Kyle123

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  1. Like
    Kyle123 reacted to zinnyzxx in Player Hoarding Absolutely Needs to Stop   
    Promoting to the GHL is a difficult thing to do. 
    Promoting and surviving your first season at this point is extremely difficult because the free agency is garbage. It's been garbage for many seasons now. Why is the FA trash? Because managers have entire team's worth of players just rotting away in the minors with no intention of bringing them up, or trading them. So then the very very few players available in the FA are bid on wildly getting double the salary that they ask for because the demand is so high. 
    Whether the fix is creating an engine to make players refuse to sign with a manager known for player hoarding, or just putting a 6-8 player cap on the minors... Something needs done because this is embarrassing. 
    Here's the proof. Harrow, Batchawana, Oshawa, and to a lesser extent - North Shore since most of those players are from his SHL club and just recently promoted - are prime examples. Think of the value these players could add to promoting teams. It's a s*** way to manage a team and screw over other managers. 
     




  2. Like
    Kyle123 reacted to AlexanderRasputin in From Hell: The rise of the Vermilion Black Devils   
    II
    The next day, the hockey world wakes up to a shocking piece of news. TSN Hockey Insider breaks it, as usual, Bob McKenzie tweeting: “Am told the Hauk story has wings. Mega-deal involving both Vermilion picks, and two critical assets. 1st time in GHL history 1st overall pick moves same season.”
    “It’s true. Dieter Hauk is coming to Vermilion.” - announces Rasputin later in the day at a press conference. The Black Devils will indeed be giving up both their 1st and 2nd round picks, recently acquired ex-3rd overall pick LW Matis Howell, and two-way C Eliott Sureault - both bonafide top 6 players. Coming back the other way with Hauk is B-level prospect Morgan Skytte, a piece Rasputin thinks will be useful for the Devils bottom 6. It’s a steep price to pay, and comments across the league label it as a massive gamble despite Hauk’s clear superstar potential. 
    But gambles are Rasputin’s bread and salt. “He [Hauk] is not a typical German. Fiery. Plays on the edge, isn’t constrained by rules, isn’t “clean”. He knows how good he is, but isn’t afraid to put himself to the test - otherwise he wouldn’t be here. I’ve met Dieter’s family. They serve bratwurst and borsch at the table - it’s that Russian heritage showing through.” 
    “He’s got an attitude about him,” continues Alexander. “When he came out of the taxi, he shook Bure’s hand and said, in Russian, “I’m going to play like you.” That’s ballsy. I like that. He’s going to fit in well here.”
    The rest of the players agree. The profile of signings made by Vermilion continues to rise, and despite giving up a lot of depth for Hauk, this can only be good for the team. A massive crowd of 15,000 is present in the arena during Hauk’s unveiling and the Devils’ first practice with their new star, and Black Devils jerseys with his chosen #10 are sold out within days. Hauk practices on a line with Sandro Koch and Matej Stuk, immediately dubbed the “[expletive] line” by the fans. Koch loves it. “I played against Dieter in the World Jrs, and he is tough as nails, and angry as a hungry bear. I put him on his backside a couple of times, he did the same to me. I think he has Youtube videos. Really don’t like to play against this guy, very difficult player. But now, on the same team - now it’s going to be fun!”
    Hauk is instantly a social media star, with Youtube compilations of his practice and game moves clocking up hundreds of thousands of views. Charismatic and confident, he raises the Vermilion brand to another level, Instagramming team practices and afterparties, mobbed by fans outside of the arena. Flashy yet powerful on the ice, he has an incredibly quick initial few strides, and a Nathan MacKinnon-esque presence, moving and stickhandling faster than everyone else, constantly taking players on 1 on 1 - something which does show a selfish streak. From the outset, it’s clear that Rasputin and Bure intend to use Dieter in the sniper role as opposed to the playmaker he was in Medicine Hat. “With the playmakers we have in Koch, Sylvain, Gadsby, I think we can get Dieter the opportunity to try to score more goals than me” - winks Bure. And Hauk does.
    Opening up with a double against Highland, Hauk goes on to score 7 goals in his next 8 games. Despite Vermilion undergoing a slump in mid-season, the “[expletive] line” shines, with a 57% CF and clear chemistry between Hauk and Koch, the Devils’ young stars. With the lineup set, and no further roster shakeups coming this season, Rasputin focuses on the title again, and the team responds with an 8-game winning streak mid-season followed by winning 9 of 10 on the run-in to finish 1st with 48 wins and 154 points on the season, 9 ahead of 2nd place Pinehurst Razorbacks. Hauk finishes the season with 25 goals in 55 games with Vermillion, 58 points in total winning him the Calder trophy. His old team, Medicine Hat, bolstered by the pieces obtained from the Black Devils, wins the Western Conference. The Devils’ dominance shows on the stat line, as Gadsby leads the way with a team-record 87 points, with his linemate and team captain Monciau-Desormeaux pacing the team with 38 goals and 85 points - both performances etching them in Black Devils lore and elevating their veteran status to new heights. 
    In the playoffs, however, it is the same concerning story. Vermilion handles underdog Batchawana Tornadoes, 3-2 with a complete lack of dominance, then falls to Eastern rival Wintersville Lancers 3-1, taken down by a defensive clinic and a brilliant performance by veteran star G Tobias Torres. Though winning a cup so quickly was not part of Rasputin’s plan, questions begin to be asked about the team’s inability to put together a long playoff run despite consistent domination in the regular season. Especially concerning is the performance of the team’s top line, with Gadsby, Monciau-Desormeaux, and Fogelberg a combined -16 in the 9 games. The 2nd line, led by Hauk’s 10 points, is the lone bright spot in an otherwise dismal performance.

