(**editor's note: This story is completely false, and did not actually happen. The statistics, however, are mostly true.)
The concession stand was on his right, and the workers there looked up and smiled at him when he passed. They were getting ready for the opening day game which would take place tomorrow. Everyone was busy preparing for opening day, because at "The Pond," as the arena was warmly referred to, opening day was very hard work. The technicians had to get the score board working, there were extra security guards at the entrances to make sure no one entered early, and then there were the people who had to clean all of the 30,000 seats there were at "The Pond."
The glass that shielded the players from the fans had been a problem for the Ducks. Each section of the glass was connected by five pieces of metal, and if the puck bounced off one of the pieces, it would take a weird hop, and no one really knew which way it would go. In a game last year, it took a very unusual hop and it landed right into Guy Hebert's net, which won the game for the Philadelphia Flyers in triple overtime.
Paul walked along a hallway that was covered with framed pictures of past Mighty Duck greats. There weren't very many since this was only the Ducks' second year in existence. There were basically the pictures of last year's team on the wall.
"My picture will be up there soon," Paul whispered to himself.
He was looking for the entrance to the Ducks' dressing room, but was having trouble finding it. As he approached the end of the hall, he saw a security guard sleeping in a chair.
"Excuse me, but do you know where the entrance to the Mighty Ducks' dressing room is?" Paul fiddled around with his V.I.P tag. The guard didn't move. "Excuse me?" Paul tapped the guard on the shoulder. "Do you know where the entrance to the Mighty Ducks' dressing room is?"
Paul was always the shy, quiet, not very outspoken guy, who even had trouble asking his teachers if he could go to the washroom in grade school. Even when he was in university, he was never the one to speak out. He took his hockey seriously, and didn't think hockey should be all fun and games. It should be work first, and then fun, not the other way around.
The security guard looked up at him from his chair, yawned sleepily, and nodded his head towards a blue door to his left. Paul smiled at him, not bothering to say "thank you," because the guard had already fallen asleep. He quickened his stride towards the blue door. There was a white sign taped onto the door that read, "No admittance! Mighty Duck players and officials ONLY!"
"Hey you!" the grunting security guard yelled, suddenly waking up, and nearly toppling over in his chair. Several people stopped and stared at him. "You, with the black Easton bag. Come over here!" he bellowed.
Embarrassed, and red in the face, Paul stopped and looked around. Noticing that he was the only one around carrying a black Easton bag, he pointed to his chest, and mouthed the word, "me?" The security guard nodded.
"Yeah?" Paul slung his bag up onto his other shoulder.
"That room is for Anaheim players and officials only! You can't go in there unless you're one of them." The security guard looked Paul up and down skeptically.
"I know." Paul smiled and showed his V.I.P tag to the security guard. The guard nodded his head, and quickly apologized. Paul waved a good-bye, and headed back towards the door.
Just a few years ago, Paul had been 17, and one of the bright young stars of the British Columbia Major Junior Hockey League. Playing for the Penticton Panthers, Paul had been sensational, averaging more than 3 points a game. A gentleman on the ice, he never got into fights, and rarely got more than 15 penalty minutes a season. But despite his gentlemanly play, he had always been the best in every league he had played in. Even in the NCAA, playing for the University of Maine, he had become the first freshman to ever win the Hobey Baker award, which is given out to one player each year who had excelled in the hockey league. Making it to the NHL had been a lifelong dream for Paul, and now it was coming true. Of course, he had to postpone his education at the University of Maine, but it was all worth it.
Now Paul had rightfully earned a spot on the new expansion team, the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim, and the media was buzzing about him because his playing style almost mimicked that of a younger Wayne Gretzky. They were saying that this new sensation, Paul Kariya was a can't miss rookie phenom that would take the place of the aging Wayne Gretzky and Mario Lemieux when they retired. This 19 year old named Paul Kariya would become the NHL's next ambassador.
