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.
9:12AM — Woah. Hungover. Drank mead with some kids by the river last night. Talked NBA and stuff. My head feels like I just went a round with Parros. Fuck.
9:32AM — Double whoa. Either some sick fuck broke into my hotel room and replaced my shirts with small, really tight identical shirts, or I’m putting on some weight.
9:33AM — Sweet Jesus. I just weighed myself. I’ve put on 30 pounds since Thanksgiving. Gotta be all the deep fried bread. No good. No good. If the season started today, I’d be entering whatever Weight Watcher program they made Wellwood go to. ‘Course Welly was gettin’ fat on McDonalds and draft beer, not the sweet ebony goodness of deep fried bread. Wonder how early they serve it.
9:42AM — No, okay, this shit’s gonna kill me gotta get the hell out of this place. Sonja sent an email last night. I’m afraid to see what my reply was. Man, drunk emails are the worst. I remember her saying something about Prague being amazing. I probably sent her a jpeg of my junk. (Also amazing.)
10:00AM — Booked. 2:55 flight. Goes through Frankfurt, because this backwater fatty factory has no direct flights to anywhere I wanna be. Hmm. Maybe Sonja’ll meet me in Frankfurt.
10:31AM — Why would Sonja drive all the way to Frankfurt to see a fat man? This is horrible. I used to have 9 abs. I’m down to four. Gotta find the missing five abs. My Bourne inspired European vacay has just gone Temple of Doom. If I don’t leave Europe with those five missing abs, I may never play pro hockey again.
10:33AM — Cool your jets, big shooter. There will always be pro hockey for you as long as there is a Europe. But you can’t bring four abs to the show. The show is all about the ninth ab.
10:35AM — What if I jog to Prague? Jesus. Pull your shit together.
10:47AM — What if I jog from Frankfurt to Prague?
4:30PM — Frankfurt airport. Found the email I sent to Sonja. Me: I love yer dick. Her: What? Me: I love your dick. Her: no answer.
4:31PM — Frankfurt airport. Green tea. Why did I tell Sonja I loved her dick? Think. Think!
4:33PM — Prague. Taxi. Driver in broken English going on about city. Me combing through notes looking for Sonja’s dick. Taxi driver shows me a binder with photos of a nice apartment. Says it’s his aunt’s place. I say why not. It’s authentic. I could see how Dominik Hasek lives. Maybe find a lock of Jagr’s hair in this driver’s aunt’s undies drawer or something. When in Rome, do as the Romans. Except this is Prague, so, like, when in Prague, stay at the taxi driver’s aunt’s house from a binder. Less ring to it but it probably sounds better in Prague. I mean Czech. Or as I like to call it, Check.
7:10PM — Taxi driver’s aunt’s place is nice. Roomy and kind of smells like my own aunt’s house in Pitt Meadows. Got an uncle in Atlanta, his house smells like wood. Aunt’s house in Pitt Meadows: like a dead cat wrapped in newspapers. Czech aunt’s is mostly like newspapers.
7:33PM — No WiFi at Aunt Czechy’s. In a cafe. Doing that Leo thing. Undressing Czech girls with my eyes. But not in a creepy way.
8:08PM — Going through notes. Found day 33. A boat tour in a canal in Berlin. It was romantic. Saw a bunch of old stuff like the Berliner Dome which is a wicked cathedral and some cool bullet holes from the second World War. They’re still pretty sensy about that there but they love to go on about the wall. Word to the wise, save your Hitler jokes but go to town on your Red Army jokes. My problem – not a lotta Red Army jokes. Sonja was translating the tour and I was practicing some German. I love your dick = Ich liebe dich = I love you. Great. I drunk emailed Sonja and instead of telling her I loved her (a bad move) I told her I loved her dick (a worse move. Maybe the worst move). And now…radio silence.
8:09PM — Whoa. That was weird. Just got email from Sonja. Du bist bescheuert! Enjoy Prague! she writes. I know “du bist” is “you are”. Bescheuert sounds like best heart. You are best heart. She’s so sweet.
8:10PM — Google translate: Du bist bescheuert = You are retarded. Sonja is the best. But for now…Prague. There’s some old shit here. And the beer’s cheap and I’m a rich man. But first…A run.
- “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