'i will die for this exhibition tournament': the imagined thoughts of a canadian nhl player
'canadian sovereignty has been besmirched, and the anthem is now being booed. for that, the shattering of american bones is now like music to me'
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'i willingly surrender my corporeal form to this exhibition event.'
bruce bennett/getty images
thursday night saw canada secure victory in boston in the 4 nations face-off, an nhl exhibition tournament that pitted teams of finnish, swedish, u.s. and canadian players against one another. canada’s victory became a point of national pride as it occurred amidst threats of trade war and annexation from u.s. president donald trump.
in dear diary, the national post satirically re-imagines a week in the life of a newsmaker. this week, tristin hopper takes a journey inside the thoughts of an anonymous canadian nhl player.
monday
i’m well aware that this four nations tournament is a commercial venture. this isn’t the olympics. it’s not even the world juniors. it’s another gary bettman-conceived circus to extract just a few more million out of his stable of interchangeable jocks.
all that said, i willingly surrender my corporeal form to this exhibition event, and will die to ensure that the maple leaf emerges triumphant.
tuesday
as a professional athlete, my most valuable asset is my body. and i can understand the raw financials of why i should not risk it in exhibition play.
i know nba players, mlb players, and they all tell me the same thing. “you work too hard. when the all-star game comes around, you just go through the motions, collect your paycheque and preserve your skills for the regular season.”
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these are all good points. but if it was just money i was after i would have done like the rest of my high school class and stacked up some cash in northern alberta before using it to flip nova scotia real estate.
no, i pursued this calling for a higher cause than material wealth. and it’s why i shall be winning this tournament even if i have to shower the vip section with cascades of my own blood.
wednesday
the united states is not some foreign, faceless enemy to me. i live in the u.s. i’m paid in u.s. dollars. i own several u.s. homes. my agent, coach and hairdresser are all u.s. citizens. hell, the opposing teams in this tournament are filled with american players i’m going to be sharing an american dressing room with next week.
but if there were no referees to stop me, i would gladly wear their entrails as a neck warmer and fashion a bracelet from their teeth.
thursday
i haven’t closely followed the tensions between my homeland and the united states, although i do recall the word “tariffs” being used often. truth be told, my knowledge of politics doesn’t extend much beyond a general sense of where the respective national capitals are.
so all i really knew going into our victorious match tonight is that canadian sovereignty had been besmirched in some way, that is that canadian sovereignty has been besmirched in some way, and the anthem is now being booed. and for that, the shattering of american bones is now like music to me. i bear no ill will, and nor should their bones.
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friday
sports broadcasters always assume that our ultimate dream is the stanley cup. when you’re hoisting it around, some colour commentator will just assume that “he’s been dreaming of this moment since he was a boy.”
my ambitions have always been more specific. it’s not enough to merely reach the pinnacle of the game, but the game must transcend its normal boundaries into the supernatural. i don’t dream of hoisting the stanley cup. i dream about defusing a hostage situation with a well-positioned slapshot to a terrorist’s neck. of skating an all-out 200 kilometres to deliver serum to a remote northern manitoba village stricken by flu. of deking past endless legions of the devil’s minions, and scoring on a net that forgives the sins of all humanity. “your stickhandling has redeemed a fallen humanity,” a divine voice booms out just before i wake up.
we hockey players are a simple breed; we like our beer cold, our cars fast, and our wives to be a blonde eastern european model who can bear me children named “branlin.” is it satisfying to win a tournament that uplifts the spirits of one’s entire homeland, and humiliates a hostile power on their own turf? yes it is.
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