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Draft Punk Is Playing at My House
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frithjofrSMJHL Intern Senior Member
(I count about 5000 words. Eligible for Draft Media bonus. Gods have mercy on your soul.)
Do you remember Darnell Johnson? Well, he seems to remember me. It wasn't but a few weeks ago that he extended an invitation up to his Anchorage rental, assuring me that he's settled in and giving me a few amazon links to, in his words, "acceptable" outerwear. I'd spoken to Darnell only once since the article about him, the Long Road to Anchorage, had been published to get his feedback and while mostly positive he honestly didn't seem overly impressed. Oh well, such is the life of a reporter, you can't win them all, and often times in telling a story you have to leave out bits and pieces here and there; after all, you're recounting an event, not providing a picture of it. Darnell's invitation was simple. Following the SHL Season 48 draft, he and the rest of his Armada draft class were going to head back to Anchorage before heading out to meet their teams. In the intervening days, Darnell was throwing a going-away party of sorts, and the whole draft class (and the rest of the Armada) was invited. He described it as a prime opportunity to get some interviews with him and the boys. I had my reservations about it all. It was a long way to go for some interviews that just as well could have been done over the phone, but then... I was struck by an idea. A minute by minute, blow by blow accounting of the party. A play by play, if you will. Darnell seemed to regret some of the small things that were missed in the previous article, and it seemed only fair that I set things right. I tried to get as much sleep on the flight as I could, knowing full well I'd need every wink of it. June 6th, Anchorage, AK 5:58 PM Darnell had instructed me to arrive early, he said he had something he wanted to show me. I arrived early indeed, having just had time to check into my hotel room and score a quick nap before heading across town to his rental house. It was a conflicted city, in a lot of ways. Most of the architecture seemed downright plain, generic, but the beauty around the city was divine. Mountains, the bay. Darnell lived out on the east end of town, next to a library and Cold Stone Creamery. There was a Walgreens not far away. By all accounts, a normal American town, except for the mountains that seemed to be rising out of his back yard. "I'm mostly just getting everything ready right about now, but some of the guys are already here. They came right from the plane, nobody wants to miss this," Darnell ushered me into his home. Quaint, but a bit sparse. From the rustic sort of beauty of his parents home in Tampa, the lack of decor is most striking right away. Heading into his kitchen, we pass a pair of Armada players on the couch playing FIFA, Raphael d'Alcott and Gabe Johnson. I didn't stick long enough to see if they were going head to head, but all signs point to yes. 6:15 PM Celebratory noises from the living room as d'Alcott storms out and into the kitchen. Darnell had gone into the backyard some few minutes ago, bundled up beyond necessity, to check the smoker. That left me at the bar in the kitchen, clacking away on my keyboard. It was quite a spread that the young Floridian had assembled, and one might imagine the fortune he spent on getting this much food. d'Alcott went straight for the store bought pita and hummus, passing up such delectables as home made kettle chips, potato and macaroni salad and a hastily assembled charcuterie board laden with thick cuts of meats and cheese. 6:18 PM Darnell returns, and as he does, the overwhelmingly pleasant aroma of the smoker follows him. His father's favorite blend of hickory and mesquite, he says, and won't elaborate on any exacts. A family secret, one might suspect. Apparently that smoker contains the centerpiece of the night, three racks of pork ribs, four pork tenderloins and a big slab of brisket. "Brisket is... fickle," he explains, stirring a big bowl of sauce and shooing Raphael away with a foot. "Ribs you can kinda beat up on, but you've gotta take your sweet time with brisket. I don't mind, though." 