs feel like they weigh eighty pounds. Do not tell me that we consumed sixty-four gift baskets last night, I’m not ready to accept that."

"My head hurts," Patty muttered. He felt like one of those cartoons where they put the pot over someone’s head and then bangs it real hard with the spoon. He knew he must have consumed a pound of jellybeans and he didn’t want to think about how much wine he snarfed down along with them. He hadn’t felt this sick on skates since, well, since he was a rookie fresh off a bag of French Fries and trying to play through a game.

Even then, at least he was confident that his team was healthy and would pot a few goals for him in those days. Today? He closed one eye and scanned the ice around him, most of the guys were paler than usual, and they all looked like they were skating at half capacity. It looked like fifteen groin pulls right there. He winced when he saw Kaspar stumble on his skates as if he’d hit a rut, flip to the ground and then lay spread eagled on the ice, laughing like a hyena.

It didn’t get better. As the guys started circling the net and shooting pucks into the empty one, Patrick tried to feel a little more confident. He began to imagine them shooting at Sean Burke, slicing the puck through him, and scoring. Usually that made him feel better, knowing what guys like Foppa and Sakic could do for him when they were on his side. And then Foppa teed up for a standard shot, missed the puck completely with his stick, lost his footing and flipped into the air, landing on Tangers who also fell on Drury. The pile didn’t end there. At least three other guys weren’t alert enough to stay out of the way, and they too ended up piled.

"Oooooooh Mon Dieu!" Patty muttered. "We’re gonna get smoked!"

The clusters of people in the stands were laughing loudly and hooting at the Avs, and to his dismay, Patty looked up towards the jumbo-tron and already the pile-up was on replay. He sighed. That was one for the archives!

Slowly, while the Phoenix Coyotes on the other end of the ice tapped their sticks on the ice in glee, the boys pulled themselves up from the pile-up. Patty actually felt a twinge of fear when he saw that although some of the guys were laughing it off, others were yawning. Yawning!! This couldn’t be, everyone was sleepy!

"OK," Joe Sakic said, grabbing Patty’s arm tightly and hissing into his ear, "I’m not a man to jump to conclusions, so I won’t say this is your fault.....yet. So, Patty, tell me what’s wrong with the boys, I know that you know."

At times like this, Patrick was grateful that his position required a full face mask. That way, he could hide his expression from moi capitain at times like these. "I don’t know," Patty said with a shrug of his shoulders, "Maybe we just got to bed a little late."
Joe lifted an eyebrow. "A little late?" he said. "How a little late?"

"Uh...heheh.." Patty giggled nervously, "So we had a few drinks....eh...Footie ordered a few girls..."

Joe slowly nodded. "Eh huh," he said. Then he skated away. Patrick sighed, at least Joe was gone, for now.

"So that the truth, Patty? You fellas order a few girls last night?"

Patty looked over into the familiar voice that said it. It was his old friend Claude Lemieux. Claude had skated over, a grin on his face that vaguely resembled an Akita’s.

"Go away, Claude," Patty snipped. "I talk to you after the game."

Claude laughed. "Come on Patty," he said, "It’s obvious something’s up with you boys! Hahahha! Look Dru and Tangs just collided!"

"Ooooh shit," Patrick muttered.

Claude leaned forward laughing and then patted Patrick on the back. "Good luck, then," he said. "Maybe I’ll be a little nice to you."

Patty leaned forward and shook his head. He flopped on the ice and started to do some stretches. That felt kinda good, like he was getting his muscles to actually respond to someone. His back-up, and heir apparent, David Aebischer also flopped down next to Patty. "Ooooooooh," Abby moaned in his voice that never ceased to remind Patrick of a German whore. He was Swiss-German, and he always had that slutty, whiny, pouty purr to his voice.

"You shit-wrecked too?" Patrick asked David.

David looked up at Patrick with his dark blue eyes, and he sprawled on his back.

"Oooooooh, Patrick, darling, I’m so glad you’re playing today. I don’t know how I’d survive out there, I know I ate one too many pastries. How do you feel?"

"Just fine,my dear," Patty said with a smile. "I think all I need to do is make a few stops and I’ll be good."

"Oooooh," David moaned again, "Patrick I really don’t know how you could have any energy after last night, I know I’m..I’m spent!"

"That’s why you’re still the number two, mon cher," Patty said as he got to his feet.

"Ooooh Patrick," David said, still lying on his back, "Make a save in mein honer, please!"

Patty frowned. "Not a chance you little slut," he snapped. "Make your own saves!"

That flirty, fawning act of David’s always seemed charming the first few minutes, and then it always got on Patrick’s nerves. Sometimes he really just wanted ten minutes alone with the kid in a dimly lit room, just to slap some sense into him. Or at least slap that lustful little look from his eyes. He wasn’t getting the starting job anytime soon and Patrick just wanted to drill that into him.

Patrick crouched in front of the net, preparing himself for some nice breezy saves, just to get his appetite whetted. Just a little something for his confidence. "How you doing?" he asked his goalposts, "Are ya gonna be nice to me tonight, eh?"

He saw the first line of boys teeing up for shots.

"Not a snowballs chance in hell," his goalposts whispered.

Patrick’s blood ran cold. "Eh?" he asked.