When Paul entered the locker room, he gasped. It was amazing. It was nothing like it was over in Penticton. He hadn't spent any time in the Ducks' farm system before, so this was all new to him. He had been drafted fourth overall in the 1993 NHL entry draft, and after deciding to take a year off to play with the Maine Black Bears, and to help Canada to a silver medal in the 1994 Winter Olympics, he headed straight to Anaheim. In Penticton, he had traveled around in cramped little buses, got $10 a day for meal money, and had no privacy whatsoever.
The Mighty Ducks' locker room was much different though. The room was all white with the exception of 2 small green and purple stripes running all the way around the wall. There were old sticks and padding everywhere. There was also an orange Gatorade bottle sitting on a table in the middle of the room. Paul walked along the side of the wall which had open lockers all around it. Each locker had a name plate to identify who's locker was who's. He read each plate out loud, trying to find his own locker.
"Steve Rucchin...Brian Bellows...Guy Hebert...Mikhail Shtalenkov...David Karpa. Oh, there's my locker!" Paul walked across the room to his locker.
All of a sudden, a large pair of hands grabbed Paul by the shoulders.
"Get outta my way, kid." A very large man who smelled faintly of Old Spice and sweat sat down beside Paul. The name plate on his locker read, "Jari Kurri." Paul thought about that name for a while, knowing that he had heard it somewhere before.
Then it all came back to him. The Jari Kurri? The actual Jari Kurri who already had five Stanley Cup rings to his name? The future Hall of Famer? Paul was definitely impressed.
"Hi, my name is, Paul Kariya, I'm the new leftwinger," Paul said bravely as he put a wide grin on his face, and stuck out his hand for Jari to shake. Jari turned around slowly, and looked Paul up and down. He picked up a roll of tape, and started taping up his stick.
"You're a puny one, aren't ya?" Jari squeezed Paul's arm muscle like fathers do to their sons, when their son is comparing muscle build. Paul was insulted. He was 5'10, and 157 pounds. Yes, he was small, but he couldn't help it. He would have to make it up with his speed and intelligence. It wasn't going to be easy, but he thought he could do it.
"Haven't you heard the expression, good things come in small packages?" Paul smiled. Jari just grunted.
"So you're the new 19 year old phenom the media has been buzzing about, eh? Well, let me tell you something. You need size in this league. The players are slowly getting faster, bigger, harder, stronger. You won't survive!" Jari said sternly, then almost pleadingly. Paul's smile faded, and he looked rather scared.
Jari turned and walked over to the entrance to the warm-up area and disappeared. On his way out, he grabbed three more sticks and his helmet.
Paul breathed a sigh of relief, and started to put on his equipment. He took a Mighty Duck "home" jersey off of the rack. He thought the jersey was rather large, but decided that that's how all the pros wore them. He checked the tag on the jersey, and sure enough, it was an extra large, not what he had ordered. He had requested a medium sized jersey on his registration sheet. He shrugged his shoulders, and slipped on the jersey anyways.
"Well, time to go show them my stuff," Paul whispered to himself. He walked towards the door to the warm-up area, and walked down the hall towards the ice. Arrowhead Arena was amazing. It was very big, and very very nice. And it should be nice, since it did cost $100 million to build.
"...And here's our newest star, Paul Kariya, from North Vancouver, British Columbia," a voice from behind boomed. Paul turned around slowly and came face to face with the head coach and General Manager of the Mighty Ducks, Ron Wilson, and Jack Ferreria.
"Hi, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Ferreria." Paul smiled as he shook hands with Ron Wilson, and then Jack Ferreria.
"Please, call me Ron. Since this is your first day here, I want you to get a real feel for the ice by taking some shots on Guy Hebert, our number one goalie over there," Ron explained as he pointed towards one end of the ice. All of the players had gathered in a straight line at center ice, and were taking turns shooting on Guy. "Guy?! C'mon over here!" Ron beckoned.
"Yes, Ron?" Guy skated out of the goalie's crease, and came skating up to them, making a perfect stop just short of Paul's skates. Mikhail Shtalenkov, the Ducks' backup goalie took Guy's place in net.
