Bill "call me Barry" Zito, now dressed in a bathrobe and with dark sunglasses, appears on screen.
"Hi again, losers. I can almost hear the murmurs of panic and false hope as you grab your pawns with your jealously-guarded draft picks. How cute! You only WISH you could achieve my status as GM of the reigning Stanley Cup champs! Here's a hint to lower your cholesterol count: 9 of the 10 prospects you are praying fall to you won't even sniff the AHL and you aren't Nostradamus. But then again, your NHL roster doesn't measure up to the Panthers, so you have to hope the dumbass sitting alone in Junior B game stands trying not to look, err, suspicious can actually spot talent that will survive puberty.
"Okayyy, time to get our pick over with. I invited Brad Marchand -- who we picked up with the 32nd overall pick; heavens! what will we do??? -- to come and help me out. Close your eyes and pick out a paper from your favourite champagne mug, would you, Brad?"
"Sure thing, Barry ... I mean, Bill."
Marchand reaches in and pulls out a piece of paper.
"Who's the add-in to a future brilliant trade for a key piece in our next Stanley Cup win, Brad?"
"
Roman Bausov. It says he's a defenseman from Russia."
"How big is he?"
"Six-five."
"Hey, that's what? Twice you?" Matthew Tkachuk yells from the pool.
"Yeah? Or your dad's waist size."
"Or the Kleenex for your nose!"
Marchand picks up the pool skimmer and throws it at Tkachuk.
"Hmm, looks like some team bonding. Better let you all go," Zito says as Marchand and Tkachuk try to drown each other.
Philadelphia (
@scumpup ) is up.