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It is mid morning in Kanata and grey clouds already cover most of the sky above the town. The air is quiet and people are simply going about their day as they normally do on Mondays. But inside the Canadian Tire Centre, the soon to be too old hockey rink for the Ottawa Senators, a meeting room is filled with tension. Three people are seated around a cheap white plastic folding table and not a word is being spoken.
“Okay dudes, we’re about to play five games at home and we must find a way to make money with this damn team,” says Eugene, breaking the silence among the group. “ I don’t understand, we’ve raised the parking price to 20$, we should be making more money!”
Sitting in a camping chair across the table is Guy Boucher, the team’s head coach. His cold, calculating eyes meet Eugene’s gaze “Sir, have you considered that there may be other factors to explain why the team is suffering financially? Perhaps trying to gouge money out of the fans is not the way to go” answers Boucher, moving his hands in a way similar to a Jedi from Star Wars.
Eugene, baffled by the words that were just spoken, let’s out a loud chuckle. “That’s probably the dumbest thing I have EVER heard coach dude. It’s simple math, we’ve raised the prices so we should be making more money,” says Eugene. “Since I already pay you so much, make yourself useful and make me a coffee coach dude. I can’t think without my damn coffee!”
“Of course sir,” says Boucher. He looks to his right where the third man, still quiet, is sitting. That man is Pierre Dorion and he looks nervous. “Pierre, would you kindly go and make mr. Melnyk a coffee? One milk and three sugars, like always.”
Pierre tries to avert his eyes but something is forcing him to meet Boucher’s intense gaze. He steadies his shaking hands and he opens his mouth to say that making coffees is not his job and, as the General Manager, he should be the one telling people what to do around here. But the words don’t come out. He wouldn’t dare defy Guy, especially not in public. “Ye… Yes Guy.. Right away Guy,” says Pierre, his voice cracking.
Before he can get up from his seat, a young man that was filing some documents in the back of the room intervenes, “Oh, don’t worry about it mister Dorion, I’ve got it. I’m a team player and I’ll take one for the team,” the young man says, winking at Boucher.
“Th… Thanks Logan,” says Pierre, relieved. “Keep it up and maybe we can find you a spot in the lineup soon,” he says, glancing nervously at Boucher. “We’ll see,” replies Boucher, not even trying to hide the look of disgust on his face, “ He’s still a bit young.”
“Anyway, let’s move on to the next talking point,” impatiently says Eugene. He take a big sip of coffee and winces. It is still too hot to drink properly. “Pierre aren’t you working on a trade or something? Something about a d o u c h e guy?”
“Du.. Duchene sir. Matt Duchene,” answers Pierre. “ Yes, I’m trying to get him but ,no, it’s not working out so far. It’s that damn Joe Sakic, mister Melnyk, he’s too stubborn. We might have to just resign Turris and hope that our young prospects develop quickly.”
“Ah yes, that Turris dude. How are the negotiations going? Did he accept our five years, twenty millions offer yet,” asks Melnyk, with pain in his voice.
“N.. No sir but they’ve sent a counteroffer. They want seven millions a year for eight years, ” answers Pierre. As he finishes his sentence, he hides beneath the table. He knows what is coming.
As the words register in Eugene’s mind, his face turns red with anger. He spits the coffee he was just drinking. The burning liquid is propelled towards Boucher, who doesn’t flinch knowing he is protected by his psychic powers. Young Logan Brown, defenseless, is hit right in the face.
“SEVEN MILLIONS?!” screams Eugene as Logan leaves the room, screaming in pain. “Does he want my house and my yacht too? I swear to god Pierre, if you give him that kind of money I’m going to fir..”
They are interrupted by a man entering the room. The man is neither short nor tall, with long brown hair that go to his shoulders. He is wearing a tight “Ottawa Senators” black sport t-shirt that define his muscular figure. There is no wind in the room but his hair seem to move as if a slight breeze was flowing through it. “Erik,” says Boucher, excited. His heartbeat is increasing. “It’s good to see you!”
“Hi coach,” says Erik. “Good to see you too. I just came here to say, you know, that I just got the green light from the doctors so, you know, if you want to put me in the lineup I’m good to go. See you at the rink for, you know, the practice.” He smiles politely and leaves the room to the sound of his new cybernetic leg stepping heavily on the floor.
With those few words, all the problems in the world seem to just evaporate from the three men’s minds. They promptly gather their things and prepare to leave the room with a new sense of hope. Eugene reluctantly gives a begging Pierre Dorion a crisp high five and they both make their way to their respective offices. Boucher, being the last one to leave the room, turns off the lights and closes the door behind him. He smiles for the first time today and whispers to himself “The king is back baby! The king is back.”
Came across this post on HF, thought it was worth sharing.