This is purely satire for entertainment purposes only!
Part 2: if you missed Part 1,
click here
The huge clock on the wall that is designed for someone with cataract flashed 1:00AM as a faint light seemed to be getting brighter in the corner of the room. Sather is sprawled out in his bed as his loud snoring breath is moving the tip of his sleeping cap up and down. With a loud snore he startled himself out of his own slumber. Sather rubbed his eyes and noticed the different illumination in the room.
“What the hell is that?” Sather muttered to himself as he reached for his eyeglasses. Putting them on, he noticed the light is stemming from the hallway. He rolled his plump bosom off the bed and put on his fluffy kangaroo slippers. Sather walked into the hallway and noticed the light from the kitchen.
As Sather inched closer to the kitchen he heard a loud rustling and the sound of glass clanking. Sather stopped near a closet and grabbed an old weathered hockey stick that had been long forgotten buried under his furry hats. He crept into the kitchen ready to strike, as he turned the corner he saw a figure with its head buried in the fridge. As Sather drew the stick back ready to hit the guy, he noticed to his horror that all the light was emanating from the man not from anywhere else. Sather gasped in horror and tripped over his own foot landing on his rear and the hockey stick dropped and clattered to the floor.
The figure turned its head to the side and picked up the stick. He finally turned his head back towards Sather and smiled boyishly. Sather’s eyes bulged almost out of his own head, “Gretzky??” he gasped through clenched teeth. The specter nodded and offered a hand to Sather to help him up. Sather just stared dumbfounded, then regaining his composure he said, “What the hell are you doing here? I almost killed you… wait did you talk to Don about my deal?” As Sather finished his question, he noticed something about the man standing before him. This was not the same man Sather saw only weeks earlier, but the man he knew back when he coached the Oilers.
Gretzky grabbed Sather’s hand and hoisted him to his feet then turn back towards the fridge. “For a man who doles out so much money to any player with half a pulse and hockey stick, couldn’t you afford decent beer?” Gretzky motioned towards the cans of Schlitz in the fridge. Sather pulled back his hand and pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. Gretzky laughed and said casually, “Oh, you’re not dreaming, old boy. I’m here to give you one last chance. There will be three of us, ghosts from your past.”
The ghost of Gretzky grabbed one of the cans and dropped it on the floor and began swatting it around with the hockey stick with the precision and agility that the world’s greatest hockey player would have. The whole time looking right at Sather and still speaking as his musical voice reverberated around the kitchen,”You’ll see for yourself. I’m just here to show you your past.” Gretzky suddenly wound back and went to take a blistering slap shot straight at Sather. Sather screamed and put up his hands to block. Sather only heard the release of the shot and waited for the impending impact, instead he felt nothing.
----
Sather slowly opened his eyes and moved away his hands and gasped loudly at what he saw. Sather was standing in a locker room, the locker room was packed full of hockey players dressing down after a game. “I know this place…” muttered Sather to no one in particular. A voice spoke next to him, “You should.” Sather turned his head to see the ghost of Gretzky standing there next to him and motioning towards the Edmonton Oilers logo on the wall.
Sather looked around recognizing faces all around him. There was Jari Kurri, Grant Fuhr, Martin Gelinas and even Mark Messier wearing a skimpy towel. “It’s the game before Christmas, 1989” continued Gretzky. Sather gazed around in awe; he spotted Kevin Lowe in the corner taking off his shoulder pads. Sather ran over, “Kevin!! It’s me! Slats! Did you get my fax??”
Gretzky rolled his eyes and poked Sather, “He can’t hear you or see you.” Sather whirled around back at the ghost and said meekly, “Then why show me this?” Gretzky causally shrugged and answered, “Well, I thought you’d like to remember what a winning team was like. Look around the room, no inflated contracts or egos. These guys were winners, gave their all game in and game out.”
Gretzky looked directly at Sather and pointed with a ghostly finger, “So what happened, Glen? Where did you stray?” Sather in an angry huff replied, “What do you mean stray?!? How dare you, need I remind you that you weren’t even on this team and we still won! ” Gretzky smiled which infuriated Sather even more, “This isn’t about me, this about you and your actions when you came to the Rangers.” Sather exclaimed, “What actions??” as the words came out of Sather’s mouth, he realized he was no longer in the locker room.
Sather recognized his office; standing in the room were Floyd Barrett and a slightly younger version of himself. Sather peered over at Gretzky, the ghost pointed at the two men in the room...
Barrett was pleading with the younger Sather, “Sir, I don’t think this is such a good idea…” Sather roared at Barrett, “Who cares what you think! Eric Lindros is a winner! What do you know?!” Barrett looked down at his own shoes and said meekly, “Sir, aren’t you worried about the concussions? Lindros needs to be physical to be successful…” Sather interrupts, “Needs?? I’ll tell you what I need, another rum and coke, you go fetch me one while you draw up the paper work for the trade.”
The ghost turned back towards Sather who stood awestruck watching himself berate his underling. Sather saw that Gretzky was staring at him and uttered, “Ok, maybe in hindsight that wasn’t the best. Though Lindros did have 73 points that first year.” Sather swallowed nervously as the ghost asked casually, “Did you make the playoffs that season?” Sather sneered back, “Shut up. What do you know? So this is what you are making me watch, one lousy trade that maybe didn’t work all that well?!”
The room flashed again. Barrett and Sather were still conversing in the room but were wearing different clothing. Barrett was pleading with Sather once again, “Sir, I’m telling you Pavel Bure’s knees are not in good shape!” Sather barked back at Barrett, “Make the deal!! Throw in a first and second round draft pick too!”
