Nothing but Trouble

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Just because a man was lucky to be alive, didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

“Last night, your hockey team won the Stanley Cup without you, how do you feel about that?”

Former NHL superstar and all-around badass Mark Bressler looked beyond the bank of microphones and wall of cameras to the dozen or so reporters filling the media room inside the Key Arena. He’d played for Seattle the past eight years, been the captain for the last six years. He’d worked for most of his life to hold the Stanley Cup over his head and feel the cold silver in his hands. He’d lived and breathed hockey since he’d laced up his first pair of skates. He’d left his blood on the ice and broken more bones than he could recall. Professional hockey was all he knew. All that he was, but last night his team won without him. He’d watched from his living room as thn t„e rotten bastards skated around with his cup. How in the hell did everyone think he felt? “Of course I wish I could have been there with the boys, but I’m thrilled for them. One-hundred-percent thrilled.”

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