Hey, did I ever mention that I won the Stanley Cup? I got my hands on Lord Stanley's Mug for my role as the Boston Bruins' team hypnotist. Sure, my methods may have been controversial (and under investigation by the American Medical Association), but how else would the Bruins have won the Cup unless Tim Thomas had mentally coerced to play like Patrick Roy? The ends justify the means!
Anyway, while my hypnotism license may be up in the air, my status as a Stanley Cup champion is not. As per tradition, I was awarded my own singular day with the Cup to do with it as I pleased. Usually this is just reserved for players and coaches from the winning team but the Bruins made an exception in the team hypnotist's case…or, they were "convinced" to make an exception. Anyway, here's the account of my 24 hours hangin' with Lord Stanley.
0800: The Cup arrives at my doorstep, accompanied by its supervising trustee from the Hockey Hall Of Fame. It's even more beautiful than I'd imagined. (The Cup, not the trustee.) Upon being handed the Cup, a look of insane, crazed joy spreads across my face. The trustee takes a cautious step backwards.
0805: I ask the trustee if he'd like to see my walk-in closet, and before he can say, "Wait a minute, this is just a regular-sized…," I've shoved him inside and locked the door. Pfft, I don't need a chaperone!
0809: I drop the Stanley Cup down a flight of stairs, leaving at least three sizeable dents in the priceless trophy. Dammit! If only I'd had a chaperone!
0834: The girl manning the Tim Horton's drive-thru is a true hero and answers my request to "fill this up with a double double." She is also a star for calling the paramedics after I go into a minor coma from drinking that much sugary, creamy coffee.
0900: My heart restarts! Alright! The EMT says it's a miracle. I think he's referring to my revival, but it turns out he's referring to the inscription for the 2005-06 Carolina Hurricanes.
0940: I'm taken to the hospital due to that pesky "standard policy when someone is clinically dead for 20 minutes," but it ends up being a blessing in disguise. What better place than a hospital to show the Cup to some folks who could use a bit of inspiration to get them through a difficult time? With that in mind, I swing by the voluntary cosmetic surgery wing. It makes my heart swell to see a patient, undergoing her fourth collagen lip injection, use those giant smackers to lay a big kiss on the Stanley Cup. Truly moving.
1030: Released from the hospital, I head home for a nap. This carrying around a Cup is exhausting! As I lay down, I make a mental note that someone has broken down my closet door and escaped.
1316: Great nap! I decide to take the Cup to my hometown of London, Ontario for two reasons. Firstly, my hometown deserves a rare opportunity to see the Stanley Cup in person. Secondly, there may or may not be an angry trustee hunting the streets of Toronto for me. I hop on a bus, and Greyhound has the nerve to charge me for two tickets since the Cup will be taking up a second seat. How unpatriotic!
1430: Well, it's official. The "Hey baby, check out the size of my Cup" pickup line never works, even when you have the actual Stanley Cup sitting right next to you. Oh well. Your loss, random woman on the bus!
1530: Arrival in London. I swing by my parents' place to show off the trophy. My dad goes on and on about how the old-time players were so much greater than today's players. My brother snidely points out that the Maple Leafs haven't appeared on the Cup in almost 45 years. My mother says, "Oh, so you can bring home the Stanley Cup, but you can't bring home a girlfriend for us to meet at Thanksgiving?" This trip may have been a huge mistake.
1633: Stanley and I head to the local arena so the youngsters on the ice can get a glimpse of hockey's greatest prize. Some parents balk at the $60 "Cup maintenance fee" I charge for a picture with the Cup, but c'mon, look at all those dents. The poor trophy is in bad shape. By the way, if you're an American reader who thinks there wouldn't be a hockey practice going on in August….c'mon dude, this is Canada.
1730: Since the city of London rejected my request for a parade, my next step is to just drive the streets at 10 KPH with the Cup duct-taped to my roof. Doing this during rush hour may have been an error, but I'm choosing to interpret all those honks as compliments, and all those fingers as modified "You're Number One!" salutes.
1900: Dinner time! I have to give it up to the staff at Arby's --- most restaurants wouldn't be able to fill a three-foot trophy with loose meat.
2006: Back on the bus to Toronto. We make a quick stopover at the Brantford casino, where I bet the Cup on the 'red' space at the roulette table. Red hits, meaning the casino owes me equal value for my wager. All they have is the Grey Cup, lost by Anthony Calvillo the week prior in a spirited game of pai-gow. Since I'm from anywhere in Ontario besides Hamilton, I just use the Grey Cup to tip the dealer.
2243: Sadly, this is where my account is cut short. We may or may not have run into a massive OPP roadblock set up by, you guessed it, the trustee who claimed the Stanley Cup was "stolen." Come on man, overreact much? But anyway, the police took his side, and I spent the remainder of my 24 hours with the Cup WITHOUT the Cup, locked up in custody. Even worse, my cellmates weren't at all impressed about my story of winning the Stanley Cup, since they were too busy ogling some other guy in custody who was selling Juno Awards for packs of smokes.
While I feel like the NHL still owes me 10 hours with the Stanley Cup, even still, it was a day I'll never forget. And the best part is, I'll be immortalized forever when my name is engraved on the Cup just like every other team hypnotist in hist…hey wait a second...
7 hours ago