Shaybu!

Sidney Crosby forced Brad Marchand toward the farmhouse and opened the door, shoving him inside, harshly.

The small Bruin winger crashed to the floor. He instantly ripped the black bag off of his head and scrambled to his feet. Sidney blocked the exit and slammed the door shut, before Brad could do anything.

The Bruin balled his fists up tightly and stood across from Sidney, ready to pounce on the Penguin for a fight.

“Chill out, Marsh! Don’t fight me just yet!”

“You’re a pathetic hockey player, Sid! Do you know who you are fucking with here? I’m Brad Marchand, the BEST PLAYER EVER!!!!”

“Oh, shut up, Little Ball of Hate!” Sidney sighed, shoving Brad backward, into the room where Patrice was being held.

Brad held his ground and recovered from Sidney’s attack. He propelled himself forward and tried to tackle Sidney, who simply stuck out his arm and halted him. Brad swung at the Penguin, who rolled his eyes.

“Don’t use up all your energy; you’ll need it, trust me! Now, why don’t you stop swinging your fists at me and hush up!” Sidney ordered.

Brad ignored him, but slowly began to tire, until he was breathing heavily, but still maintained a glare on Sidney.

“That’s better!”

“Where’s Bergy, you son of a bitch?!” Brad spat.

Sidney gestured with his hand for Brad to turn around and see for himself. Brad slowly turned around, flicking his eyes back to Sidney, just in case. His blood ran ice cold.

“Bergy!?”

Sidney rounded him and kicked Patrice in the leg, jolting him awake. Brad’s lip quivered. Patrice gazed up at his friend. Brad’s heart broke in half. Patrice looked broken. He looked weak and distant.

The man before Brad, couldn’t possibly be the Mighty Patrice Bergeron, Centre for the Boston Bruins!

“After multiple rounds of torture, I, Sidney Fucking Crosby of the Pittsburgh Penguins, finally managed to crush the tough shell of the grand centre into a million tiny fragments.”

Brad was horrified. He couldn’t move or speak. Patrice’s eyes were cloudy and water formed at the bottom of his eyelid. One of his eyes was swollen shut with a massive purple puff. He was beaten, bloody, bruised and looked like he had given up.

“Don’t….don’t hurt…..don’t hurt Marchy…..Sid…..Sidney….” Patrice croaked.

Brad blinked. His eyes were trained on his buddy, who doubled over and coughed up blood.

Sidney raised his head up and looked proudly at his work. (Who else wants to punch the livin’ daylights out of this prick, aye?) He patted Patrice on the shoulder, before he grabbed Patrice’s head, by his chin, in his fingers and forced him to look up into his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Patrice, dear, darling, I won’t lay a finger on your little pesty friend. This is all about you after all. You only care about you right?”

“Right.”

“Bergy, no, that’s not correct! You care about me and your team!”

Sidney gazed up at Brad. He squeezed Patrice’s cheeks together with his fingers, puppeting him to look back at his friend, who was in dreaded shock.

“Stop it, Sidney! Let him be!”

Sidney shook his head, while making Patrice do the same. Brad glimpsed the sight of a tear creep down his buddy’s cheek.

Brad had to do something. He had to stop this madness. He had to help his friend. He took a step forward, clenching his fist tightly. Sidney saw him.

The Penguin flicked his hand in a signal. Brad was halted, as he felt two pairs of hands grab onto his arms, holding him back.

“No, no, Marchy-Marchy. You’re not going to help him out!” Sidney taunted, releasing Patrice’s face with an extra shove. Patrice lolled his head to the side and looked down, wincing in pain.

Brad yanked at the grips, struggling to pull free. “Sidney, back off!”

“Never!” Sidney snarled, straightening back up. He put his hand on the top of Patrice’s head now and twisted his fingers in his hair, gathering the locks up in his hand. He yanked Patrice’s head up and forced him to look up, tilting his head backward.

“STOP!!” Brad commanded, ripping at the holds, fiercer now.

Sidney looked past Brad, to his two aids. “Tie him up and sit him across from his buddy. It’s time to end this!”

Brad fought with the two helpers, who pulled him backward to a chair. They forced him to sit down and then proceeded to restrain him. Brad put up a fight, but he was no match for the two bigger players. The two men moved him into place, directed by the master.

“Sidney Patrick Crosby!”

The small winger jerked at the ropes, hopefully, as Sidney and Patrice watched. Sidney sniggered, while Patrice was horrified.

“Sid, please, don’t hurt my liney!” Patrice begged, quietly.

“Is this the best you can do, Sidney?” Brad suddenly chirped. “You think that a little rope will hold me down?”

“You know, I really don’t want to hear you try and chirp your way out of this. It’s happening whether your big nose likes it or not!”

“Oh, good one!”

“Shut up! Shut him up!” Sidney wailed, hysterically, beginning to throw a temper tantrum.

Brooks Orpik stepped forward and wrapped a clean, rolled up hockey sweat towel around Brad’s head, gagging him. (You know the towels that you see in NBC close-ups, when players wipe their faces and face-guards.) Brad stifled cries of dis-satisfaction.

“That’s better!” Sidney clapped his hands together. “Shouldn’t-a opened your mouth, Marchy!”

Patrice’s face flushed paler. Poor Bergy and Marchy….

Notes

Poor Bergy and Marchy indeed...