6:30PM I'd left Darnell to his work in the kitchen throwing together an outright feast. How many people were expected? A dozen? Maybe a few more? But then it dawned on me, all of these young men could probably eat in one meal what I eat in a day, and then I started to worry that it might not be enough. Regardless, I sat down finally for my first interview. Raphael d'Alcott seemed as willing a victim as they come. Q: Did the draft turn out how you expected? Or, at least, did you know where you were going? Raphael: "I wouldn't trade that night for anything but I have to admit I did leave rather disappointed. There was a lot of hype about if I could get into that first round and whatnot and to simply fall out of it like that is rather heart breaking. There are also some rumors that teams tried to make trades to draft me but I don't put too much stock into them. I do want to thank the Edmonton Blizzard for selecting me and I promise to give them everything I got to make that selection worthwhile..." He paused, for only a moment, to blink what looked like a few tears out of his eyes. I gave him all the time he needed to gather himself, but he swiftly carried on. I was lucky I had my recorder going, as during some of the more emotional parts of his answer his accent seemed to take over. Raphael: "You see, this is a pattern with me. No matter what I have done in my life, people have always doubted. They doubted me yesterday, they doubted me today and they will doubt me tomorrow. They said I will do nothing with ice hockey, but they've been saying that for 14 years and for all 14 years, I have proven them wrong. Now, with the Edmonton Blizzard, I will make every GM wrong for passing on me because that is what I do!" I had no further questions after that. I think that alone says enough about young Raphael d'Alcott. Maybe that's why he avoided the chips, earlier, he already brings his own on his shoulder. There was no question to me that he had meant every word he had said. Whether or not he got to where he wanted to go in the draft didn't matter. Raphael knew one thing, and one thing only, Edmonton was going to be his home, and he would make it so. 7:00pm With my Raphael d'Alcott interview all typed up, I return to observing the party at large. Gabe is nowhere to be found for the moment, but Darnell is in the living room now setting up the stereo for the night. I decide to take a walk around the little rental home and take some things in. Turning down a hallway I've not been down yet, looking for the bathroom, I find a peculiar picture on the wall. Not knowing the Armada's numbers by heart, I pull out my phone and do a quick search. My suspicions were right, that's the Armada captain. Strange to have a picture of your captain hanging on your wall, stranger yet that it's a picture of him bending over at a warmup, or perhaps a practice. I make a mental note to ask about this later. 7:07pm There's a large orchestral hit from the living room, followed rapidly by some extremely up tempo jazz. It about scares me out of my skin the way the noise shakes through the whole house. I plug my ears and go trudging back into the living room to see what's going on. Darnell and Raphael are both squinting at the stereo. Raphael bobs his head as Darnell tries to tap his foot and snap along. Neither are particularly on beat. "If I'm going to New Orleans I need to like jazz," I hear Darnell shouting, barely above the sound of the music. I nod hastily. Jazz means something different to everyone. St. Pete hosts a famous jazz festival a few days every year, so I'm no stranger to it, however at this volume I think one would be hard pressed to enjoy the nuance of any genre. "I've heard it's more about the notes they don't play," again, Darnell, at a full shout mere feet away from me. I shrug. It's often said, but I don't personally know the truth. "What's noodling? Is this noodling?" Raphael, apparently having googled jazz slang, looks up from his phone with a shout. 7:30pm With the jazz experiment largely over, it's back to tending the smoker for Darnell. As Darnell slides the back door shut, the front door opens. Gabe has returned with several other of the Armada's players. I recognize Joe Kerr straight off, but some of the other faces not so much. Gabe points at me and announces that I'm the reporter. Joe looks through me for a moment before nodding and passing through to the kitchen with a totebag full of booze in each hand. In his wake, some more of the rookies. Victor Toeman, a towering Finn who ducks down to pass through the door, a recent signing in goaltender Colt Beckett, followed by the entire third line of Patrick Perry Jr., Stavros Halkias and Jonas Larsen. The latter three kind of jam up at the door, but sort things out swiftly after a full round of muttered apologies. 