Sather watching moaned out loud. Gretzky chuckled.
The room flashed once again. This time Glen Sather was standing talking to Brian Leetch and was saying “…basically, we need you to waive your no trade clause.” Leetch shrugged and muttered, “Whatever is best for the team, Glen.”
The room flashed again, and still in the same office Sather could be seen dictating to Barrett, “Offer Bobby Holik 5 years / 45 million.” Barrett looked back up at Sather questioningly but then thought better and looked away instead.
Sather watching all of this screamed, “See! He should have said something! That disaster could have been diverted!” The ghost looked inquisitively at Sather but said nothing. Sather motioned for him to say something but the specter stood silent. Sather erupted, “Say something dammit!!”
Suddenly the room flashed and Sather was standing in his kitchen with a can of Schlitz in his hand. He looked around in a panicked state. He searched the entire apartment for the ghost of Wayne Gretzky but he was alone as the clock flashed 2:00AM.
----
Sather finally decided that his imagination must be slipping away with him. He slowly walked back to his bedroom. He was muttering to himself, “How the hell was I supposed to know he’d get his eighth concussion… stupid Gretzky”
Suddenly the sound of a toilet flushing was heard. Sather whirled towards the closed bathroom door, but before he could move the door opens and out steps a man wearing a hockey helmet on his head. Sather staggered back and stammered, “Craig? Craig MacTavish??” MacTavish grinned back at Sather and bowed his head. Sather shocked, continued, “Why you? Why are you wearing that stupid helmet??” MacTavish shrugged and answered, “You never know. Can’t ever be too safe ya know? Could walk into something, trip or fall. Safety first.”
Sather shook his head trying to somehow compose himself. “Why are you here, Craig? What are you going to show me now? Ok, fine maybe every decision I made wasn’t the best. I don’t need you jerks to keep rubbing it in!” MacTavish answered, “I’m not here about your past. I’m going to show you the present.” With that, the ghost clasped shut the strap on his helmet and made sure it was on straight then suddenly he snapped his fingers.
----
MacTavish and Sather stood outside a small suburban house. Sather whirled around confused, “Where are we?” MacTavish answered, “This is Floyd Barrett’s house.” The ghost motioned Sather to the front door.
As the pair entered the house you can see a woman setting the table and looking nervously at the clock. A young boy in a Rangers jersey sat at the table picking at his food. The woman spoke, “Stop playing with your food. Daddy should be home any minute.”
Suddenly the door opened and in stepped Barrett, he is tired and slumped over. His wife ran over to greet him. She mutters, “I just don’t understand why you had to work so late. And, on Christmas… doesn’t Mr. Sather have a life?” Barrett just shrugged and slipped off his coat.
The boy ran to his father and hugged him and said excitedly, “So what are the Rangers going to do Dad? Blowing a 4-0 lead and losing in overtime they need a spark!” Barrett sighed, “Well, Mr. Sather did offer some contracts out. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” The boy asked, “Who did they offer contracts to??” Barrett groaned, “Well ummm, Cliff Ronning and Teppo Numminen.”
The boy stepped back, and said in disbelief, “Are you serious?? Wait isn’t Cliff Ronning retired?” Barrett looked at his son but then looked away in shame, then walked over to his chair. The boy continued, “Why does Sather keep offering so much money to guys that are on the downside of their careers??” The woman came over and guided her son back to his chair; then she spoke “Timmy, you can run the team better than Mr. Sather”
Sather sneered at the woman then turned towards the ghost, “I’ve seen enough here.” MacTavish nodded and snapped his fingers.
The two men were suddenly standing outside a pub near the Garden called Stout. MacTavish looked at Sather and said, “I could use a drink, hey I’m buying” Sather still seething followed behind without a word.
Inside the two men walked to the bar and slipped through the crowd unnoticed. MacTavish said to Sather, “Whatcha having?” Sather just shrugged and looked around the bar. MacTavish tried to wave towards the bartender but to no avail. The ghost mutters, “Oh that’s right, they can’t see us. Oh well.” Sather shook his head in disgust then listened in on the conversation from a group of men at the bar.
The first man was shouting over the music, “They are awful!! They need to fire Renney already! ” A second man interrupted, “Renney?? Why? What is he supposed to be doing with the utter crap Sather keeps buying?!” A third man interjected, “Dude, Sather is out of his gourd, what are they going to do when Zherdev and Dubinsky are free agents this summer? All the money is tied up!” The first man that spoke responded, “Sather doesn’t even know what a salary cap is, he’d sign a dead guy if given a chance!”
Sather exploded, “Like you fools know how to run a damn hockey team!! How many cups did you win, you oafs?!!” The men completely oblivious to Sather’s outburst just continued with their conversation.
MacTavish mercifully snapped his fingers and the two men were standing in a Manhattan apartment. A man sitting at a computer was typing away sipping brandy. Sather looked and recognized the man, his eyes flared with rage. “Larry Brooks… I’ll kill you!!!” Sather sprinted towards the man with utter hatred and bad intentions. As Sather reached for Brooks’ neck with his hands, he heard a pair of fingers being snapped.
Sather looked down and saw his own pillow clenched in his hands. He let go and peered around, he was standing next to his own bed. Sather dropped the pillow and muttered to himself. He spared a glance at the clock next to his bed as 3:00AM flashed.
...to be continued.
Click here for the conclusion. Next year remind me to pick a shorter Christmas story to lampoon!
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