Can’t an American Goalie Get a Job Anymore?

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Damn, what I wouldn’t give to be from Quebec. Or somewhere in Scandinavia. There just isn’t any goddamn market for a good old-fashioned American goalie from Dorchester, Massachusetts these days. But talk with one of those cheese-breath accents, or throw a few extra syllables in your name, and GMs are falling all over themselves to give you a job. Even when you suck.

I mean, look at Patrick Lalime. We’re practically twins–even born just a couple months apart. He’s not any better than I was when I “retired.” Why are the Hawks giving him almost $1 million to suck eggs, while I’m down here in Florida trying to sell shitty real estate to well-preserved corpses who don’t know they’re dead yet? Spare me that “coffee is for closers” speech. I’ve heard it. This fucking freeze-dried shit tastes like dirt and jockstraps.

You think Calgary couldn’t use a former Vezina trophy winner? Who they got? Kiprusoff? The fuck’s he ever won? He’s got a save percentage of .886. I know it’s been a while since I’ve played, but that’s not good. Man, when I was with the Providence Bruins in 98-99, I rocked a .919. What’s that? No, I don’t recall ever playing for the St. Louis Blues that season. Never happened.

And how bad is his backup, Curtis somebody? He’s got one start all season. One! I’m good for at least one a week. My buddies tell me that I wouldn’t like playing for Keenan. He can’t be a bigger prick than Pat Burns, can he? Besides, Burns was an ex-cop. I think that whole “Net Detective” thing got him all bent out of shape.

And I could be down in Tampa in like, a couple of hours. Johan Holmqvist isn’t exactly tearing it up. What’s he got that I haven’t got? I’ll tell you what he’s got–a fucking Swedish passport. He ain’t exactly the second coming of Tommie Salo, though. Man, that dude could hold his vodka.

Look, I know I made some decent coin back in the day. But the stock market went to shit, and here I am cold-calling retired electricians to try and make a buck. The wife’s all over my ass. “I married a professional athlete. I thought that came with some benefits, you know? And I don’t mean a five-year-old Hyundai.” I need a job. Somewhere, some team must be able to use a veteran goalie. I’m only 33-still in my prime, baby. I’m the Ace! The Net Detective!

I’ve been keeping in decent shape, too. I could be in game shape in a couple of weeks. Three, four, tops. Man, I shouldn’t have quit that over-30 rec league. I was dominating those guys. Keeping those skillz sharp, you know? Just in case? Well, here we are. I am definitely in deep fucking case right now.

And if you won’t give me a job, can I interest you a delightful real estate opportunity just minutes from the Gulf Coast? You won’t regret it.

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1 Comment

  1. Ray LeBlanc wishes he had Jim Carey’s life.


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