Ask Lee Stempniak!

Got a question? You can ask Lee Stempniak! Email your question to loserdomi@gmail.com with the subject “Ask Lee Stempniak”

(Lee Stempniak, stolen from NHL.com)

LEE STEMPNIAK: Hi folks, and welcome to “Ask Lee Stempniak.” Today I have with me two very special friendsand fellow Maple Leafs players, John Mitchell and Jamal Mayers.

JOHN MITCHELL: Where are your Hot Pockets and beer, ya cheap bastard?

JAMAL MAYERS: We were told that if we hung out with you, we’d each get 20 dollars and all the beer and HotPockets we wanted.

STEMPNIAK: (sighs) Hot Pockets are in the freezer, beer is in the fridge. Now, onto our first question (MITCHELL leaves)

MITCHELL: (from kitchen) Jamal, what kind of Hot Pockets do you want?

MAYERS: What kind does he have?

MITCHELL: He’s got all kinds.

MAYERS: Uh...just surprise me. And get me a beer while you’re there.

MITCHELL: OK! STEMPNIAK: Anyway, our first question comes to us from Heather in Spokane, Washington. She asks, “Dear Lee Stempniak, at what age did your superpower of invisibility emerge?” Well, Heather, the summer I was 12, there was some movie I really wanted to see, but my mom said was too violent. I was so mad, I ran away from home. I hitchhiked 20 miles away from home, and come suppertime, I missed my mom and the movie wasn’t so important. I got home and my mom said “Oh, you were outside?” And I said “Well, yeah, I was 20 miles away.” She said “Oh, I didn’t even notice.” I don’t know where it came from, but it just happens. (MITCHELL returns with two Hot Pockets and two beers)

MITCHELL: Here ya go, Jamal.

MAYERS: Thanks!

STEMPNIAK: Heh, what, none for me? Heh, heh.

MITCHELL: What? I only got two hands. And it’s your house, anyway.

MAYERS: Oh wow! This is some sort of white sauce and chicken thingy!

STEMPNIAK: Oh, is that a problem?

MAYERS: No, it’s really good. It’s just that I was expecting pepperoni or something like that. This is the classiest Hot Pocket I’ve ever eaten.

MITCHELL: These are like the Rolls Royce of Hot Pockets!

MAYERS: I should be wearing a tie and holding out my pinkie finger to eat this.

STEMPNIAK: So, onto our next question. Mike in New York asks “Dear Lee Stempniak, do you believe in life after love?” Well Mike, I do, but only with heavy use of Auto-Tune and vocorders.

MAYERS: Hey, I got a question for you: why is it the black guy always dies first in horror movies?

STEMPNIAK: Oh, that is a good one.

MITCHELL: Maybe it’s symbolic of the way that the old Hollywood guard pays minimal lip service to the ideas ofdiversity and multiculturalism while at the same time maintaining the status quo of the while male hegemony.

MAYERS: Wow, really?

MITCHELL: (snorts) Fuck, I don’t fuckin’ know.

STEMPNIAK: But that’s not always true. It’s not always the black guy who dies first. What about alien movies,where there’s some invasion? There’s a crash late at night and some lone security guard investigates it.

MAYERS: SO?

STEMPNIAK: So, he gets eaten before the first credits. And have you ever seen them use a black security guard?

MAYERS: Well, no. I guess you’re right.

STEMPNIAK: And it looks like that’s all the time we have for this edition of “Ask Lee Stempniak.” Thanks for watching!

MAYERS: Can we go now?

MITCHELL: Do you have our 20 dollars?

STEMPNIAK: Yes to both of those questions. (STEMPNIAK pays MITCHELL and MAYERS who each take another box of Hot Pockets from the freezer as they leave.)

STEMPNIAK: (sighs, starts petting toy cat) Well Buttons, it looks like it’s just you and me once again.