    Despite scoring a lot of points, Rasputin’s run and gun all-out-offence routinely falls prey to disciplined and organized defensive teams playing “playoff hockey”. In the post-season debrief, Alexander acknowledges the concerns and reaffirms that, with two 1st place finishes under their belt, the Black Devils’ focus now shifts to the Golden Cup. 
     

  3. Thanks
    Kyle123 got a reaction from AlexanderRasputin in The Goderich Great Lakers Story: From Saints to Ghosts   
    -Part One-
     

    Our story begins like any other story, with an eccentric millionaire driving lazily southbound through the Canadian Shield. Kyle Diplock was heading home from his trip to British Columbia, back to his native town of Goderich, Ontario. He was nearing the town of Sault Ste Marie, around dusk, when he saw a roadside advertisement.
     
    IHL Regular Season 11: Game 30
    SAULT STE MARIE SAINTS
    VS
    NORTH SYDNEY BISONS
    10:00pm, SSM Arena, $15 a ticket
     
    “Why not?” Kyle thought to himself, “I’m getting tired of driving and a hockey game could be a great way to unwind.”
    He was wrong...
    The puck dropped with a resounding clash of sticks. The Saints won the faceoff and got off two shots on goal in the blink of an eye. The Bisons fought back with two shots of their own, but the Saints quickly countered. Caroll wrestled the puck off of an opposing winger, passed it to a streaking Larimer, who dropped it just at the tip of the circle for a blast from Laurent Villa… The noise! The crowd of five thousand exploded! The horn! An echoing boat horn, reminiscent of the giant steel tankers that float through the great lakes. The cele! Villa hammed it up for the crowd, pretending his gun was a rifle. He pointed at Kyle and shot. 
    Kyle’s ears were pulsing with more than just the vibrations of permanent hearing loss. He was hooked! Addicted! This rush was cocaine on steroids. He needed more! A minute later the Saints scored again! Thirty seconds after that, the lamp was lit once more! 
    The period would end with the Saints up 6-1 over the Bisons. This is how hockey managers are born!
     
     
    Kyle woke up in his Marriot hotel room the next morning and knew what he had to do. He remembered nothing of what happened after the game, just that he needed to go back and talk to the owner of the Saints, to try and convince them to sell him the team. After a quick bite to eat, he headed downtown. Shortly thereafter, he showed up at the front entrance to Sault Ste Marie Arena, and asked to speak to the team’s owner. The ticket-ripper replied with a quizzical look, “owner? There is no owner.” 
    “What do you mean? How can a team not have an owner? Who pays for all this?”
    The ticket ripper merely shrugged, “I dunno, go ask the janitor.”
    Waiving off any further questions from the confused millionaire, he motioned Kyle inside.
     
