Pierre Gauthier has made sure to have some excess money after all was said and done in the contracts department, which means one thing. He’s getting ready to sign me as stick boy.
I’ll go to arbitration if he wants. He can argue that I’m not young enough to have a fresh stick ready for a player when he breaks one. He can tell me I’m not worth the 40 grand I’m demanding because I wasn’t there last year. He can bluntly inform me that he’s known cases of stick boys doing it for free.
But I’m more than just a stick boy like these one-trick ponies. I’ll go to the beer store for players and management. I’ll babysit their kids. I’ll make them Hamburger Helper. I’ll help make the wives comfortable. Because I’m an ex-trucker, players can feel relaxed when I drive them to and from banks, airports, and strip joints. I already have a jacket like Toe Blake’s so there’s no clothing expense. I’ll get a room near the Bell Centre and be on call, uh, several hours a day. I’ll practice grabbing fresh sticks and get my stick-to-player motion down to an exact science. I’ll give advice to Jacques Martin during games.
All this for 40 grand.
The ball’s in your court, Pierre. Just like it was for Sam.