Maple Leafs Chat: Welcome to HOTlanta

***Welcome to the Toronto Maple Leafs Chat room!***
PoniRides4ABuck: Oh, hi, TomasKaberle.
DeathKabs4QT: Hi Poni.
PoniRides4ABuck: Are you sad? You seem sad.
DeathKabs4QT: I don’t know. Maybe. Pavel was here for only 3 or 4 years. Is not long at all for a team. And he was such trouble, always shedding like cat. So much hair.
PoniRides4ABuck: I know! Nik always leave room and it look like tornado hit it.
DeathKabs4QT: We’ll be fine. They have good times ahead in Atlanta.
PoniRides4ABuck: ...
DeathKabs4QT:...
***PoniRides4ABuck has started bawling his eyes out***
PoniRides4ABuck: It still stings!
***DeathKabs4QT has started bawling his eyes out***
DeathKabs4QT: I’ll still miss him!
***Grab_bag has entered the chat room***
Grab_bag: Are you both guys OK?
PoniRides4ABuck: Uh, yeah. Fine.
DeathKabs4QT: Totally not crying over departed team mates.
PoniRides4ABuck: I have allergies and a cold.
DeathKabs4QT: And I was chopping onions and then eating onions earlier.
Grab_Bag: Oh.
***Welcome to the Atlanta Thrashers chat room!***
Pavel_Road: Hello? Anyone here?
Pavel_Road: /consumes Vicodin
Kovalchuk_Norris: Are you here to kill me?
Pavel_Road: Uh...no. I don’t think so.
Kovalchuk_Norris: Well, crap--I mean, good. Are you big guy from Toronto?
Pavel_Road: Uh, yeah. But my country requires me to do this.
***Pavel_Road has kicked Kovalchuk_Norris in the shins***
Pavel_Road: Sixty-eight! Sixty-eight!
Pavel_Road: /consumes vicodin
Kovalchuk_Norris: Fair enough.
Pavel_Road: I even bring little playmate for you.
Tim_Bit: Hi! I sleep in a drawer!
***Antrobot_80000 has entered the chat room!***
Pavel_Road:...Antropov?
Antrobot_80000: HOBO GUY! And you bring snack!
Tim_bit: Please don’t eat me!
Kovalchuk_Norris: Are you going to kick my shins too?
Antrobot_80000: No, is fine. What are all these people in Thrashers jerseys?
Kovalchuk_Norris: They are Thrashers fans! Very loyal!
Pavel_Road: They look like sacks of potatos in Thrashers shirts.
Kovalchuk_Norris: Season ticket holders! Other new guy--Don’t eat them!
Antrobot_80000: Mmmm potatoes.
Pavel_Road: You should cook them first.
Antrobot_80000: Ilya, your fans need butter.

Slashfic Summer: Requiem for a Heartache

This is kind of, sorta a parody of Dream Me for a Tragedy. If you can’t access LiveJournal, it’s a slashfic starring Sidney Crosby and Jordan Staal where Staal has HIV (thanks, Wrap!) It was so over the top and melodramatic, I feltI had to do a tribute of my own.

Lee Stempniak was hungry for something mere food couldn’t provide. He and Mike Van Ryn had be only friends when they first met, but coming to Toronto had made them both realize that they had something deeper and more meaningful between them. Lee kissed Mike deeply, his hot tongue probing and pulsating with urgent need.Mike knew what they both wanted and needed, but he also knew something Lee didn’t know, Mike pushed Leeaway. “Lee, no. We can’t...” he added. “What do you mean ‘we can’t’?” asked Lee, flames of desire still burning in his eyes. “Lee”, Mike stammered, “We...”. He sighed. “I have HIV.”

The color drained from Lee’s face. “Oh.” he said. All he could say was ‘Oh.” The pair looked at each other for whatseemed like forever until they both started to cry. With the tears came Mike’s story--a drug addicted nurse injected herself and then her patients, and Mike had the awful luck of being under her care after one of his many injuries. Leestopped sobbing long enough to choke out “But...how did you get to the NHL, where guys are always getting cut andthere’s blood all over, without anyone knowing you have HIV? That doesn’t make any goddamn sense. Look, this is hard and I think I need some space to think things out. I should leave.”

Mike looked puzzled. “But Lee...isn’t this your house?” he asked

Lee sniffed and answered, “Oh, yeah. Right. Listen, not to be a total dick, but uh...”
Mike stopped him. “Yeah, I’ll get going. So...see you at practice tomorrow?” Lee nodded as Mike left.