    The inside of the arena was dimly lit. A slight chill was in the air. Kyle shivered. Walking through the empty halls, he called out to no answer. The offices were empty and unfurnished. The concessions were empty. It seemed like no other living soul was in this building except him. It was a stark contrast to the previous night. When he had gone roughly halfway around the arena, Kyle poked his head into the forum. There in the stands, on the other side of the rink, was a scruffy-looking janitor, pushing papers.  
    “Hey!” Kyle shouted, annoyed, “why didn’t you answer when I called out!?”
    The old, scruffy-looking janitor raised his brow at the commotion, shook his head gently with a slight, playful smile, and replied earnestly, “didn’t hear ya!”
    “Didn’t hear me, my left nut!” retorted Kyle, walking over, “I’ve been shouting for the last ten minutes!”
    The old man placed his broomstick on his shoulder, spread both hands and shrugged his shoulders empathetically. “Awful sorry ‘bout that, but how can I help you?”
    “I’ve come to talk to the owner.”
    “Is that so?” the janitor pondered with a twinkle in his eye, “well, there is no owner.”
    Exacerbated at this point, Kyle started getting angry, “Now listen here! A hockey team can’t exist without an owner. Travel needs to be arranged, contracts need to be signed, players need to be man-”
    “And what would you know about all that?” the janitor interrupted.
    “What? Well, nothing to tell you the truth. I was here for the game last night, on my way home to Goderich, and I came here today to ask the owner if I could buy their tea-”
    The old man, listening to Kyle ramble on abruptly raised his hand. “Come with me,” he said, “there’s something I want to show you.”
     
     
    The pair walked back towards the offices, and Kyle noticed a room with a desk and two chairs that he swore had not been there before. The scruffy-looking janitor sat down behind the desk, opened a drawer, pulled out a large binder, and proceeded to drag a finger down a page. “Let’s see, let’s see,” he droned seriously, “oh yes, the Sault Ste Marie Saints. Originally owned by Dave Calloway, in the early days of the GPHL. They were the Joshua Tree Paladins then; a team of middling success. After six years Dave left, and I’ve been taking care of the team ever since. First we moved to Needles Road, then finally came here to Sault Ste Marie.” 
    Kyle’s eyes widened, “wait! So you are the owner?!” 
    “No no,” drawled the janitor, “I’m simply a caretaker. I just look after the teams when there’s no one to look after them.”
    “Teams?” Kyle asked, emphasizing the plural.
    “That’s right,” replied the janitor, smiling. Placing his elbows on the table, and steepling his fingers together, he asked, “now, tell me again, please. What are your plans for the Sault Ste Marie Saints?”
    “Well I…” Kyle hesitated, not really sure who he was talking to, or how to address him, “I was hoping to bring them to Goderich. The game last night enchanted me, and I want to own and run the team.”
    “Done.”
    “Done? What do you mean done?” exclaimed Kyle, astonished.
    “Exactly that,” the old janitor smiled and marked the binder, “The Sault Ste Marie Saints are yours. The coaches and scouting staff will stay on, I think you’ll find they do a good job. You need to honour the player’s contracts, but personnel changes and lineup decisions are your responsibility now. The team is heading to Barrows tomorrow to play the Beerfielders, then the players will take a charter back to Goderich, and play there from now on.”
    “W-Wait!” Kyle spluttered, “but where will they all live?”
    “You don’t need to worry about that,” the old man laughed.
    Kyle went on, “but our arena can only seat about two hundred people! It wasn’t designed for a GPHL team. We’ll need time for renovations!”
    “I think you’ll find it more than accommodating when you get home,” the janitor said, eyes laughing. “All I need from you, in return, is a credit card and a $4 monthly fee.”
    “Surely, you can’t be serious!” Kyle exclaimed.
    “I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley,” the janitor smiled.
    Kyle quickly signed over his credit card information, the two shook hands, and then they sat there awkwardly for a few moments. “There’s something I want to give you, a present, if you’d like,” the janitor said earnestly. Without waiting for an answer, he reached into another drawer and pulled out a large book, with a long title. Kyle reached for the book, spun it around and read the title aloud, “'The Game Plan Hockey Book For Managers Who Can’t Hockey Good and Who Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too,' by Rasputin, Schozen, Jono, Szabo, Csizmadia, and Zinn. Thanks!” Kyle exclaimed. “By the way, I didn’t get your na-” 
    Kyle looked up, but the seat across the desk was empty. He hadn’t heard anything. No one had gone around him. The only door was behind him. The janitor was gone. Vanished, like a ghost.
    “I just thought of a great team name,” thought Kyle.
     
  4. Like
    Kyle123 got a reaction from jdonutken in The Goderich Great Lakers Story: From Saints to Ghosts   
    -Part One-
     

    Our story begins like any other story, with an eccentric millionaire driving lazily southbound through the Canadian Shield. Kyle Diplock was heading home from his trip to British Columbia, back to his native town of Goderich, Ontario. He was nearing the town of Sault Ste Marie, around dusk, when he saw a roadside advertisement.
     
