Two

After we beat Vancouver in Game Six, I go back to my hotel room and call Patty. He’s in LA, and he answers on his cell phone.

“Allo? Allo? Dis is Patrick Roy speaking,” he says. Aww…

“Halo Patty. It me here,” I say. I’m still excited from knocking the Canucks out of the playoffs. Stupid Canucks. Grrr, feel my wrath!

“Allo, Domaroni. I hear you win da big game, eh? Good job.” Heehee. I have a big grin on my face now, too bad he can’t see it.

“I have big smile now, you can’t see it though. You too far away,” I say. “I did a good job today. I is still a good goalie, even though I let in bad bad goals at end of game.”

“Yeah, dat sucked. You are a sucky goalie sometimes.”

“Owwie, Patty, you hurt me. I not love you anymore,” I say. “You are a bad bad man.”

“Dat’s too bad, I steel love you,” he says. “Always and forever…” and he starts to sing. Which is bad, because Patty couldn’t carry a tune if it had a handle and was taped to his hand.

“My loooooovvvveeee….is like an ever-flowing reeeeevvveeeerrrr….da never-ending reeeeevvveeer…dat goes from place to plaaaaaaacceee…never giving up da looooooovvveee…for I love you so so muuuuccchh,” he sings. Owwww….

“Patty, stop. My ears bleed.”

“Oh, OK. My teammates say dat to me when I sing in da showers. Dat is, when I do shower. Which is not dat often, because Footer gave da showers athlete’s foot, and I got athlete’s foot…and, um, I’ve been meaning to tell you dis…” Uh-oh.

“You give me athlete’s foot?!?” This explains why my feet have been all itchy and gross lately. And maybe why the rest of the Wings have been complaining…oh my God, what if we’ve given the entire NHL athlete’s foot? It’s an epidemic!

“It was only a small case…got cleared right up by da doctor, and he only had to remove one toe,” Patty says.

“You have to have TOE removed?” I shriek.

“Just a little one—”

“We infect whole NHL with athlete’s foot! You disgusting unclean man!” I shout. “AIEE!”

“Stop it! It wasn’t me, it was Footer! Talk to him, he’s da unclean one!” There is sudden silence.

“Dis is kind of romantic…”

“Shut up. It not.”

“Yes eet ees. You know eet ees.”

“STOP!”

There is more silence and someone is knocking at my door. Uh-oh. “Wait, Patty, I have to answer door.” I walk over. “Halo?” It is stupid Hull.

“I heard you talking about athlete’s foot through the wall. Are you OK? Who’s on the phone? Do you have athlete’s foot? Did you infect us all?” he fires off rapid-fire questions at me.

“Um. Yes, nobody, no, and no. I think.”

“You THINK?

“Stop! You bad man with barging-in tactics!” I tend to lose grasp of English when I am upset. I slam the door in Brett’s face.

“Halo Patty. I back. It was Hull wanting to know if I with athlete’s foot. I say no. But I lie.”

“So, whatever. Anyway. Dis is so romantic…”

“Shut up. Man giving his boyfriend athlete’s foot gross.”

“Eet ees not.”

“Stop.”

“Fine. Maybe I will.” More silence.

“You know I love you steel and always, Domloops? Forever.”

“Forever and ever?”

“Forever and ever AND EVER.”

“Through disgusting diseases?”

“T’rough disgusting disease.”

“I love you, Patty.”

“I love you, Dom.” We do air-kisses through the telephone lines.