The next day at practice, Lee felt like lead. He wondered if anyone else knew about Mike’s HIV. Surely the trainersmust know, since they would be the ones dealing with an injury. Lee’s contemplation was broken by the entrance of Matt Stajan and John Mitchell, joking around as usual.

“...so I’m like, ‘That’s what your mom said!’” laughed Matt.

“Oh man, that’s good”, giggled John “You gotta see this crazy guy I saw last night--I have his picture on my phone.”John turned on his phone and suddenly he yelled, “What the fuck? My phone fuckin’ died on me!”

“Heh, maybe it has teh AIDS”, chuckled Matt.

“Yeah, it’s got phone AIDS” sniggered John.

"You guys shouldn’t joke about that,” Lee interjected. “People die from AIDS every day and it’s not a fun death.”

“People die of cancer all the time--way more than AIDS--and that doesn’t stop Jason Blake from making cancer jokes”, returned John.

Jason turned around at the mention of his name. “That’s different”, he said. “If you make cancer jokes, you’re still an insensitive jerk. If I make cancer jokes, it’s OK because I’ve earned it.. If you survive cancer, you get to make all thecancer jokes you want. You even get a little card and everything.”

Practice went normally, with Lee dutifully fulfilling the role of teammate and player. After the skate, which CoachWilson was going over some plays, Lee realized he couldn’t keep silent anymore. “OK, so Van Ryn, you go--” Lee stood up and cut off his coach.

“And Van Ryn is a jackass!” cried Lee. “Seriously Mike, you thought you could go on forever and not tell anyone you’re sick? What the FUCK, MIKE?!”

Mike tried to defend himself : “Look, my counts are good, “I’m as healthy as I can be--”

Lee cut him off: “How could you be so STUPID, MIKE?” He continued quietly. “How could you be so selfish? All those long, late night talks about honesty and trust and you couldn’t mention ‘Oh, by the way, I have AIDS’?

“I do NOT have AIDS. I have HIV, you asshole!” yelled Mike.

“See, this is why I don’t date teammates” Matt whispered to John.
“You’re gay?” asked John.
“I’m bisexual, asshat”, snorted Matt.

Lee left the room, not caring he was still in full gear, with tears and sobs pouring out of him.

Nothing could have prepared Mike for the visit he had from Matt Stajan the next day. “Mike, “ said Matt, “I dunno how to say this, but...Lee Stempniak died last night. He accidentally fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck.But at least the docs don’t think he suffered at all. The way he landed, he was probably dead before you could say‘Deus ex machina.’”

Mike was stunned. He and Lee were supposed to separate after HIV decaying into AIDS becoming the death sentence, not through some quick and stupid accident.

“I never said I was sorry.” Mike sighed.

Slash Fic Summer Entry: Being Tomas Kaberle

First entry into the contest! I'm not revealing authors until I decide a winner, because I can and I want to be all mysterious-like.

Being Tomas Kaberle

I don't know why everybody in Toronto wants to trade me. All I've ever done is my best for this team, yet the fans care more about some random prospect who might be a good player than an All-Star who loves the city and doesn't care how much money he is making. Lately I've been really hurting inside because of this. What did I do? Whose feelings did I ever hurt? And why do so many people want to hurt mine?

I need to sort this all out, I need somebody to hold me and tell me everything will be all right. Pavel Kubina used to be my go-to guy for this sort of thing. He was always so caring. Always giving me these deep stares from across the room, like he wanted to say something deep and profound but couldn't. No words were ever needed, I just felt safe knowing his eyes were on me. But now he's gone, and I will need a new hetero soulmate if I am ever to get myself through all this pain.

Everyone always talks about what a good guy Matt Stajan is, so I thought maybe I'd ask him for some advice. I found him at the rink handing out puppies to sick kids. "Matt," I said, "what do you do when you are depressed and the whole world seems to be against you?" "Well Tomas," he said, "I just find a big, beautiful pair of eyes to stare into while I pour my heart out and have a good cry. Like when Carlo and Steener were traded, that broke my heart so much." Right then and there I wanted to tell him how beautiful his eyes were, and how I could really use a friend like him, but before I could say anything he pulled out a compact mirror, stared deeply into his own reflection and murmured softly, "Carlo ... Steener ... why?" as he started to weep uncontrollably.