    IHL Regular Season 11: Game 30
    SAULT STE MARIE SAINTS
    VS
    NORTH SYDNEY BISONS
    10:00pm, SSM Arena, $15 a ticket
     
    “Why not?” Kyle thought to himself, “I’m getting tired of driving and a hockey game could be a great way to unwind.”
    He was wrong...
    The puck dropped with a resounding clash of sticks. The Saints won the faceoff and got off two shots on goal in the blink of an eye. The Bisons fought back with two shots of their own, but the Saints quickly countered. Caroll wrestled the puck off of an opposing winger, passed it to a streaking Larimer, who dropped it just at the tip of the circle for a blast from Laurent Villa… The noise! The crowd of five thousand exploded! The horn! An echoing boat horn, reminiscent of the giant steel tankers that float through the great lakes. The cele! Villa hammed it up for the crowd, pretending his gun was a rifle. He pointed at Kyle and shot. 
    Kyle’s ears were pulsing with more than just the vibrations of permanent hearing loss. He was hooked! Addicted! This rush was cocaine on steroids. He needed more! A minute later the Saints scored again! Thirty seconds after that, the lamp was lit once more! 
    The period would end with the Saints up 6-1 over the Bisons. This is how hockey managers are born!
     
     
    Kyle woke up in his Marriot hotel room the next morning and knew what he had to do. He remembered nothing of what happened after the game, just that he needed to go back and talk to the owner of the Saints, to try and convince them to sell him the team. After a quick bite to eat, he headed downtown. Shortly thereafter, he showed up at the front entrance to Sault Ste Marie Arena, and asked to speak to the team’s owner. The ticket-ripper replied with a quizzical look, “owner? There is no owner.” 
    “What do you mean? How can a team not have an owner? Who pays for all this?”
    The ticket ripper merely shrugged, “I dunno, go ask the janitor.”
    Waiving off any further questions from the confused millionaire, he motioned Kyle inside.
     
    The inside of the arena was dimly lit. A slight chill was in the air. Kyle shivered. Walking through the empty halls, he called out to no answer. The offices were empty and unfurnished. The concessions were empty. It seemed like no other living soul was in this building except him. It was a stark contrast to the previous night. When he had gone roughly halfway around the arena, Kyle poked his head into the forum. There in the stands, on the other side of the rink, was a scruffy-looking janitor, pushing papers.  
    “Hey!” Kyle shouted, annoyed, “why didn’t you answer when I called out!?”
    The old, scruffy-looking janitor raised his brow at the commotion, shook his head gently with a slight, playful smile, and replied earnestly, “didn’t hear ya!”
    “Didn’t hear me, my left nut!” retorted Kyle, walking over, “I’ve been shouting for the last ten minutes!”
    The old man placed his broomstick on his shoulder, spread both hands and shrugged his shoulders empathetically. “Awful sorry ‘bout that, but how can I help you?”
    “I’ve come to talk to the owner.”
    “Is that so?” the janitor pondered with a twinkle in his eye, “well, there is no owner.”
    Exacerbated at this point, Kyle started getting angry, “Now listen here! A hockey team can’t exist without an owner. Travel needs to be arranged, contracts need to be signed, players need to be man-”
    “And what would you know about all that?” the janitor interrupted.
    “What? Well, nothing to tell you the truth. I was here for the game last night, on my way home to Goderich, and I came here today to ask the owner if I could buy their tea-”
    The old man, listening to Kyle ramble on abruptly raised his hand. “Come with me,” he said, “there’s something I want to show you.”
     
