Well now that got your attention, hmm? Ok ok, so it won’t actually happen until October, when I have the ice cream dream-a-licious opportunity to chat with the Z man, courtesy of NHL Community Radio…but now that his agent has confirmed the interview is a go, it got me thinking…What would be the perfect Zetterberg Interview … ?
(start dream sequence)
Wavy swirly Wayne’s World dream sequence lines fade away to a beautiful clear Malibu day. The ocean sparkles “just a mirror for the sun”, as waves lap up against the stilted deck of Juice’s gorgeous white and tan Malibu Dream Beach House (Hey- this is my dream, I can live where I want). JuiceinLA walks out to the deck sets a tape recorder and a bucket of ice filled with Guinness and cones of Mint Chocolate Chip Ice cream under the Umbrella. She settles into a chaise lounge chair, adjusts her sunglasses and relaxes to think about what she will ask the Z-man on this bright and sunny day.
“Thunk, thunk” Juice hears something climbing up the stairway leading from the Pacific Coast Highway to her Malibu Dream Beach House ocean front deck. Eyebrow crooked to express curiosity, Juice leans forward, cranes her neck to see a young man with brown wavy hair, brown eyes, gorgeous pouty lips…wearing full on head-to-toe Red Wing Gear, Bauer skates, with a beach ball and hockey stick tucked under his arm. The Conn Smythe Trophy perched on his head, Hank Zetterberg is slowly trudging up the wooden staircase.
“What on earth??” Juice gasps as she jumps up, slips her flip flops on and tries to help, taking his stick out of his hands.
He sheepishly smiles, makes his way to the table, sets the Conn Smythe Trophy down. He sits, trying to make himself comfortable in the lounge chair with all that equipment on. Looking a little like Randy from the Christmas Story (you know, a stuffed tick). Eventually Juice breaks the ice:
“Well hello there handsome!”
“god dag wow california är skön” He responds, Juice smiles. She has no idea what he said, but she doesn’t care.
“Sorry, no dog. I have a couple of cats….” Hank looks confused. Juice continues as oblivious as Jessica Simpson at sea world,
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable without all that equipment on?”
Zetterberg looks amused and Juice snaps out of her blonde moment, has the grace to blush and correct herself,
“What I mean to say is…there are jeans, swim trunks and flip flops in the cabana, just off the side of the house to the left…”
Zetterberg starts to speak, “No, its fine, with the season coming up I have to start mentally preparing….” His sentence trails off…he’s sweating profusely and has already eaten two ice cream cones…
“Well, maybe would be gud idea…” and he lumbers off to the beach cabana. Juice bites her wrist to keep from screeching, dances around a bit, realizes no one can see her and tries to pick up the Conn Smythe and put it on her head.
“Owwww!!!” its heavy and pointy- what kind of crazy person wears it on his head???? She quickly sets it down, pulls her cell out of her dress pocket ...
…to text her NHLConnect BFF in Detroit: JleWings.
“OMG Jle!!!!!!!!!!!! He is so hot, you can’t believe it! I will get you pics, I swears! Is there anything you want me to ask him, say for his phone number, whether he and emma have one of those “open” euro-stylee relationships, anything, anything????”
Jle texts back immediately “Aww, thanks Juice, I got all the man I need, but promise me this- Don’t have too much fun.”
“No worries Jle” Juice texts “I’ll always be your ‘Wing’ man…er, wing-grrrll. This boy is soooo dreamy, you know how to pick ‘em…”
“Of course I do my dear... But snap out of it, Juice!” Jle texts “You have an interview to conduct!”
Zetterberg then emerges from cabana in jeans and T-shirt.
“mycket bättre tack själv!”
“Huh?” Poor Juice, she looks like a confused golden retriever.
“Sorry. Still rusty from my summer spent is Sweden. I said, “Much better thanks.”
“Anytime” Juice purrs, bats her eyelashes.
“So, Hank- can I call you Hank?” Juice begins as they settled into the lounge chairs. Not waiting for an answer, Juice passes Hank a Guinness, and asks:
“Do you like Guinness? If not I have more Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream AND Irish Car Bombs.”
Hank chuckles, takes the beer, toasts: “Skal”
“Salut” Juice answers. Takes a sip then says:
“OK. Down to business. Hank. Can I call you Hank?”
Hank chuckles, “You already asked me that, ha ha. Is that the only question you have for me?”
Juice giggles thinks to herself: “Get it together girl, you don’t even have a huge crush on this one, its not like your sitting here sipping Vodka and snacking on blini with Larionov….” Juice’s mind drifts off thinking about Igor Larionov…
“Tell Me Hank, What was it like to play with Igor Larionov?”
Hank laughs, takes a sip of beer “Was amazing! I’m very lucky to play with some greatest players of all time, Igor, Nic, Stevie, Ozzie, Cheli.”
“I know, totally!” Juice gushes, “And you and Dats, right up there with them! Spending your first few years in the NHL with such amazing role models. What about what Gretzky said about you last year after you played phoenix?…You know, that you are the most underrated player in the league…Wowza.”
“Yes I am very lucky. Thanks” Hank says with a sheepish grin, looks embarrassed. Then he says: “You know, Chelios has house right down street, we should call heem, invite him over for Irish Car Bombs.”
Hank texts Chelios while Juice continues to daydream about Igor Larionov ….JLEWings appears in daydream and says: “Snap out of it Juice!!!!!” Hank politely clears his throat, Juice shakes her head like a cartoon character,
“Ok Hank, Back to business! Inquiring NHL Connect Minds want to know. What is your favorite Ice Cream Flavor?”