At a loss for what to do, I patted him awkwardly on the head and wandered over to the exercise room to work out my frustrations. Walking in, I spotted Ron Wilson doing his morning workout routine, swinging wildly at a life-sized Howard Berger blowup doll. "Coach Wilson," I asked between haymakers, "I am depressed. Everyone wants me traded. Why?"

"Well Tomas," he said, wiping the blood from his knuckles, "when things don't go well in this town, everyone tries to place blame. Usually they pick the guy they expected to lead the team over the top. And when the team fails, the fans decide they need to go another direction. They decide that player can't help them and must be traded, no matter how talented he is or hard they tried to help the team win.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Are you saying I am that player?”

“Basically,” he said, placing a bloodied hand on my shoulder, “you've become Bryan McCabe."

"Oh," I said. All I could say was "Oh".

Has it really come to this? Am I Bryan McCabe? I wanted to tell Coach Wilson how much I missed Caber and all those nights on the town, and how much he would have loved to have coached a player with such a big heart. But before I could blurt it out, Coach Wilson cut me off. "Sorry Tomas,” he said in a dismissive tone, “I'd love to keep chatting but I've got to go bench press Simmons right now."

Reflecting on my conversation with Coach Wilson, I came to the sudden, sad realization that my time in Toronto may be done. I love this city and this team, but maybe Caber was right, maybe a fresh start isn't as a bad as it first seems. Perhaps I could even join my good friend Kyle Wellwood in Vancouver. After all, he says there is a bakery near the beach with muffins to absolutely die for. Mmm, sweet, gooey, delicious melt-in-your-mouth muffins ... I'm starting to feel better already!

Czech Mates, part 2

Czech Mates Part 1



There are still no entries in the Slash fic Summer contest, so here is Czech Mates 2 to spark your creativity. As before, this is from Pavel Kubina's perspective.

I knew my chance to reach Tomas was getting smaller all of the time. At the end of the season, I knew I would be open game to be traded, and I wouldn’t see him except as an opponent. It made me sad and nervous that I only had maybe one more chance to talk to him before it was too late.

There was a Leafs end of the season party, and so I went. I put on some of my best clothes, and I even shaved. I triedto get myself excited and pumped up for the party. I thought “Tomas will have to notice me now.” But then I feltself-doubt creeping in. I thought, “What if he doesn’t laugh at my jokes? What if he’s not interested in me like I’minterested in him? I shouldn’t even go--I’ll just look like a fool anyway. Maybe I should just stay home and watch cartoons.” I stopped and looked in the mirror. “Pavel”, I said, “you’re a handsome man, you’re fun to be around, you work hard, you’re full of energy, and you’re all around a good guy. Who wouldn’t want you as a buddy? You’re going to go to that party and have a good time!”

The party wasn’t anything special--just the guys hanging out, having some drinks, telling stories about each other,Jason Blake trying to convince the rookies to do dumb stuff. In other words, the usual. I saw Tomas all alone in a corner, like he usually was. Even in his own house with his closest friends, he was still so shy. It was something Iliked about him--he never needed to show off or impress anyone. He at least made an effort to go to things like thiseven though I could tell he’d rather not. Maybe all he needed was a little help from the right person, a very close friend, and he could be more comfortable in himself....

I tried to talk to him as something deeper than teammate and “guy I know.” I really did try so very hard. But I stumbled and stuttered and he stumbled and stammered back. We ended up trading short, pleasant bits about theparty, how the weather was finally getting better and stupid stuff like that.