7:48pm I'm sitting at the bar in the kitchen as the rookies gather around, all starting to eat. Darnell is a good host, serving up what looks like a literal ton of homemade goodies, or not-so-homemade, in some cases. Nobody seems to mind. The Johnsons are flowing around one another in the kitchen, Darnell chopping, Gabriel serving drinks. It was a byob, and boy did these guys bring a lot of booze. Drinks are passed around quicker than I can keep track of who's drinking what, not that it matters, and before long everyone's a bev or two in. Darnell dons his apron and wades through the gathering crowd, sliding into his protective shell outerwear before passing back through the backdoor. 7:59pm There's a chant going on in the kitchen, I'm not sure who started it. Meat. Meat. Meat. Everyone's banging on something - the counter, the walls, stomping their feet. One thing is clear, the boys want to eat. Meat. Meat. Meat. The chant, growing in intensity and in pace. Meat. Meat. Meat. Darnell sticks his head around into the door, beating his eyebrows up and down. Meat. Meat. Meat. Finally, Jonas Larsen figures out the code and mid-chant goes to open the door for Darnell. As he steps around the corner with a baking tray over-loaded with his barbecue the crowd erupts into chaos. The boys are jumping up and down, arms wrapped around each others shoulders. Darnell knew, I think, that the boys wouldn't stand to give him any time to cut the goodies, so that's what he's been doing the last few minutes. Smart choice. He can't even make it into the kitchen to set the tray down, such is the eagerness, the readiness to sample the delicious meat treats that people are picking off the tray as he passes. I know I did. 8:03pm Order has been regained. I was surprised to see the boys internally and without instruction set up a buffet line through the kitchen. There's brisket, ribs, tenderloin, potato salad, macaroni salad, actual salad, garlic bread and homemade sauces, just a little bit of everything. Quite the spread indeed. I jump in line at the back, but everyone shoos me to the front. Their reasoning is simple and sound; I won't eat much, and there might not be a lot to choose from when they're done. I load up a plate and head back into the living room. 8:10pm The doorbell rings, but I think I'm the only one that heard it. The only one that acknowledged it, anyway. Do I know Darnell well enough to answer his door for him? The crisis I seemed to have been facing was for naught, as Stavros beat me to the door. It opened to reveal an unexpected visitor, one Eko van Otter, carrying... An entire fish? Behind him was a styrofoam cooler, but there he stood in the doorway with a large cod? in hand. The party paused and stared him down as he took two lumbering steps into the house, grabbing his cooler like a door to door salesman carries a briefcase. He stood there, then, and stared each and every one of us down. Just when you thought you might hear a pin drop, he lofted the fish high. Once more, the crowd erupted, and Eko bowed before proceeding along to the kitchen. That was weird. 8:30pm Someone's figured out the stereo and they're bumping some inoffensive top 40. There's food, there's drinks, there's an episode of the Twilight Zone on with subtitles. As the man on tv wanders through an abandoned city looking for a live person or a working phone, I too wander through the crowd a bit out of place. Nobody seems particularly keen on an interview, but on the way to the bathroom I run into Joe Kerr. Just as tall was Toeman, but even beefier. Not the build one would expect for such a nimble forward. I hesitate to say he cornered me, but his size alone is enough to intimidate, and by now, having already eaten and had a few drinks, his lipstick was a bit smeared. He's holding a deck of cards, shuffling it in his hands, and asks me if I'd like to play a little game. I shake my head, but suggest an interview. Q: Looking back on the season, and now the draft, would you say you're happy with how things turned out? Joe Kerr: "No, not really. I did put a lot of work in to my performance and improvement during season and couple of anylist predicted me as first overall pick. I guess I shouldn't have had read those articles. But I am excited to be in Los Angeles. Warm weather will be a great change from Anchorage cold weather." Q: Thanks for the candid answer, actually. When it was getting near drafting time were you starting to get anxious? How did those nerves play out at the actual draft? Joe Kerr: "Ah men, I was so nervous. Before the draft I might have attended toilet like five times in 30 minutes, how worried I was. First time was this worried." That was, unfortunately, about all I could get out of Joe. He's Latvian born and, perhaps, a bit shy with his English. Given the sheer scale of the lad, I didn't want to continue pressing my luck. 8:55pm Coming out of the spare bedroom turned storage and bunkhouse where I had interviewed Joe, I ran into Gabe once again. This time conveniently close to the picture of Olivier Cloutier, the team's captain. I had to ask. "Oh, yeah. The Asscaptain." Gabe shrugged in a way that suggest I should have known all about it, and didn't elaborate before shutting the door to the bathroom. Asscaptain. Interesting. 