The Barnstormer has secured the cooperation of a locked-out NHL player who has agreed to document each day he is kept out of action on the condition that we do not reveal his identity. Ever. Read all the daily diary entries of “Cheap Throat” here.

9:00AM — I’m on a plane. I can’t believe I’m on a plane. Well sure I can. There are the wings. I’m looking right at them and those are clouds. Still, hard to believe sort of. I’m gonna miss NHL 2K12. But know what? And, woah, this blew my mind grapes: thought it was called 2K12. Just called NHL 12. The 2Ks don’t exist anymore. Heavy. Too bad there’s no ring to that though. I’ll just keep callin’ her 2K12 cuz it’s the only hockey happening now anyway. Fuck.

[Editor’s Note: From this point on, Cheap Throat is unsure of the time or what time zone he is in. To simplify the chronology, we have removed the timestamps as part of the editing process. They will return tomorrow.]

— Couldn’t go direct in First Class last minute. Fuckin’ airlines. Heineken at airport: $11. Fuck every Dutch person for this. I could hear my dad’s voice after each one I ordered. “We liberate your country from the Nazis and you charge us $11?!?”  Dad’s right. Heinis should be free for Canadians. Bill was $55 before tax. Washed two Gravols down with the last one. Explains why it’s hard to believe I’m on a plane. This could just be a tin can in sleep town taking me to Waterslide City.

Probably asking: Why Europe? Answer: The Bourne Supremacy. The second one where he sneaks back into Europe from India. I’m gonna do that, except I didn’t leave from India, I left from Newark, via a mid- to large-sized Canadian city with a healthy population of Indians. Suck it.

— The only person who knows I’m going is me. And Dad. Not my agent. Already had him on speakerphone and told him to keep it to Skype or gchat. Can’t have him killing my international roaming fees. He’s already taking 10% before taxes. Fucking lawyers.

— Dad texts me to go see Wales. I tell dad I’m going to check out some squads and nose around some barns to get a feel for hockey over there. Plus it’s going on winter and they’ve probably all swam down south already. But who knows — maybe if I’m in Norway or Denmark and there are some they forgot to kill I’ll take a trip. Dad texts back: “????????” I send dad link to trailer about all the Wales they hunt in Scandinavia. Dad: “Wales you idiot. You have family there.” Me: “text me when you’re sober Dad.”

— In flight movie choices are pretty good, flipping through, solid choices, and…BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE. Hope Springs. Streep time, bitches!

— Paris. They all say go to Paris. Easiest to get last minute First Class flight, too. Customs was a bitch. When they asked for my occupation, I say: hockey player, except I didn’t, I say: jouer des hockey. And Frenchie’s all like, quoi? And I’m trying to remember my grade four French, and dude’s looking at me like I’m the asshole. And I’m all Patrick Roy? Martin Brodeur? Vincent Lecavalier? Douchie Briere? Nothing. Thirty minutes in and it’s nothing like Montreal.

— Okay, so far it looks like every dude is gay, but then I remind myself this is Europe. I should get one of those oversized scarves that’s already tied for you and you just throw it over your head and it looks like you’re wearing a monster scarf. Seems to work for some of these dudes with their t—shirts. May have to rethink my A—game here.

— Taking a cab because I can’t figure out the French-French for car service. It’s okay, everyone at least driving on the right side of the road. Hope the rest of the continent is like this.

— Checked into hotel. Paris Hilton La Defense. Defense, get it? More HHilton points. Pain in the ass to google the place though, kept getting links to Paris Hilton. That chick is fugly, but fuglier in person. Buddy had a few dates with her a couple of years back. Bitch. Richest girl in the world, but never picked up a cheque. Smells weird, too. For serious. Like Laraque’s Coopers.

— Euros are small. Probably so blind Europeans don’t overspend on stuff. Smart.

— There’s a guy drinking a beer on the street and the cops didn’t even say anything. Okay Europe, let’s fuggin do this.

— So you wanna know another NHL secret? Those games Cros is playing down in Colorado with some of the boys…those games are for money. Big money. Did I already tell you that? No wonder fans think we’re dicks.

— K, not even sure of the time. Totes beat though. Had a couple of cocktails at the Hilton’s Tangerine Bar. Met a nice couple from Oakville. Didn’t recognize me. They told me to go to the Left Bank, but I’ve got my Visa and debit card with me, so I’m set. Rocking the Prez suite blackout curtains. Gonna check out the sights demain.

Further NHL Lockout Reading:

• “Cheap Throat: The Diary of a Locked-Out NHLer“. Read all the other entries here.
• “A Fan’s Note: How to Fix the NHL” by Mike Spry 
• “Complicit in the NHL’s Demise: How the NHL & its players hate hockey, and how the fan is at fault” by Mike Spry
• The Barnstormer’s Take Hockey Back fan protest event