After a frustrating loss to the Bruins that statistically signals the end for the Toronto Maple Leafs Season, the whole team gathers in the dressing room. Maurice enters the dressing room, looking disheveled and tired. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes as he wanders around aimlessly for a few minuites until he settles middle of the room.
"OK" he starts, his voice, low, raspy, sounding almost hung over. "The following people may leave, good season, good effort, I hope to see you all next year" he pauses to clear his throat and put his glasses back on. "Mats, Antro, Vesa, Jerry Tee-Lusty, Anton, Carlo, Williams, Boyd, Kabby, Steener, Stajan the Cajun and Dominic." the aformentioned players stand up and walk out "Wait, Carlo" Maurice calls.
Coliacovo stops in the door. "Hey C.C, this off season, why don't you try getting a Q-Ray, or blessed with holy water or something and stop getting injured so damned much".
The room door closes and Maurice's head sinks, he sighs.
"Ok......Jason" he looks over at Blake, who is sweating more than usual. "Jason, I know the whole cancer thing probably threw you off this year a bit, and no one expected you to score 40 goals again.....But" Maurice takes off his glasses and looks Blake directly in the eyes "Why the hell can't you hit the goddamn net more than once the game? Why the hell do you try the same damned move every flipping time you skate into the offensive zone? SHOOT THE FUCKING PUCK! And what the hell happened to you being an agitator huh? I remember playing against you last year and wanting to kick you in the head every time you skated by my bench because I was so goddamn agitated, now I just want to kick you in the head because your soft ass play is pissing me off!"
Tucker snorts, then covers his mouth, trying not to laugh, Maurice turns to him. "What the hell is so goddamn funny Mr. Fan favourite? Have you decided if your a goal scorer yet? Well here's the answer, YOUR NOT. Last year was a fluke. You've been playing like an offensive player without the talent to back it up since you signed that contract last year. You know what? I don't even care if your injured, take your balls out of your purse and stop being such a pansy out there!".
Another pause, the room is now deathly silent. Maurice's gaze sweeps across the room and stops on Ian White. "Short and sweet Ian, Defensive positioning, look it up." He turns to Kubina "I can't wait to see what your overprices ass fetches your NTC kicks out after the season, anything more than a bag of pucks and a snow cone and we come out on top, Why the hell did you wait until March to start playing like that? You useless turd." Kubina's eyes well up and his bottom lip starts to quiver, but he holds back on full out crying.
"Mark" Maurice calls out without even turning to look at him "Yeth bottth?" Mark slurs out through his surgery riddled face "First off Mark, don't fucking talk to me. Secondly, I appreciate you stepping up to defend your team mates and trying to be a physical presence out there, but sweet jumping Jesus, you are the worst fighter I have ever seen in my entire life. What are you trying to do? Uglify yourself so you don't end up Bum-Chums with Big Bubba Blue in the clink this summer? Keep that up and you'll be as brain damaged as Gary Bettman inside two years."
Maurice pauses again to rub his eyes and sigh for a few seconds. "Now were getting to the bottom of the barrel here. O.k. Bryan........" He turns to McCabe who sits there like a deer in the headlights "YOU STUPID FUCKING BOAT ANCHOR, NO MOVEMENT CLAUSE HAVING, NET BODY CHECKING, OWN GOAL SCORING, MOHAWK SPORTING, DINGLE BERRY!" he stops to catch his breath "You disgust me".
He slowly pads across the room directly to Wellwood. ", Kyle you are a very skilled hockey player. You can dangle that puck like nobodies business....But you are one out of shape, poor excuse for a professional athlete. This summer, in the off season, I suggest you hire a professional trainer, Hell see if Gary Roberts is available, how about Rod Brin'damour? Hell I don't care if you get Billy-Fucking-Blanks, get to work on that pizza hut gut of yours or by god you won't even make the Marlies next year. It's time you started concentrating on something that isn't deep fried or pork flavoured you tubby bitch!'" Wellwood runs out of the room balling. A small smile creeps across Maurice's face as he Watches Wellwood run, but it quickly fades as he re-scans the room.
Alex has his hand up. Maurice sighs. "what is it Pony?"
"Well....uh....Comrad Coach, I is wondering why I am here, I have not transgressed as bad as all of rest of team. What has I done to deserve your wrath?" Maurice takes a very serious tone, bends down to look Pony in the eyes and places his hand on the large Ukrainians shoulder. "Alex, I have just always hated you."
Another pause as Maurice reaches inside his jacket to grab something. He stops short of pulling it out. "Everyone out....Except you Andrew"
The rest of the Leafs stumble out of the room, shell shocked, Kubina's bottom lip still twitching. Poni mumbles something like "yeah, well I hates you too....comrade jerk" but Maurice doesn't hear.
Once the room clears, it is just Maurice and Raycroft, who is still dressed in his equipment. Maurice removes the item from his jacket. Its a small flask. He takes a long haul from it then smashes the empty case against the closest wall.
Maurice spins and looks at Raycroft, rage filling his face. Raycroft looks like he is about to wet himself. Maurice steps towards him, picking up Raycroft's goal stick.
He bares his teeth and his breathing gets more rapid and fearsome. Raycroft is frozen, he starts trembling but he can't move.
Maurice slowly gets closer, and closer, getting angrier and angrier, his eyes crazier and crazier. He starts to raise the goal stick over his head when the room door flies open. In walks Cliff Fletcher. "Paul, put the stick down, PAUL!"
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT YOU MUMMY FART?"
"Now now Paul, don't get mad at me, I had no part in your predicament" Maurice suddenly calms down, and lowers the goal stick.
"OK, good, good, get out of here Andrew, while I have him calmed down." Raycroft scampers out of the room leaving a wet stain on the bench behind him.
"OK Fletch, what do you want."
"Peddie sent me, he wants to talk to you, I think you know what it's about"
"yeah, I do...wait...do you hear that?"
they both stop and listen *thump* a soft noise from inside the showers
"Who the hell is in there?" Maurice yells.
Slowly, Andy Woznewski's head pokes around the corner. "what the hell are you doing here?" Fletcher asks looking perplexed. Maurice looks at Fletcher, the rage returning to his eyes. Cliff nods his head. "Yes Paul, this one you can have"
A very evil grin crosses Maurice's face. He raises the goal stick and charges Woznewski.
Outside the room listens a giddy Darcy Tucker, giggling to himself as a series of dull thumps and girlish screams echo out of the dressing room.