Whoooosh! The first of five shots whizzed by his ear and plopped into the net. And then in quick sucession, two, three, four, Ping!

"Bailed ya on the last one!" the goalposts whispered.

"No shit!" Patrick answered, "I saw the first four, how’d they get in?"

"Pbbth!" said the goalposts.

Patrick fell face first on the ice, a goalie’s last friend, his last friend was not with him tonight. "What did I do wrong?" Patrick asked.

"Shit happens," said the goalposts. "And you’re just gonna love what I did with the net!"

Patrick looked up from where he was laying, looking at the right post with a naive and rather boyish curiosity in his eyes. "What did you do to the net?" he asked.

The goalposts just giggled.

"Clear it clear it clear it goddammit I can’t see it I’m being screen...."

Before Patrick could get out the last sentence he felt a sharp thud in his chest from the puck. Instinctively he pawed it to the logo on his jersey. Bweeep! The whistle cut through and stopped the play. The ardent Phoenix crowd cheered their teams effort and players began to swirl around through the TV time out.

"Come on," Patrick asked the goalposts, he was down in this game 4-2in the third period, he was barely thinking about the game anymore. "What did you do to the net?"

He’d been asking the question all night and all he got were sly giggles from the posts. It was infuriating!

Patrick looked back up and began to set up as he saw the face off beginning. No the posts weren’t infuriating, he decided, what was infuriating was that Footer had just slipped and fell for no reason just now. And he was laughing!! What was infuriating and not to mention embarrassing was how Kasper had taken a hip check and promptly he threw up! Threw up! How much candy had he eaten last night? He leaned over into the bench and hurled!! It looked like Dru had known it was coming and before Kasper could really unload, Drury had leaped out of the bench like a frightened spider monkey and smacked onto the ice. Play had still been going. and the refs weren’t sure what to do. Too many men on the ice? A leaving the bench misconduct? Just ignore it? Bench misconduct. That’s what had made the game 4-2.

So Patrick didn’t give a shit anymore. All he cared about now was prying from the goalposts exactly what they did to the net. "Tell me!" Patrick snarled finally.

"Tell you what?" Footer gasped as he and a grinning Claude were entangled in front of the net.

"Nothing, dick-balls-snot-tits-weed!" Patrick snapped at Foote, "I’m busy."

"Just get outta the way when it happens," the goalposts finally said after another whistle was blown.

"Oh that’s helpful," Patrick muttered.

A lot of people didn’t know why he bothered with the posts like he did. And most of the time Patrick didn’t mind being frank about how the posts actually spoke to him. Usually people thought he was joking, but he wasn’t.

It had started in a game against Bosten in 1986. He remembered being especially rattled after seeing tons of shots of defensive errors and the D-men took no accountability for it. In fact they resented him and all Patrick wanted was some help, some friend, some sign! And then Ping! "I got that one for you," the posts whispered to him for the first time.

Patrick had stopped cold. He decided that maybe he was just a bit dehydrated and he ignored them. Ping! Ping! Ping! "Pay attention to me goddammit!" the posts yelled at him.

Patrick had been a little scared at that moment and he wasn’t quite sure whether to talk to the posts or ignore them and possibly miss out on a celestial thing. So he made a little deal with the posts. "Alright," he finally said to the posts, "Help me out here, disallow a good goal for the Bruins and then we can talk!"

The posts had snickered.

And then there it was. A Raymond Bourque shot from the point trickled past Patrick and he had flopped down and jerked the puck right out of the net. The crowds had seen it go in, so did all the players, but somehow, the ref who had been in full view, missed it. "No goal!" the ref had barked.

Patrick grinned. "Let’s talk," he had said as he tapped a corner of the crossbar.

Joe Sakic, who had been the only good Avs player all night, the only one with jump in his skates, won the face off. In fact Joe had the only two goals of the game for the Avs. He skated it into the Coyotes zone trying to make a simple play to Hejduk, who missed the pass completely and Daniel Briere snapped it up and was gone. Patrick’s eyes widened when he realized Briere was on a breakaway, his mind began scanning his mental files, will he deke? Will he go peanut butter shelf?

Adam Foote came barreling down the ice like an angry grizzly, and he was just about on Briere. Suddenly, Patrick got a weird feeling about this one. He decided to go out and meet the shooter. As he did, Foote lost his edge and fell to his side crashing into little Briere’s legs taking the man out. Briere slid all the way to the sideboards, bouncing off them and Patrick pounced on the loose puck. Footer, who had been going at full speed, and was now sliding on his back, skates first towards the empty net, couldn’t stop.

Patrick looked over at the net as Footer slid into the gaping hole, and then there was loud ripping sound. The netting had actually ripped off the posts and Footer slammed into the end-boards entangled in the net as if he were a fly in a web.

Patrick’s mouth was hanging open in shock as he skated over to Footer. His first thought was please Footie don’t be hurt. Foote was thrashing around in the net, cursing and rolling looking like a trapped whale, to the delight of pretty much everyone in the building.

Patty leaned over Foote and peered at the snared defenseman.

"How’d you like that?" the posts asked.

Patty started to grin. "You OK Footie?"

"Get me outta here!" Foote snarled. "I know this is the fault of your little friends."

Patty nodded and leaned over to the posts. "Hey," he said, "Footie’s on to you."

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