9:25pm Another unexpected visit in the team's star center, Xena. She was tiny, smaller even than I had expected, but she had an absolutely fierce command of the room. There was respect for her and what she'd done, and what she was still doing for the team. Nobody really shied away, though, to them she was just one of the guys and as such was happily poured a double. Maybe there was some inside joke I was unaware of, but as soon as word made it to the front of the house that Xena was there, the playlist switched temporarily to some of Nickelback's greatest hits, which is a phrase I never thought I'd have to write. 10:07pm In the last half hour I've bore witness to, and been party to, several exciting feats of strength. Darnell's living room table was host to several arm wrestling competitions, Victor Toeman and Mean Joe Kerr about neutralized one another in the heavyweight contest. A few of the guys lined up on the wall and tried to do handstands - rookie goaltender Colt Beckett won that contest, with several of the guys jokingly that he should stand on his head more often. I watched Xena, Gabe and Stavros all shotgun a Molson Canadian. To no-one's surprise, Xena won. Things were starting to liven up a bit. 10:30pm Nobody had seen Eko in the last little while, until there was an odd screech from the back patio. A few of us wandered outside to check it out, only to find the cover of Darnell's hot-tub seemed to be jumping up and down. We elected for Joe and Gabe to lift it up, and as the cover was peeled away a bare van Otter sprung forth, having apparently been trapped beneath the heavy cover for some time. A whirlwind of aggression that left anyone, namely Raphael d'Alcott, who stood in its way with a fresh set of scratch marks. When we went to cover up the hot-tub again, we sat a collection of various shellfish debris, clam shells and the like at the bottom of the tub. Weird. 10:45pm Fashionably late, Olivier Cloutier arrived on scene dressed comfortable. The living room parted and he proceeded down with a series of hugs and high-fives, knowingly bee-lining towards the bathroom. He stopped before the picture of his reverse and turned to snap a selfie with it. While he was posting it to twitter, I sprung a quick interview. I had the element of surprise on my side. Q: Seriously, I have to ask, I've been dying to ask all night, what's with the whole "asscaptain" thing? Olivier: [Laughs] "Sorry, you'd have to ask the rookies." Not nearly the answer I had been hoping for. What did it mean? Was he... the captain of the asses? Did he have the nicest ass? Is that how they voted for captain, by ass? Was there a scale, or was it more of a look test? Did it happen that he was elected captain and happened to have the best ass? Why was I so worried about his ass? Q: Okay, okay, jokes aside, how would you say this draft class stacks up? Olivier: "They're a great bunch of kids, lots of really great talent that the fans should be really excited to see coming to their teams. The future of the SHL is definitely bright." adding a moment later, "I'm just so proud of them." Before I could even finish jotting the answer down, Olivier had gone on to his diplomatic duties, passing right by me to be handed a beer and a rousing welcome. There was no question that the rookies looked up to him, much the same way they looked up to Xena and surely the other veterans, but he was their leader, the core of their team, their captain. Their Asscaptain. And much like the glutes which he seemed to represent, he was the motor that powered the team and the rock upon which it was built. 