A Satire (or is it?) by BD Gallof
#5: Mission From Gordie
(when we last left our hero, he was accosted outside Joe Louis Arena by Gordie Howe driving a flaming Zamboni)
4/24/07
There are some things in life you mother never told you about. She might have yelled at you to wear clean underwear. She might have slapped your hands for going into the cookie jar once too often. She might have run screaming when discovering what you were doing with her can of Crisco and her Macy’s Bra catalog. But she never could quite prepare you for a vision of a burning Zamboni driven by Gordie Howe.
Gordie steps off the Zamboni, and begins pacing back and forth. He has a folder in his hand.
He turns to me.
“Your report,” he nods toward the folder, which is now a smoking ruin, “specifies intelligence, counter-intelligence, with Hockey-UFC specialty.”
“I'm not presently disposed to discuss those operations, sir,” I say to Gordie.
“Did you not work for the NHLPA intelligence corps? Were you not part of a covert operation under executive director Bob Goodenow, disputing the NHL’s financial claims? Did you not take part in the Forbes report in 2004 that discovered league revenue wasn’t down as much as owner said?”
“Sir, I am unaware of any such activity or operation,” I respond matter-of-factly, “nor would I be disposed to discuss such an operation if it did in fact exist, sir.”
Gordie looks at me thoughtfully, measuring the half-dazed drooling beast with facial bruises given by a hockey analyst.
“We need you to investigate the league operations. This includes their stance on hockey fighting, as well as the goal review process.”
“Isn’t that Gary Bettman’s area?” I query.
“Bettman’s methods have become unsound. Your mission is to proceed up Lake Erie in a patrol boat. Pick up a path in Ontario and follow it up to league headquarters in Toronto. Learn what you can along the way. Infiltrate the NHL league offices by whatever means available and terminate anything that even gives you a hint of league rules removing or affecting hockey fights.”
“Terminate?” I repeat, my jaw slack.
“The NHL is out there operating without any decent restraint, totally beyond the pale of any acceptable human conduct.”
Gordie Howe then body checks me into a brick wall. I sob as the air has been knocked out of me. Then his elbow then slams against my chin, and I am once again laid flat into the cold concrete of a Detroit street.
He says, standing over my prone carcass, his voice pervading my haze of unconsciousness…
“You understand Gallof that this mission does not exist, nor will it ever exist.”
I hear the distinct sound of a fly being unzipped and the sound of liquid streaming down. I hear Gordie laughing hysterically. Then there is complete darkness.
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