     
    The pair walked back towards the offices, and Kyle noticed a room with a desk and two chairs that he swore had not been there before. The scruffy-looking janitor sat down behind the desk, opened a drawer, pulled out a large binder, and proceeded to drag a finger down a page. “Let’s see, let’s see,” he droned seriously, “oh yes, the Sault Ste Marie Saints. Originally owned by Dave Calloway, in the early days of the GPHL. They were the Joshua Tree Paladins then; a team of middling success. After six years Dave left, and I’ve been taking care of the team ever since. First we moved to Needles Road, then finally came here to Sault Ste Marie.” 
    Kyle’s eyes widened, “wait! So you are the owner?!” 
    “No no,” drawled the janitor, “I’m simply a caretaker. I just look after the teams when there’s no one to look after them.”
    “Teams?” Kyle asked, emphasizing the plural.
    “That’s right,” replied the janitor, smiling. Placing his elbows on the table, and steepling his fingers together, he asked, “now, tell me again, please. What are your plans for the Sault Ste Marie Saints?”
    “Well I…” Kyle hesitated, not really sure who he was talking to, or how to address him, “I was hoping to bring them to Goderich. The game last night enchanted me, and I want to own and run the team.”
    “Done.”
    “Done? What do you mean done?” exclaimed Kyle, astonished.
    “Exactly that,” the old janitor smiled and marked the binder, “The Sault Ste Marie Saints are yours. The coaches and scouting staff will stay on, I think you’ll find they do a good job. You need to honour the player’s contracts, but personnel changes and lineup decisions are your responsibility now. The team is heading to Barrows tomorrow to play the Beerfielders, then the players will take a charter back to Goderich, and play there from now on.”
    “W-Wait!” Kyle spluttered, “but where will they all live?”
    “You don’t need to worry about that,” the old man laughed.
    Kyle went on, “but our arena can only seat about two hundred people! It wasn’t designed for a GPHL team. We’ll need time for renovations!”
    “I think you’ll find it more than accommodating when you get home,” the janitor said, eyes laughing. “All I need from you, in return, is a credit card and a $4 monthly fee.”
    “Surely, you can’t be serious!” Kyle exclaimed.
    “I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley,” the janitor smiled.
    Kyle quickly signed over his credit card information, the two shook hands, and then they sat there awkwardly for a few moments. “There’s something I want to give you, a present, if you’d like,” the janitor said earnestly. Without waiting for an answer, he reached into another drawer and pulled out a large book, with a long title. Kyle reached for the book, spun it around and read the title aloud, “'The Game Plan Hockey Book For Managers Who Can’t Hockey Good and Who Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too,' by Rasputin, Schozen, Jono, Szabo, Csizmadia, and Zinn. Thanks!” Kyle exclaimed. “By the way, I didn’t get your na-” 
    Kyle looked up, but the seat across the desk was empty. He hadn’t heard anything. No one had gone around him. The only door was behind him. The janitor was gone. Vanished, like a ghost.
    “I just thought of a great team name,” thought Kyle.
     
  5. Like
    Kyle123 got a reaction from Chris in The Goderich Great Lakers Story: From Saints to Ghosts   
    -Part One-
     

    Our story begins like any other story, with an eccentric millionaire driving lazily southbound through the Canadian Shield. Kyle Diplock was heading home from his trip to British Columbia, back to his native town of Goderich, Ontario. He was nearing the town of Sault Ste Marie, around dusk, when he saw a roadside advertisement.
     
    IHL Regular Season 11: Game 30
    SAULT STE MARIE SAINTS
    VS
    NORTH SYDNEY BISONS
    10:00pm, SSM Arena, $15 a ticket
     
    “Why not?” Kyle thought to himself, “I’m getting tired of driving and a hockey game could be a great way to unwind.”
    He was wrong...
    The puck dropped with a resounding clash of sticks. The Saints won the faceoff and got off two shots on goal in the blink of an eye. The Bisons fought back with two shots of their own, but the Saints quickly countered. Caroll wrestled the puck off of an opposing winger, passed it to a streaking Larimer, who dropped it just at the tip of the circle for a blast from Laurent Villa… The noise! The crowd of five thousand exploded! The horn! An echoing boat horn, reminiscent of the giant steel tankers that float through the great lakes. The cele! Villa hammed it up for the crowd, pretending his gun was a rifle. He pointed at Kyle and shot. 
    Kyle’s ears were pulsing with more than just the vibrations of permanent hearing loss. He was hooked! Addicted! This rush was cocaine on steroids. He needed more! A minute later the Saints scored again! Thirty seconds after that, the lamp was lit once more! 
    The period would end with the Saints up 6-1 over the Bisons. This is how hockey managers are born!
     
     
    Kyle woke up in his Marriot hotel room the next morning and knew what he had to do. He remembered nothing of what happened after the game, just that he needed to go back and talk to the owner of the Saints, to try and convince them to sell him the team. After a quick bite to eat, he headed downtown. Shortly thereafter, he showed up at the front entrance to Sault Ste Marie Arena, and asked to speak to the team’s owner. The ticket-ripper replied with a quizzical look, “owner? There is no owner.” 
    “What do you mean? How can a team not have an owner? Who pays for all this?”
    The ticket ripper merely shrugged, “I dunno, go ask the janitor.”
    Waiving off any further questions from the confused millionaire, he motioned Kyle inside.
     
