BIZ: BOYS. BOYS. I CAN’T EVEN—HOLY FRIGGIN’ MOTHER OF PINK WHITNEY, WHAT DID I JUST WITNESS LAST NIGHT? The Galaxies, in those absolute orgasmic Whalers throwback sweaters—top-tier drip, I’m talkin’ Panty Dropper Pantone Palette No. 7—you’d think with jerseys THAT sexy they’d at least pretend to play hockey?
WHITNEY: Here we go…
BIZ: NO, NO, LET ME FINISH, WHIT. I SWEAR TO GOD IT WAS LIKE WATCHING A LITTER OF NEWBORN DEER TRY TO CROSS A HIGHWAY. LEGS EVERYWHERE. CONFUSION. FEAR. CHAOS.
AND GATES DIDN’T EVEN MAKE IT BECAUSE THE HIGHWAY WAS CLOSED. BRO. THE HIGHWAY SAID, “SORRY PAL, YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS IN THERE TONIGHT.” IT WAS PROVIDENCE. IT WAS MERCY. IT WAS THE LORD HIMSELF SAYING, “MY SON… SIT THIS ONE OUT.”
RA: And the Marauders lost Jensen too—
BIZ: YEAH, YEAH, BUT THE MARAUDERS COULD LOSE HALF THEIR TEAM AND STILL OUTSHOOT THESE GUYS BY A BILLION. THEY GOT LAST-MINUTE SUBS LIKE THEY WERE PICKING PLAYERS OUT OF A TIM HORTONS DRIVE-THRU. “HEY, YOU SKATE? NO? COOL, YOU’RE STILL AN UPGRADE.”
BIZ: AND THE FIRST PERIOD. OH. MY. GOD.
THE RAUDS OUTSHOT THEM BY AT LEAST 20–0. TWENTY. TO. ZERO.
THAT’S NOT A SHOT CLOCK, THAT’S A CRY FOR HELP.
I’VE SEEN LESS ACTION FROM GOLDFISH AT FEEDING TIME.
THE GALAXIES GOALIE SHOULD SUE FOR EMOTIONAL DAMAGE. FILE A UNION GRIEVANCE. HAND IN A DOCTOR’S NOTE. SOMETHING.
WHITNEY: Biz, buddy, breathe.
BIZ: I CAN’T BREATHE, RYAN. NOT WHEN THE GALAXIES TIED IT 1–1 FOR A WHOLE MINUTE AND I THOUGHT—JUST FOR A SECOND—WE WERE ABOUT TO SEE A BIBLICAL MIRACLE. I GOT CHILLS. I GOT HOPE. I SAW LIFE IN THEIR EYES.
AND THEN THE MARAUDERS SAID, “NAH, WE’RE GOOD,” AND DROPPED FOUR QUICK ONES LIKE THEY WERE TAKING A PISS DURING INTERMISSION.
RA: I mean it did end 6–2—
BIZ: SIX. TO. TWO. YES. AND THAT SCORE IS A DAMN CHARITY PROJECT. A NON-PROFIT. A FEEL-GOOD HALLMARK MOVIE.
BECAUSE THE MARAUDERS DOMINATED THAT GAME LIKE IT WAS A BAD FIRST DATE AND THE CHECK WAS ALREADY PAID.
WHITNEY: At least Sean Kenney got his first of the season with three seconds left.
BIZ: OH BABY. NOW THAT—THAT RIGHT THERE—THAT WAS THE MOMENT.
THE LONE RAY OF SUNSHINE IN THIS TORNADO OF NONSENSE.
Sean Kenney buries one with three seconds left, and I swear the Galaxies celebrated like he cured male pattern baldness. BENCH IS GOING WILD. HELMETS UP. GLOVES UP. EVERYONE’S LIKE, “WE DID IT BOYS!!!”
NO YOU DIDN’T.
BUT THE ROOK DID.
AND THAT PUCK DESERVES A FRAME, A SHELF, A BACKLIGHT, AND MAYBE A LITTLE SHRINE WITH A CANDLE.
BIZ: I’m tellin' ya…
The Marauders? WAGON.
The Galaxies? BEAUTIFUL JERSEYS, TERRIBLE DECISION-MAKING.
The highway closure? MVP.
The Galaxies' last-minute subs? DID THE BEST THEY COULD IN A BAD SITUATION.
Sean Kenney? FACE OF THE FRANCHISE NOW.
Give him the key to the locker room. Maybe the franchise. Maybe the city.
WHITNEY: Biz, you need a nap.