Jay Feaster knew he should have taken Ken Hitchcock’s advice and cut out spicy foods before dinner.
Image courtesy of Dirty Dangle

In a canopt bed, covered in silks sheets, Calgary GM Jay Feaster chuckles to himself while reading Oilers fans get all wound up:

You know what? I look forward to the Battle of Alberta for the next X number of years. If the idea is, ‘Burn it to the ground,’ then Ken can find another manager to do it.

"Oh man, those dummies think they’ll just magically win a Cup after being awful for so long. Not with Tambellini driving hte short bus. Maybe if they had a Cup winning GM like me running things." 

Feaster had almost dozed off when a disembodied voice called out to him and startled him awake, knocking his tray of nachos to the ground.



“John Ferguson Junior, why do you trouble me?”

“It is required of every GM that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow executives. It is doomed to wander through the world and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared in Toronto, and turned to happiness.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I am here tonight to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate.”

“Are you kidding? Your team was filled with aging veterans all with no trade clauses, and you traded away all your draft picks, and had no prospects in your system. What can I learn from you?”

“You will be haunted by three spirits”

“Uhh, I’d rather not”

“Without their visits you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first today when the bell tolls One.”


“Couldn’t I take them all at once and have it over with, John?”

“Expect the second a few hours later, and the third in the afternoon. Look to me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!”

Jay tried to say “Humbug!” but stopped at the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or all the chicken wings he just ate, went straight to bed and fell asleep upon the instant.