Well, I guess the Jackets were supposed to wear the new sweater this past Saturday. But they were in the classic, tried and true Union Blue.
Some are speculating that it’s because they haven’t done well in the new third, and superstition may have had a roll in the change up. Everyone knows the only group of people more superstitious than hockey players are fisherman. Who knows? I have my own idea of what may have gone down a few hours before game time…
Marc Methot walks in Arniel’s office and shifts his weight from side to side. He hands his third jersey to his coach and says, “Hey, um…Brassard’s mom sent fudge and it melted somehow and now it’s all over my uniform. I can’t go out there lookin’ like this.” He shows a huge chocolate stain, beginning at the left shoulder and smearing the cannon. It is indeed, a mess.
Arniel, looking confused, grabs the sweater and starts to say something. He can’t. He is at a loss for words. Brassard walks in, nods to Methot and says, “Hey, man…that’s some killer fudge, eh?” and Methot smiles and nods. Brassard’s mood changes and he looks at his coach. “You know how me and Jake go out to Bucca before each game? Ya know how we love those meatballs and everything? And you know how Jake is…Well, he kinda ate too many and threw up all over my uniform.” Brassard drops the offending jersey on Arniel’s desk. Methot grimaces, Arniel swears and rubs his head.
R.J. Umberger comes in the office with a sense of urgency. He acknowledges his friends and speaks in a low tone. “I did not know that my wife’s lipstick was in with my stuff. I just tossed all my crap in my locker and the damn thing broke. Now look. ‘Come Get Me’ red, all over my jersey. Now what?” The other players pat poor R.J. on the back and say “Sorry, man.” They look at Arniel. He stares at R.J., who is holding his jersey and looking toward the ceiling.
The room is getting crowded and stinks. Weird combo of chocolate fudge, lipstick and Voracek’s meatball playback.
Dorsett bursts in the office. “Hey, dudes. Seriously…I did not know he would bleed that bad when I did it and the only thing I could grab just happened to be my sweater. I’m sorry, man.” Heads turn toward Dorsett and he opens his arms, palms out, pleading…”Man, I said I was sorry…I can’t put it on now!”
Arniel looks down at the floor and says “Your sweater. Messed up.”
“Yep.” He doesn’t stay for long. He turns and yells, “Like I said…didn’t mean it.” Kris Russell bumps Dorsett on the way in. He’s got a fat lip. “See, me and Dorsett were playing soccer and this happened. I mean, I’m OK. I just wanted to tell you about what happened last night.”
All eyes watch Russell as he explains how he washed his jersey and messed it up, somehow. Slowly, and between clinched teeth, Coach Arniel says,
“You are aware, Kris, that we don’t take our uniforms home. We have people that take care of all that for us.”
Kris smiles like a six year old and says to the crowd “Well, that’s a relief ‘cuz maybe next time all this crap won’t happen to my stuff.” He holds up a jersey that looks like it doubled as lion’s chew-toy and cleaning rag.
R.J. says, “Sooo, we puttin’ on the Union Blue tonight, Coach?” Arniel closes his eyes and nods and the players leave his office, giving high-fives and congratulating each other on the sweet stories. Er, I mean consoling each other on the awful mishaps to their new Thirds.
But this is all speculation…