Secret Conversations with Henrik, Joel, Sean Avery and Jagr!

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Again, I used a sensationalist title for a post. I'm sorry. This is a story from SportsSquee that was too amusing to pass up. SportsSquee is a Ranger hater. Just warning.

Scene: The Lundqvist Kitchen
(Henrik Lundqvist paces the floor in bare feet, a mug of warm Glog in one paw, his phone in the other)

Henrik: Seriously Joel, talk to somebody! These people are losers. I'm sure someone there will listen to you.
Joel Lundqvist: Sorry, bro. No one has a damn clue who I am down here. Most of the time they call me Henrik, actually.
HL: Okay, okay, how about this: tell them to trade Sergei Zubov, Mike Modano, and Marty Turco for me and some of Mom's carraway bread.
JL: I already told you, bro, Modano doesn't go anywhere without Trevor Daley. He planned his wedding.
HL: Fine, fine, fine. What about Brenden Morrow, Mike Ribeiro, and Stu Barnes for me, mom's lingonberry jam, and a gift certificate to Ikea?
JL: How much is the gift certificate worth?
HL: (aggravated) I don't know. Fifty bucks or something.
JL: Mom's lingonberry jam? Or Mom's lingonberry preserve?
HL: Does it matter?
JL: Of course it does. Mom's jam tastes like a jar of garbage.
HL: So if I come with Mom's lingonberry preserve, do you think Armstrong will make the trade?
JL: (snickering) No.
HL: Shit.
JL: Anyway, I have to go. The fellas and I are meeting up with Tony-- Tony Romo, that is-- at this honky-tonk. The last we were there Terrell-- Terrell Owens-- sang "The Gambler" on karaoke and--
HL: Honky-tonk? You know I love honky-tonks. You get to do all the funnest things in Dallas. New York is the worst.
JL: So anyway, I gotta go. Dirk--Nowitzki-- is picking me up in, like, ten minutes.
HL: Hey, you know we're twins, right? How about we switch places for a while. Like, I could pretend to be a crappy fourth-liner, and you can pretend to be me and play like a crappy fourth-liner in goal long enough to get me traded. What do you think?
JL: Good night.
HL: Wait! Joel! Wait--
(a voice wafts in from another room)
Voice: Henrik! Come back to bed.
HL: Shit.

(inside of Henrik Lundqvist's bedroom; Lundqvist sits on the bed, head in hands)
Sean Avery: (in pink chiffon bathrobe with ostrich feather trim, furiously coating his hands in lotion) Who was that on the phone?
HL: Elisha Cuthbert.
SA: (gasps)
HL: Kidding! Kidding.
SA: You think that's funny? You think you're some kind of Swedish comedian?
HL: (sighing) No. I don't call Elisha Cuthbert in the kitchen at night. That's something you do.
(sound of the lamp being switched off)
SA: When will you stop punishing me?
HL: Look, I'm tired, I want to go to bed, and I don't want to have this conversation right now. Carrying a team on your back can really tire a guy out.
SA: Why must you be so cruel? I bet Joel isn't this cruel to Mike Ribeiro! (sobbing)
HL: Again with the tears?
SA: I just can't understand why you have to be so mean. I try to spark the team out there. I try! You think it's easy being the most hated guy in the NHL? Everybody hates me and now so do you! (wailing, tears)
HL: Oh geez, I don't hate you. (mattress springs, sheet shuffling) Come here, come here. Shhh! There, there.
SA: Henrik, I know you're the only reason the team is winning right now, but we'll get better. I know we will. We've bought the best team possible.
HL: (muttering) Yeah, and Scott Gomez, too.
SA: Your back won't be hurting forever. Does it hurt too much to cuddle?
HL: Shit.

(the next morning, Lundqvist prepares some gravlox at the stove, phone clutched in the other hand)
HL: Hi. It's me. Is now a good time to talk?
Jaromir Jagr: Yes, but quickly. Drury will be up any second. He's already suspicious about the two of us.
HL: I tried to work out a deal for Dallas, but my stupid brother doesn't have the pull to arrange a trade.
JJ: I called Lemieux, but he told me he only had cap space for one of us. They'd have to trade that robot kid to fit the both of us. I told him that we go as a package or we don't go.
HL: (silence)
JJ: Hank?
HL: Yes. Yes, I'm here. You... you really said that?
JJ: Of course I did. I'm not going anywhere without you, baby, you know that.
HL: But they need a goalie there?
JJ: Yeah, but they also need scoring. And leadership.
HL: Hahahaha... oh, you were being serious.
JJ: (silence)
HL: JarJar?
JJ: Yes. Yes, I'm still here.
HL: Look, I didn't mean... maybe I should talk to Lemieux. You should give me his number and--
JJ: I have to go. Drury is waking up. (click)
HL: JarJar? Hello?
SA: Is that gravlox I smell? Boy, I hope we still have some lingonberry jam in the fridge!
HL: Shit.


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