    The inside of the arena was dimly lit. A slight chill was in the air. Kyle shivered. Walking through the empty halls, he called out to no answer. The offices were empty and unfurnished. The concessions were empty. It seemed like no other living soul was in this building except him. It was a stark contrast to the previous night. When he had gone roughly halfway around the arena, Kyle poked his head into the forum. There in the stands, on the other side of the rink, was a scruffy-looking janitor, pushing papers.  
    “Hey!” Kyle shouted, annoyed, “why didn’t you answer when I called out!?”
    The old, scruffy-looking janitor raised his brow at the commotion, shook his head gently with a slight, playful smile, and replied earnestly, “didn’t hear ya!”
    “Didn’t hear me, my left nut!” retorted Kyle, walking over, “I’ve been shouting for the last ten minutes!”
    The old man placed his broomstick on his shoulder, spread both hands and shrugged his shoulders empathetically. “Awful sorry ‘bout that, but how can I help you?”
    “I’ve come to talk to the owner.”
    “Is that so?” the janitor pondered with a twinkle in his eye, “well, there is no owner.”
    Exacerbated at this point, Kyle started getting angry, “Now listen here! A hockey team can’t exist without an owner. Travel needs to be arranged, contracts need to be signed, players need to be man-”
    “And what would you know about all that?” the janitor interrupted.
    “What? Well, nothing to tell you the truth. I was here for the game last night, on my way home to Goderich, and I came here today to ask the owner if I could buy their tea-”
    The old man, listening to Kyle ramble on abruptly raised his hand. “Come with me,” he said, “there’s something I want to show you.”
     
     
    The pair walked back towards the offices, and Kyle noticed a room with a desk and two chairs that he swore had not been there before. The scruffy-looking janitor sat down behind the desk, opened a drawer, pulled out a large binder, and proceeded to drag a finger down a page. “Let’s see, let’s see,” he droned seriously, “oh yes, the Sault Ste Marie Saints. Originally owned by Dave Calloway, in the early days of the GPHL. They were the Joshua Tree Paladins then; a team of middling success. After six years Dave left, and I’ve been taking care of the team ever since. First we moved to Needles Road, then finally came here to Sault Ste Marie.” 
    Kyle’s eyes widened, “wait! So you are the owner?!” 
    “No no,” drawled the janitor, “I’m simply a caretaker. I just look after the teams when there’s no one to look after them.”
    “Teams?” Kyle asked, emphasizing the plural.
    “That’s right,” replied the janitor, smiling. Placing his elbows on the table, and steepling his fingers together, he asked, “now, tell me again, please. What are your plans for the Sault Ste Marie Saints?”
    “Well I…” Kyle hesitated, not really sure who he was talking to, or how to address him, “I was hoping to bring them to Goderich. The game last night enchanted me, and I want to own and run the team.”
    “Done.”
    “Done? What do you mean done?” exclaimed Kyle, astonished.
    “Exactly that,” the old janitor smiled and marked the binder, “The Sault Ste Marie Saints are yours. The coaches and scouting staff will stay on, I think you’ll find they do a good job. You need to honour the player’s contracts, but personnel changes and lineup decisions are your responsibility now. The team is heading to Barrows tomorrow to play the Beerfielders, then the players will take a charter back to Goderich, and play there from now on.”
    “W-Wait!” Kyle spluttered, “but where will they all live?”
    “You don’t need to worry about that,” the old man laughed.
    Kyle went on, “but our arena can only seat about two hundred people! It wasn’t designed for a GPHL team. We’ll need time for renovations!”
    “I think you’ll find it more than accommodating when you get home,” the janitor said, eyes laughing. “All I need from you, in return, is a credit card and a $4 monthly fee.”
    “Surely, you can’t be serious!” Kyle exclaimed.
    “I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley,” the janitor smiled.
    Kyle quickly signed over his credit card information, the two shook hands, and then they sat there awkwardly for a few moments. “There’s something I want to give you, a present, if you’d like,” the janitor said earnestly. Without waiting for an answer, he reached into another drawer and pulled out a large book, with a long title. Kyle reached for the book, spun it around and read the title aloud, “'The Game Plan Hockey Book For Managers Who Can’t Hockey Good and Who Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too,' by Rasputin, Schozen, Jono, Szabo, Csizmadia, and Zinn. Thanks!” Kyle exclaimed. “By the way, I didn’t get your na-” 
    Kyle looked up, but the seat across the desk was empty. He hadn’t heard anything. No one had gone around him. The only door was behind him. The janitor was gone. Vanished, like a ghost.
    “I just thought of a great team name,” thought Kyle.