"I want Paul here to take some shots on you down at the other end. This is Paul's first day here, and I want him to take some shots on a real veteran." Ron smiled as he patted Guy on the goalie's helmet.
"Sure Ron. Wait. Kariya? As in little Paul from North Vancouver? My God, I've watched you play for the Penticton Panthers. You're simply incredible! you've got a lot of speed, and if you could work on your shooting accuracy a bit more, you'd be deadly!" Guy exclaimed as he playfully nudged Paul in the ribs.
"Thanks! That means a lot coming from a great goalie like you." Paul blushed, biting back a proud smile. "But I'm not little," he whispered to himself.
Guy motioned for Paul to grab his stick, and he led Paul down towards the other end of the ice. At the opposite end, the rest of the team was getting a lesson in hitting from Todd Ewen, the Ducks' main enforcer.
Paul skated towards the middle of the rink as Guy took his place in net. He banged the metal poles of the net with his stick for good luck, and got into his ready position. "C'mon, let's see that slapshot of yours!" Guy taunted playfully.
Paul skated around the puck a few times, and then pushed the puck forward with his stick a little. He backed up, and skated at full speed towards the puck. When Paul was 15 meters from the net, he wound up, fired, and shot a bullet five-hole on Guy. Guy, who was stunned on the play, fell over backwards, taking the net down with him.
When Guy finally got up, he looked baffled. "Wow, you sure have an amazing shot! That might be one of the hardest slap shots I've ever seen! And that speed you have coming down the ice..." Guy shook his head, and headed back towards the Anaheim bench.
"Wait! Where are you going? I've only taken one shot!" Paul complained. He was definitely feeling at home, and if the rest of his new teammates were as nice as Guy, he figured he'd fit right in.
"Man, you shook me up so much I gotta go take a leak!" Guy laughed. "Go down to the other end, and take a few shots on Mikhail. I'm sure he's thoroughly enjoying Todd Ewen's talk on how to pummel people into the goalie," he said sarcastically.
Paul skated slowly towards the other end of the ice. Todd Ewen was the first one to spot him. "Hey you!" he yelled. Paul looked up. "You! Number 9! What's your name?" All of the players turned and stared at Paul.
Paul looked hilarious. His jersey was two sizes too large for him, so it came down to his knees. His socks were huge, so he had to fold them over a few times. And his extra large shoulder pads made him look even more ridiculous. A few players had to hold back giggles as they took in the sight.
"Is this supposed to be the new dynamic leftwinger?" Brian Bellows whispered to David Karpa. "He's nothing but a kid!"
"No kidding! He looks like my 15 year old brother!"
"Is this supposed to be a joke?" Steve Rucchin said a bit too loudly. "What day is it? Is it April 1st yet?"
"Me? My name's Paul Kariya," Paul said timidly. He had overheard the comment made by everyone, and he was hurt that his new teammates would say such things about him, but he decided not to say anything in return.
"Mine's Ewen. Todd Ewen. I'm the enforcer on this team. You get outta line, you deal with me!" Todd smiled, and flexed his muscles underneath his equipment. Everyone laughed, but Paul just stared and started backing away towards Mikhail.
Mikhail, sensing Paul needed some support, skated up to him and laughed. "Oh, don't worry about Todd. He likes to think he's the big man of the team, but we all know I'm the toughest cowboy around these parts," Mikhail whispered to him in a thick Russian accent. "Have you ever seen the movie, 'The Wizard of Oz?'"
"Can't say that I have," Paul admitted.
"Have you read the book?" Mikhail pressed on.
"There's a book?" Paul asked, astonished.
"It's a classic!" Mikhail exclaimed. "Anyways, Todd Ewen is sort of like the cowardly lion in that movie. Deep down inside little Toddy-Poo a scared little baby boy. Waiting. Crying for his dear little mommy." Mikhail winked at Paul. Paul, relieved, just laughed.