11:00pm(ish) Back to back interviews? As the party was winding up in the rest of the house, I was able to find Eko van Otter recuperating from his long soak in the spare bedroom. I brought him a cup of water which he guzzled readily. Steaming yourself in a hot-tub for an hour tends to work up a mighty thirst. I could hear the cha-cha slide going on out in the other room, and I had just enough of an angle to watch Darnell cha-cha himself into the living room table and knock over a cup of something. Classic. Q: What were some of the highlights of your season? Eko: "One highlight was scoring two goals in one playoff game. The ultimate highlight, though, is having fun with my friends" Q: Would you say this draft class has gotten along better than usual? Eko: "Yeah absolutely, this draft class was incredible. Especially compared to the previous year's class, which consisted of two absolute scrubs. It's good to see management had a better eye for talent this time around." As much as I'd have loved to have gotten some more soundbites from van Otter while the getting was good, I just couldn't help myself from watching the catastrophe that the cha-cha was rapidly turning into. We're talking wedding dance-floor levels of disorganization during a song that literally paces out the instructions. It was a glorious, beautiful disaster, one perpetrated in the name of good fun and team bonding, and it was an absolute treat to watch. Much like watching a car wreck, I simply couldn't make myself turn away. Hell, I had to join in. One hop this time was more than enough, with all of the big boys jumping it felt like the house might shake right off its foundations, and I'm not entirely convinced Victor Toeman didn't hit his head on the ceiling. 11:30pm I've been at a low level of surprise for a while, impressed even, at just how well the guys seem to have come together. Also a bit shocked at their collective inability to dance, though that's probably more the booze. It takes of lot of coordination to skate, doesn't it? Looking around at the party you can see some social groups. People like to stick to their lines, that makes sense. There's a reverence shown for Olivier, though he's welcome anywhere. The d-men stand out like sore thumbs, perpetually circling around, restless almost, chatting with whoever or just shouting at each other. It's a weird form of communication. Lots of grunts and excited shouts. Big, hearty laughs. The occasional mico-dance seems to break out, especially around Darnell. He's prone to grinding and twerking when appropriate. Gabe's a happy drunk, which is certainly a good thing. He's hanging over everyone's shoulders expressing his pure delight at going second overall. Olivier's hardly a beer in and already turning into a hugging drunk. Joe Kerr... Well, he found his deck of cards and he's doing the thing again. 12:30am It's been an hour since I last checked in, and not much has changed. The rowdiness is mostly waning. Mostly. There's still the odd outburst, but you can tell the fatigue from days of travel and stress is catching up with the guys. Eko's asleep in the spare, Xena's in the midst of the old Midwest goodbye, inching closer and closer to the door with each round of farewells. Raphael found himself some bandaids and knocked right out on the sofa. Joe, Darnell, Stavros, Colt and Olivier are lazily, drunkenly playing cards around a table. I can't quite tell what kind of poker they're playing - I'm not even sure they've all got the same number of cards. I see Gabe patrolling with a trash bag starting to tidy up and think this might be as good a time as any to try and squeeze in a few questions. Q: Is this a normal night for you guys? Gabriel: "If this were a normal night I probably wouldn't be healthy enough to play pro hockey. But then again Darnell just got picked in the second round so what do I know eh?" Q: So I've heard you and Darnell really hit it off immediately during the rookie season, they even had a special name for you two when you were on the ice? What were some of your highlights of the season? Gabriel: "[Expletive] yeah, we're the baby oil line! Johnson & Johnson, like that company that does baby oil and [expletive]. The highlight has gotta be when Assclap broke us up to pair me up with Sins!" Q: Assclap? Gabriel: "Oh, uh, our GM. Acsolap. We call him Assclap. Actually a bunch of us in the group chat changed out name to the peach emoji and the... clap emoji. It's much funnier to see it..." Maybe there was a trend up here in Anchorage, or a strange... Fixation. Nevermind all that for now, back to business. Q: Would you say the draft turned out well? Gabriel: "I mean bro I went second overall, can't go wrong with that eh? Hamilton's a weird-ass place so far but I love it!" 1:30am The party's just about done. Darnell's still up, Gabe Johnson's barely conscious. Joe Kerr somehow fell asleep with his legs over top of the living