Part 1

My leg likes to twitch when I’m nervous. It’s a normal reaction for a lot of people in that state. But when my leg twitches, it really twitches. Like, people have to move because they’re in kicking distance. So there I sat, isolated on the couch, in my modest apartment in Northwest Anaheim waiting to be drafted in the SHL. My appointed agent, Ron Modesto, sat on the loveseat just to the side of the couch. His feet were up and he could’ve just as well been off of a 3-day layover from Orlando to Anaheim. That’s because, well, he was. And I could tell he had no interest in being my manager. We only talked in person 2 times prior to tonight. One of those times was actually before he started managing me when I recognized him at a Zaxby’s in Fort Lauderdale. He gave me $200 to “turn around and act like we never met.” We text each other from time to time. Well, I text him and he’ll respond with “K” every week or so.

The Boss knew I had to be set up somewhere where he could still keep an eye on me. With the numbers of his streaming service dipping due to Peacock buying the WWE Network and the MLB season starting, he could only spend so much money on state-of-the-art surveillance systems disguised as birds and homeless people. So the Boss pulled some strings and had me drafted to the Anaheim Outlaws out of the SMJHL Draft. Anaheim is, of course, the home to one of the Mouse’s major bases of operations. And he was easily able to use the surveillance system already built into Sleepy Beauty’s Castle to keep a watchful eye over me. I’m not sure why the Boss has been monitoring me so much. Or how I know that he is and how. But I appreciated the attention. I could feel the love from my family waning as far back as the season 3 finale. But I was more than happy to start anew. And Anaheim was the place for me.

The Outlaws weren’t, exactly, the best team in S58. They were considered to have one of the strongest incoming rookie classes (including myself), but a lack of veterans weakened them quite a bit. Due to the team already being full on centers, I had to settle for playing Right Wing. The Mouse was not too happy about the change and waved a gun around threatening my GM’s life for about 40 minutes. But I was able to talk him down and promised him I would be playing center, and be a much improved player, come S59. I honestly am not sure if either of those will be true, but that’s for the future to decide. I was actually able to mark myself out as one of the better non-1st unit players on Anaheim. I scored 9 goals and had 12 assists: not the best on the team, nor among rookies, but serviceable for someone who has never played hockey in their life.

The Boss did figure out a way for me to become more prominent. Because I wasn’t scoring much, he decided I should try a different route to show my importance. He told me I should start to serve as an enforcer and lay out as many guys as I could. Now I made a solemn oath years ago that I would never harm a hair on the head of any living being on this planet...unless they’re a bug.

“Then you go out there, hohoho,” the boss informed me, reeking of cigars and prosciutto, “and you treat those other guys on the ice likes the bugs you’ve sworn to eradicate from this planet, ohohoho.”

So I started laying guys out. One by one I had body after body on my record. I’d smash them while on a drive, handling the puck, 50 feet away from the puck, shove em into the bench, smash em into the barricade: I was knocking guys down like a defensemen. I never dropped the gloves though: the Mouse greatly discouraged me from doing so. Said we can’t teach the kids that fighting is the answer. We have to teach them about peaceful conflict resolution. And represents peaceful conflict resolution better than hockey. Among guys who played all 66 games, I was, surprisingly, the most accurate shooter. This came off of 9 total goals but I don’t plan on telling my kids that part. So while I wasn’t the most memorable rookie in the SMJHL, people in Anaheim were starting to learn my name. And they knew Bob Duncan was not a man to mess with. Unless you pulled a knife. Then I wouldn’t know what to do.

The draft was almost through the 1st round. Most of the pundits projected me mid-to-late 2nd. The Boss was fine with that because he knows underdog stories are good business. Ron was polishing his aviators when I heard his phone go off. He picked it up and walked into the bathroom where I could only faintly hear his conversation. I heard “good proximity” and “kid-friendly mascot” a few times. Hearing that made it pretty obvious where I was going. That boss of mine...he sure does love rigging things. Ron went on to talk for a few more minutes about how much he hated working with me, how my apartment “smelled like cat breath,” yada-yada-yada. He then flushed the toilet, I guess to make it seem like he was in the bathroom for a reason and not just on the phone (which I could easily tell he was), before returning to his seat.

“You didn’t wash your hands.” I leaned over to say.

A few picks later, the Tampa Bay Barracuda were given their 2nd pick of the night. At #23 overall, they selected...me! I jumped out of my chair in joy and yelled out with glee. Tom immediately got up and left, almost certainly pleased he didn’t have to stay with me for much longer. My phone then went off, signalling what I could only assume was the first of many congratulatory texts. I pulled it out to find it was a message from a blocked number.

“Hickory, dickory, doo
The mouse is controlling you
And when he controls all
The world will fall
Hickory, dickory, doo”

[MORE TO COME??]