"Hey!" Todd exclaimed. "I resent that. My mom's not little!" Todd came charging up to Mikhail, and gently prodded him in the chest protector with his stick.
Paul knew all about Mikhail Shtalenkov. He knew that they had a lot in common. They were both very shy, and not very outspoken. He knew that they would become great friends.
Guy, who had just come back from the washroom, was watching this whole thing from the player's bench. "No rough stuff there, Ewen! Don't take your anger out on our poor, sweet, innocent Mikhail!" he laughed.
"Poor sweet and innocent my foot!" Todd cried. "We all know that under that shy exterior, Mikhail is a rebel. He's baaaaaad to the bone!"
"Whatever you say Todd!" Mikhail hollered. Turning his attention back to Paul, he chucked. "See what you've gotten yourself into? Now, are you going to show me that awesome slapshot of yours?"
"Sure thing!" Paul skated around the puck a few times at center ice, and started off at full speed. He charged down the middle of the ice, faking left, then faking right, then left again, banging the puck up into the top right hand corner of the net, leaving Mikhail sprawling on his back, struggling to get up.
Mikhail stood up, took his mask off, and had an astonished look on his face. He skated towards Paul, and patted him on the shoulder. "Nice shot! You're going to go a long way with that shot. You've got the speed too." He shook his head in amusement, put his mask back on, and skated back towards the net.
By now, all of the Mighty Ducks, including Todd Ewen had stopped what they were doing, and were watching Paul take shot after shot after shot on Mikhail.
Ron Wilson, who had been watching the whole thing, went over to Paul, and shook his hand. "You've given me good reason to sign you, Kariya. Keep up the good work, you're doing great! You've done enough for today. Hit the showers, and I'll see you tomorrow at your first NHL game!"
"Thanks!" Paul blushed. As he turned away, he heard Ron Wilson lecture the rest of the players on how to shoot properly as well as accurately.
"Great shot there, Paul!" Todd Ewen called out as Paul stepped off the ice.
"Thanks," Paul exclaimed, and headed back towards the Ducks' locker room. He grabbed a Gatorade bottle from the Ducks' bench on his way. But when he got into the Ducks' locker room, he stepped in a big wad of gum with his skate. He looked around, embarrassed, to see if anyone had seen him. The only one that had seen him was Jari Kurri, who was leaning up against the wall, chuckling to himself.
"Damn!" Paul cursed and he tried not to look at Jari. He put his full attention on scraping the gum off of his skate blade with his Gatorade bottle, but his skate kept cutting into the plastic of the bottle.
"Try this, Kariya." Jari Kurri jogged over to a small cardboard box, and produced a rag. He tossed it to Paul. "It'll work better. Heard you've got quite the shot there...for a little guy," Jari joked. "I used to have a shot like that. Not anymore, though. I'm well passed my prime. But not you. You're just a baby."
"Yeah? Thanks." Paul gently pulled the gum off of his skate with the rag. "I think!" When he finally got it off, he threw the piece of gum, and the rag into the garbage, and he headed towards his locker to get changed.
"Well, see ya tomorrow, Kariya. Hey, you're okay, man!" Jari smiled, and headed back towards the ice.
Paul threw his Mighty Duck jersey into the laundry basket, and put on his old, worn out "100% Canadian" t-shirt. He grabbed his bag and jacket, and headed out of the door.
The grunting guard was still there, and when Paul walked passed, he yawned, and tipped his blue cap to him.
Three little boys, around the ages of nine or ten, came up to Paul, and asked him to sign their "Paul Kariya Rookie Card." Paul was flattered as he took their cards and pen, and signed them with earnest. They smiled and thanked him, as they scurried off to their mothers standing a few meters to the side. Paul smiled and nodded to them as he walked pass.
There were still people working at the concession stands, but they had finished with the popcorn, and they were now busy putting hot-dogs on the grill, and pouring beer into the dispenser. They didn't have time to look up as Paul passed.