room couch. Olivier Cloutier knocked out in an armchair. I'm barely awake, what time is it back home? 5, 6, 7:30 in the morning? I smell coffee coming from the kitchen and drag myself out there, only to see Stavros and Larson asleep at the bar. Colt has himself tucked into a corner, legs crossed and arms folded, head lulled back sawing some Z's. Victor's missing, or at least unaccounted for. Darnell stretches his arms high above his head and groans out a yawn. I nod. At least there's coffee now. With a fresh cuppa I break out my recorder again and lay out my notepad. The time has come, what I've come all this way for. Darnell leans back against his counter with his own cup of coffee while Gabriel shambles around collecting cans and cups and paper plates into a trash bag dragged behind him. There's a weird sort of ambiance here. Something you'd see in an overproduced movie with the lights a little too strong and the lens a little too wide. Q: Is this what you wanted to show me? Darnell: "Yeah, in a way. I mean, this is my team, you know? This is us. This is... These are my guys, and we're gonna be together for a while." Q: You guys just got back from the draft earlier today, what was that experience like for you, beginning to end? Darnell: "Man, so, I wasn't expecting much from the draft. I didn't even get drafted into the J, I had to go out there and put my name out there and these guys, they took a big risk on me. An unknown, you know? I played my heart out this season. Earned some lumps. Gave some out, too. Took some big Ls, but... It was all worth it. Before the draft, like a week before the draft or something, I kept wondering who would take me. I had talked to, I dunno, half a dozen teams? Minnesota seemed really likely, but we all know what happened to them. Wasn't pretty." Q: So, leading up to the draft, was there a lot of anxiety? Darnell: "Not really, not at all. I joked with all the guys that I'd be picked last. Mr Irrelevant. I knew it wouldn't happen, but I just thought... Keep expectations low and be grateful for whatever you get." Q: Was it a surprise you went where you did, 28th? Darnell: "Yes. No. I don't know. I wasn't expecting nothing, but the guys kept telling me I might go early second. I was just... As long as I went, you know?" Q: Had you talked to New Orleans before the draft? Darnell: "Yeah of course, they reached out to me. I wasn't expecting them to take me though, truth be told. I was hopeful though - warm weather, and it's much closer to home." Q: When New Orleans went on the clock for your pick, were you thinking it would be you? Darnell: "No, not at all. I was still sort of in denial about the whole thing. I thought... New Orleans already had a defensive pick, they're not gonna take me too." Q: What's got you most excited about the pick? Darnell: "New Orleans dominated in the regular season this year. It's... just... awesome to be on the same team as a lot of those guys. Clint Eastwood is my type of guy, too, a bunker of a dude, you know? Plus DeMaricus, I mean, I can't wait to meet these guys." Q: So, when's the next party coming? Darnell: "Haha, I don't know. Maybe after the playoffs next year?" Time for me to get home. Despite the coffee, I was dozing off. The idea of a return trip next year... Might not have been the worst thing. I still had a few more days up here in Anchorage to check out the town, but the Armada boys would be off, scattered to the winds to meet and greet their new teams and, for some of them, off to the World Junior Cup before too long. I'd be back on a plane to Tampa trying to make heads or tails of my sloppy notes and sorting through the background noise on my recordings. But it was all worth it. Sure, the interviews might not be too special in and of themselves, short, snuck in passing, a few words here and there. But the night as a whole was something special. A whole team in celebration, not just of their own success, but of each other's. Tonight wasn't about any one person, but about celebrating the team as a whole, as it should be. Sure, the team wouldn't be together forever. But that didn't matter. In Darnell's world it would seem it was team above all, as it should be. This was his team. ![[Image: Screen_Shot_2020-07-07_at_12.29.58_PM.png]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/712159307596300309/730585080308957326/Screen_Shot_2020-07-07_at_12.29.58_PM.png)
GwdjohnsonAll-Star Committee siMp
bluesfan55IIHF Federation Head Too young for this shit
frithjofrSMJHL Intern Senior Member |
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