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“In fact, Paxton Saul is responsible for winning the team’s first ever Stanley Cup, just this summer.”
Paxton’s smile fades a little bit.
“Oh wait, that’s not right . . .”
Dick flashes a feral grin at Paxton. “I hope Paxton’s not too delicate to handle a little friendly chirping.”
Chirping, as I have learned from my sister, is hockey trash-talk. It’s been around forever, but it’s made it into the non-hockey world thanks to a Canadian comedy series named Letterkenny. It’s an absolute art form, and it is vicious and takes no prisoners.
Paxton smiles gamely and spreads his hands out as if to say, “Bring it on.”
He shoots me a look. I shrug and flash him a huge smile.
“Paxton Saul, Paxton Saul... do they have an opening on the Rovers? My left nut dangles better than Paxton Saul. Want to see?” He pretends to unzip his pants. Dangling is when a hockey player makes a move to fake out the goalie.
The crowd howls with laughter.
“Next season, Paxton’s going to be scratched more often then a lottery ticket.” The crowd laughs louder.
I tent my fingers together and smile at Paxton. He narrows his eyes at me.
“What a coincidence that he’s zeroing in on me. It almost sounds like he came prepared.”
“What? He’s just good at improv. It’s a comedy club. What did you expect?” I flutter my lashes innocently.
Dick Oliver continues, and it’s pretty harsh. He tells Paxton he’s seen better hands on a digital clock. He asks Paxton how he eats, since he has no hands. He manages to work the term bender in; a bender is a brand-new player.
He makes a joke about the pink Stanley cup, and says, “At least that kind knows how to satisfy the ladies.”
He does an imitation of Paxton skating, making him look like a very uncoordinated six-year-old.
At that, Paxton stands up.
The crowd falls silent.
Did Dick go too far? Please tell me that Paxton isn’t about to throw down. Paxton has never been a hothead off the ice, not that I’ve seen.
And that wasn’t even Dick’s worst insult. I thought Paxton would pout and sulk, not punch somebody, or threaten to. I tense, preparing to leap to my feet if Paxton actually tries to start a fight with anyone.
Dang it. I wanted tonight to be humorous, not a public relations disaster. If Paxton gets in a fight in public, my sister’s going to murder me. She spends her life making sure that nobody, especially the Rovers, makes the Rovers look bad.
“Honestly, I think it went a little more like this,” Paxton says, and he proceeds to do a comically uncoordinated stagger, and then falls on his butt.
The crowd laughs again, but now, it’s a little more like they’re laughing with him, not at him.
Dick laughs too. I relax a little bit and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Whew!
Then he continues with his monologue, riffing off of Paxton and the entire team’s skating abilities and moving on to some jokes about me and how much money Paxton must have paid me to pretend I’m dating him.
“She’s far too good for me, I know,” Paxton admits. “Keep it down. I don’t want her to figure it out for herself.”
And now everyone’s liking Paxton, even the comic. Paxton’s being all humble, laughing at the guy’s jokes, nodding at them, agreeing with them, and when Dick started talking about me, somehow turning it around and making himself sound all humble and gracious.
How annoying.
And I have to smile and nod too, so I look like a good sport.
Dick has had enough of focusing on Paxton. He moves on to other jokes. New York City cabs, politicians, et cetera. He’s good; I’ll give him that.
