The room is extremely dark. Not only are the walls painted in black, but the room is very dimly lit. Smoke fills the room from an unknown source. “Crossroads” by Robert Johnson can be heard in the background from some unseen speakers. The entire scene has an ominous feel.
Marian Hossa sits in the corner with a goofy grin on his face… starring off into space with visions of the Stanley Cup dancing through his head. A few members of the New Jersey Devils (aptly named) are sitting idly by. They remember when they sold their soul… now they are forced to deal Sean Avery 6 times a year. Miroslav Satan is in the room, but he’s just confused and no one knows why.
This was the moment that Marian Hossa made his "deal."
The predominant figure of the room is a mysterious old man that looks like he’s lived a hard life. He sits at the end of the room, looking like he’s annoyed to be waiting for his expected guest. Just then, the door flies open and in strides one Mr. Mike Illitch. The old man looks up, without saying a word as if to say, “You’re late.” No matter—Illitch acts like he owns the joint. It’s almost as if Darth Vader is walking into the room. He’s a man that definitely needs his own theme music.
Slowly, the mysterious ancient man begins to speak, “Alright Mike, it’s time to pay up.”
“I thought the deal was FIVE Stanley Cups—then you get your payment,” is the quick retort from Illitch. He looks around the room for the first time and notices that they’re not alone. Almost immediately, his body language retracts as though he’s said something wrong.
“Don’t worry Mike; they all know why you’re here. They’ve all gone through the same thing you’re going through right now. This can be as easy as you want it to be. You know the deal… and it’s time to pay up.”
Still looking around the room, Illitch is a little more measured with his words. “Like I said… the deal was 5 Cups. We still get another.”
“You see, that’s exactly why I called you in here today. I talked to your friends Gary and Sid, and it looks like they’re not quite ready to pay up yet. In the meantime, I’m just going to give you your 5th now and deal with them later.”
“Ok, first of all… neither Sidney Crosby nor Gary Bettman are my friends. Ever since you made your deal with them, they’ve been impossible to deal with. Thanks a lot for that. But I’m here for a re-negotiation. I’d like a little more before I give you my soul.”
“Again? I thought we’ve already been through this when I let you become a multi-millionaire with your crappy pizza business. You and I both know that your pizza is awful; yet I let you make $5 after $5 with your Pizza! Pizza! shtick. I let you buy your hockey team—and let you take one of the worst franchises in sports and resurrect them into the model sports franchise. Mike, they were called the Dead Wings for a reason. Besides, I’m not in the business of renegotiations. We made a deal. It’s time to pay up—your soul please.”
“Here’s what I propose. Just let my team continue this success after our deal is over.”
No one is that smart. No one.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen with Sid and Gary. They went back on our deal last year—which is why you got your 4th Cup. In the middle of that entire situation, Marian over there was completely screwed. That’s the reason that he made a side-deal with me to come to Detroit and get his own Cup. Just take a gander at the look on his face… you can SEE that I already took his soul. He looks pretty happy about it.”
Everyone swings around to take a look at Hossa. He’s still just sitting there, kind of looking all around the room like he’s lost a few of his marbles. There’s no way he’s playing with a full deck anymore.
The old man continues, “Do you remember when I let you have Scottie Bowman for all those years? What about when I introduced you to Kenny Holland? (Where is he by the way? He’s supposed to be here for this). Do you remember when I whispered in your ear in the 6th round to pick Pavel Datsyuk. Or what about that helpful hint in the 7th round to pick Henrik Zetterberg. No one is that smart. The Wings will be good for as long as they are in Detroit. Not even I can slow them down.”
Just then, the phone rings. Upon answering the phone, the annoyed look returns to the old man’s face. He tells the person on the other line to hold on for a minute.
“This call with John Mayer might take awhile. Just go ahead and leave your soul with my secretary on the way out. See ya later Mike.”
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{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }
Even as a Wings fan, I can appreciate this.