“Huh?” he looks surprised “I am not sure, maybe “Oreo Blizzard???”
“The Sporting News reported that you like Mint Chocolate Chip.” Juice pushes for the big scoop with journalistic integrity and grit…
“Well,” Hank tries to hedge. “Mint Chocolate Chip is ok too.”
“What about STRAW-berry?” The tension on the deck is palpable. She looks him straight in the eye, waiting…
“Ya sure, strawberry is gud too.” Hank is so nervous he slips into a thick Swedish accent. Juice knows she has him on the boards. She goes for the high stick, leaning forward, tape recorder in hand holding it closer to Hank’s lips.
“What is your favorite beer?”
Hank looks around nervously, shifts in his seat, glances at the bucket of cold ones and like the Brilliant Conn Smythe Winning Stanley Cup Champion he is, figures out where this is going…
“Guinness! Is Breakfast of Champions, the beer that eats like a meal!” He says with relish.
Juice grins, leans back in her chair, imperceptibly nodding as she realizes she has met her match. There will be no Baba Wawa waterworks today for this wannabe NHL Reporter/Journalist.
But wait! She has one more trick up her sleeve:
“Alright Zamboni-maroni, I see how you roll, time to drop the gloves.” She leans in again.
“Better to chug: Milk, Maple Syrup, Hot Fudge or Ketchup?” She crooks her eyebrow like a deranged Easter bunny, she KNOWS she has him on this one…
Hank waivers, looks around, then at his feet, finally he stares her in the eye for at least 4-5 seconds, and says:
“Maple Syrup, is all in the lips.”
“Indeed it is Hank. Indeed it is” Juice almost forgets her promise to JLE. In the “nic” of time, luckily she remembers the fact that she, Juice, who is now referring to herself in the third person, is always, 99 and 44/100th % all about business, all day every day. She clears her throat and brings it around for the pièce de resistance:
“One last question. What... is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?
Hank grins, swigs his beer and without skipping a beat, answers: “What do you mean? An African or European swallow?”
“Touché my fine Swedish meatball, touché!” Juice laughs and clicks her tape recorder off. Next thing Juice knows, Chris Chelios, Samuel L. Jackson and Dr. Cox from Scrubs all arrive with more Guinness and Ice Cream, and the group begins to party on the ocean front deck of Juice’s Malibu Dream Beach House when someone says in a thick horrible, fake German accent:
“Gud. Now is time on Sprockets when we Dance.”
Suddenly all the boys are sporting slicked back hair, wearing black bodysuits (except Samuel L. Jackson who is WAY TOO COOL to wear a black body suit, ever.), drinking the Guinness, eating Ice Cream and saying:
“Touch the Monkey, Love the Monkey” and “INGLEWOOD JACK” entirely too enthusiastically.
The beer flows, the ice cream melts and pretty soon everyone is trying the Conn Smythe Trophy on as a party hat. Did you know it takes just 6-7 Guinness before it is no longer uncomfortable to wear the Conn Smythe Trophy as a party favor? That’s a truthie-ism.
Beers dwindling, darkness ensuing, the party seems to die down, as Cheli, Samuel L. Jackson and Dr. Cox all start to giggle and whisper and then abruptly make their way out, barely saying goodbye. Juice and Hank realize no good can come of being left alone on the deck with a pint of ice cream and a six pack of Guinness
“Dang it”, Juice thinks to herself, “Why am I so loyal to my friend?????!!!!! I am -as Dr. Cox might say – a Lah-hooo-sser!!!!!!!”
So Hank gathers up all his gear as the Lincoln town car limo arrives to sweep him away to the airport. Suddenly Juice realizes she hasn’t asked him the most important question of all…
“Hank wait!” Juice panics.
“Yes”, he says and crooks any eyebrow, with a look that says “I knew it” as he smiles and whispers victoriously aside to himself: “Detroit puck bunnies, they cannot resist the Swedish meatballs and the Red Wing charm.”
Juice giggles and blushes. “Well Hank that is true, but I promised my friend that I’d behave…”
Hank pouts. “Well, what is it then?”
“I was just wondering,” Juice asks,
“Do the Snozzberries really taste like Snozzberries?”
Henrik Zetterberg laughs, kissed Juice’s cheek, and says
“You’ll have to ask me that when you really interview me in October.”
Juice swoons like Marcia Brady over Davy Jones. Just then, two men in ridiculous moustaches, aviator sunglasses, dollar bill bandana head bands and cut off jean jackets run up. One tosses Juice over his shoulder, the other pushes Zetterberg into the back of the limo. Juice and her captor are crammed into the car, and she is tossed unceremoniously on the seat next to Zetter. The doors are pulled closed and the limo screeches away from Juice’s Dream Beach House onto Pacific Coast Highway. Juice tries not to inappropriately grope Zetterberg as she rights herself (yea, sure she did….). When she sits up, she sees Dr. Cox and Samuel L. Jackson pulling fake moustaches and sunglasses off. The Driver turns his head, takes his sunglasses off, its Chris Chelios. And as the limo barrels south on Highway One to parts unknown, Cheli says to Juice and Z:
“You kids like Meeexx-eee-cooo???????”
Stay tuned.
Originally posted on Thursday August 21, 2008 @ 10:05 AM EDT at http://fans.nhl.com/members/JuiceinLA/blogs/19658
Copyright 2008-2009. All Rights Reserved. No use or reproduction without the express written permission of the author.
Copyright 2008-2009. All Rights Reserved. No use or reproduction without the express written permission of the author.
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