A Player's Perspective: Phil Kessel

(You know, it’s been a while since I’ve done one of these—typical fanfic from a player’s perspective! The following story is rated R for scenes of Phil Kessel in compromising positions, and for an appearance by Jeff Finger.I'd also like to thank the lads at Melt Your face Off because they had a similarly themed post about Luke Schenn, even if their archives are nowhere to be found. )

 (Photo: Maple Leafs Hot Stove)

      I was kinda bummed after the season ended in Toronna. I just wanna play the best hackey I can. Ron Wilson said that if I wanted to play better hackey, I had to work on my discipline. I figure I’d have to cut back on my beer-drinking and bacon-covered-donut-eating time, but it if helps out the team, it’s worth it. I asked some of the guys for advice on how to work on discipline, and Jeff finger recommended this place to me. He made an appointment and everything, but it was kinda weird. He said I should tell them my name was “Taylor Hall” because they don’t take your real names. Even though it was weird, I took his word for it. I figure, if Jeff finger didn’t know what he was doing, he wouldn’t be making as much money as he does.

     “Taylor Hall” walked in and it didn’t look like any gym I had ever seen. It was a place where all the staff was girls! No wonder Jeff Finger recommended this place! However, all the black leather, high heeled boots and PVC didn’t really look like workout gear, but they looked real good, so I figured it was some sorta alternative workout thigny. I mean, Mike Komisarek does yoga and acupuncture, so what the hell?

     I met up with the trainer who told me to call her Mistress Leonie. She was average height with black—almost purple—hair, wearing a purple and black lace corset, a leather mini skirt and over the knee spike heel boots (I don’t know how women walk in those, but she had KILLER legs, so I’m not going to question it.) She had those old-fashioned-like librarian glasses on and carried a riding crop. She looked over the glasses and said, “Now Taylor, you are to address me ONLY as either ‘Mistress’ or ‘Ma’am ‘. I’m giving you the choice since I’m feeling very generous today. The safety word is ‘airplane.’

“Cool”, I said. “So is this like one of those boot camp things where they run you until you puke?”

“No”, Mistress Leonie replied coolly. “We just break you down until you finally feel like the lowly slug that you are. Come into my chambers, boy.”


     Her chambers were pretty weird for a personal trainer first off, it was just one room. Second, there were all these whips, things with studs and spikes, and stuff I didn’t even know what it was for on the walls. I hoped to God that these were just part of some extreme massage technique and not what I thought it was.

“Kneel on the table, boy”, Mistress Leonie ordered. I felt like I really, REALLY should obey her, so I got onto the table. Then she added “lean forward and put your hands behind your back, slug.” I did as she told me. As I felt the leather straps tighten around my ankles and wrists, I said, “Look, I’m real sarry, but I think there’s been a mistake. I didn’t come here to—"

WHACK! She slapped my face and stated, “I don’t like you talking back at me, boy.”

I was shocked, to say the least. I exclaimed, “You just slapped my face! Why did you do that?” CRACK! She whacked me across the back with her riding crop. “What did you just said to me?” she sneered. I replied, “I said, ‘You just slapped me—CRACK!—Why did you do that?’” She screamed, “Why did I do that, WHAT?”

What the hell did I do to make her so mad? I followed her orders and everything. I wasn’t the one slapping people and stuff. So, I answered her question, but she cracked me with the crop with every word I said. “I--CRACK!—said-- CRACK!—why¬—CRACK!—did—CRACK!—you—CRACK!—do—CRACK!—that— CRACK!—what—CRACK!..uh, er,…Mistress?”I flinched while I waited for her next hit. She smirked a little. “That’s better, slug’, she told me. I replied, “Uh,--MISTRESS!—I think there’s been a big misunderstanding here, and, uh…airplane. Definitely, AIRPLANE. I think my buddy Jeff Finger set me up to this. He’s the one who made the appointment and everything, so…could I just go home already?” Mistress Leone looked disappointed. “We don’t have any Jeff Fingers that we know of. It’s still $200.”

Two hundred bucks for a woman to yell at you and beat you up? What a ripoff! Goddamn Finger!