I went to get another drink in hopes that when I came back I would be bolder. and still I couldn’t talk to him like I wanted. I finally excused myself for “another drink” and asked my friend Matt Stajan for advice. I didn’t know if hecould be of any help, but anything he said had to be better than listening to my inner voice calling me an idiot. I explained my situation and Matt told me, “If you really want him to notice you, just grab his ass. It’s how we roll inMississauga.”
“Oh.” I said. All I could say was “oh.” I knew I couldn’t have enough courage to be so bold with Tomas. If anything,a move like that would scare him away. I thought that maybe if I sent him an email later, explaining how I felt, maybe if I could talk with him when it was just us, he could be a little more at ease. But part of me gave up that night, simply because I could never have the courage, no matter how much I wanted it.

I tried talking to Tomas one more time, and it was still awkward and hard. The night between us ended in a long hug.I could feel that Tomas wanted something but he also didn’t have the nerve to say something. I left empty handed and heavy hearted. I kept looking over my shoulder and thinking I could go back...but I know that was just my dumb heart talking and that maybe I should listen to my head instead.

Time to Say Goodbye: Tim Stapleton

Well Timmy, I wish I could have gotten to know you better. Unfortunately, I need to follow the Marlies closer. If you had only made a bigger impact on the Leafs, or I had only followed the Marlies better, I could have something to witre about. Alas, now is not the time.

Great moments in WWoLD:
Sorry, there's nothing here.

What I learned from Tim Stapleton:
...Timbits aren't just for breakfast any more?

Time to Say Goodbye: Pavel Kubina

I’ll admit it, when Pavel Kubina first came to the Leafs, I didn’t like him one bit. He seemed over priced,underperforming and he came from the Lightning, which I had a major grudge against for some reason for a while.However, after a season or two, he grew on me. ‘Twas a sneaky growth, not unlike a hobobeard /hobmop combination. I don’t know what it was about Kubina that swayed me--maybe it was his play getting better, maybe itwas the height, the Czechness, or the hobobeard.

Maybe it was his selfless spirit, which lead him to break so many sticks so that workers in stick factories would have more secure jobs and take dumb penalties from time to time just to keep refs awake. Part of me wonders if the stick breaking and dumb penalties weren’t part of some odd mental tic of his; a fear that if he didn’t do a small bad thing, someone would leave the ice on a stretcher or something.

What I learned from Pavel Kubina:
Czechs are damn sexy. Hobobeards can only be worn by those who can handle them.

Great accomplishments in WWoLD:
Kept the backyard barbecue at McCabe’s interesting...introduced us to the plot hole device...drove a tank with strippers in it...talked about his home town (and maybe has a relative who “fails at life”)...consumed a lot of vodka and vicodin...survived a night out with Sundin, McCabe, Tucker, and Kaberle--even the lesbian Sens bar...tried to be“best buddies” with Kaberle...showed us a softer side when Kaberle got into tequila...guested on the short lived“Antro and Poni awesome Show”...gave us all really good ideas for Halloween costumes...


So Pavel, have one last palacinky at Prague Fine Food Emporium for me before you get crunk in Hotlanta.

CONTEST! and other stuff

I figured I'd tie up some things here:

First off, Since the summer is really damn boring I am having a contest! It's the first ever Loser Domi's Slash Fic Summer! So get those twisted minds a-workin' on some NHL slashfic. Here are the rules:

1: You can keep it as tame or a saucy as you like.

2: It must involve at least one person with some sort of connection to hockey. This could be a player, a broadcaster, a writer or even a blogger. Perhaps you want to write about how players "relieve stress" while on the road? Maybe Pavel Kubina and Hugh Laurie get a little saucy at the International Hobo Beard convention? OR you want to figure out what Chemmy and PPP really do on their sexy vacations together? Go for it!

3: I'm putting a limit of 1000 words maximum per story.

4: (And this is crucial) Every entry MUST contain the following phrase: "'Oh' he/she/I said. All he/she/I could say was 'Oh'".

5: Email your entries to me at loserdomi@gmail.com with either "contest" or "LD, you are soooo cool and I have daydreamed about kissing you" in the subject line.

6: I don't really have prizes, but I could send you some old textbooks I don't need anymore, or some random crap I find cleaning.


Second thing, I will be doing a "time to say goodbye" type series for the players who leave the Leafs for free agency (hobobeard... :/). Just give me a bit to work them out.