Under the Bucket: Second Chances—When You Get to Giv’r Again

(Editor’s note: Welcome to Under the Bucket, where Deaner from the classic flick Fubar tackles all things NHL for VICE Sports. You can follow him on Twitter and read previous installments here.)

The Leafs traded their captain Dion Phaneuf, and even if the Senators don’t make the playoffs, you know what? I couldn’t be happier for the kid. Everyone and their grandma knew Dion wasn’t a No. 1 D-man, and it ain’t his fuckin’ fault he’s getting paid like one. Hell, if someone said, “Hey, Deaner, I know you can’t do 50 pushups but here’s $100, I just wanna see you try.” Well, fuck, I’d do as many as I could and then I’d be like, “Gimme my 100 bucks.” At least now ole Dion is playin’ in a city where people aren’t expecting him to save the team. Who the hell knows, this might be huge for him. A fresh start. A second chance.

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The NHL is filled with stories about guys getting a second chance. Like when Dino Ciccarelli busted his leg as a 17-year-old and everybody gave up on him. Buddy didn’t even get drafted! But GM Lou Nanne took a chance, and now the guy’s in the Hall of Fame. And just this season, look at Zack Kassian. He partied himself out of Vancouver, then right into a fuckin’ lamp post in Montreal, and we all thought he was done. But they gave him another chance and he’s doing alright with Edmonton. Fuckin’ good for him.

Shit, man, all this second chance shit reminds me of the time my own coach gave ME another shot. Now that’s a good fuckin’ story.

She was Thursday night in Boise, Idaho, and Mike Saganiuk (“Sagger”) was out getting the boys some beers, cuz the coaches were staying at a different hotel. Most of us were 17 years old, but Sagger was hairier than a rabbit’s ass and passed for 21 no problem. And when he showed up with 200 beers, a handle of vodka and a jug of some fuckin’ brown liquid, it was like, OK—game on.

So we’re all having a good time and then we shotgunned a few beers and suddenly Sagger went from givin’r, to out-of-control party leader. He drains one and then starts running up and down the hallway screaming at the top of his lungs, “NOISEY IN BOISE! NOISEY IN BOISE!” But that’s not enough, so he strips down fuckin’ naked, and now this ape of a kid is screaming “NOISEY IN BOISE,” and charging into doors with his fuckin’ head like some kind of bear-elk with a deathwish.

I mean, he was SCREAMING at the top of his lungs. You’d think one of us on the team would be like, “Hey, man, maybe tone it down a little.” But I was like “WHOOO, FUCKING EH SAGGER!” So now elk-bear is ramming doors with his melon and the whole team is standing in the hallway chanting “NOISEY IN BOISE! NOISEY IN BOISE!” and cheering like maniacs every time he bashed his head. Fuckin’ deadly. Now I don’t remember who put the TV in my hands, but all I know is when you toss a 1980s TV off a motel balcony, it makes one hell of a fuckin’ landing.

Of course, cue the fuckin’ cops showing up. But it wasn’t a cop car or two, like WHOOP WHOOP, “OK, guys, settle down, time to go to bed.” It was a full on fuckin’ SWAT team busting in with machine guns and riot gear and they started throwin’ us around like rag dolls into the walls and down the stairs—it was fucking sweet. So Sagger’s in handcuffs and the cops check his ID and they were like, “OH fuck, are you guys all 16?” And Sagger’s like, “Yah, except Deaner, he’s 18.” Shut up, motherfucker! But it was too late. There weren’t any coaches, so they start grilling me, but I was like “Fuck You… My name is Noisey N. Boisey.”

So they cuffed me and tossed me into the back of the car. They were fuckin’ pissed. Justice had to be served and it was gonna be served piping hot, right on top of Deaner’s ball sack. They gave me the old firehose treatment, tossed me into a cell and I crashed out on the concrete floor. Next thing I know coach is banging on the bars with his key chain. “Rise and shine Deaner, we got our first game in an hour.” He looked fuckin’ pissed. You know, he coulda benched me and Sagger. He coulda screamed at us. But he didn’t say nothing. He gave us credit. He knew we’d figured it out that we went over the line. So he put me and Sagger out there first shift. And we got the job done, we won that game, and we fuckin’ won the tourney. Probably cuz the other teams were super shitty, but whatever. We got a second chance and we made the best of it.

Sure, you can’t act like a dumbass your whole life and expect people to always take your shit and keep on smiling. But remember this—when Tyler Seguin got shipped out of Boston, it wasn’t because he was a drunk, or an asshole; it was because he was 21. The only cure for that is a swift kick and a second chance. Ask Dallas how that’s workin’ out.

And that brings me back to Dion Phaneuf. If there’s one guy in the NHL who deserves another shot, it’s him. You wanna blame someone for the Leafs being crappy, look no further than Brian Burke, Dave Nonis and Ron Wilson. But it sure as shit ain’t Dion’s fault the organization failed IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE to make the team better the past decade. He fuckin’ played more games as captain than Wendel Clark and Doug Gilmour combined, and did it during the darkest of times with class. You gotta love a guy who lists five things he remembers about the Leafs from back in the day, and four of them are about moustaches. Deadly!

To Second Chances!