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Le Thrill · 01-20-2024, 07:25 PM

Supah lies on his couch, nearly unconscious as his old TV plays the SHL draft. Supah wasn’t quite sober enough to remember all that happened but all he knew was his name was not said in the first 20. He had been in a constant state of drunkenness since the Citadelles elimination. Without a game of hockey to play Supah was empty and tired, his money was blown on cheap beer and microwave meals. His rickety apartment, located in the heart of Quebec City, was a wreck. His floor, covered in clothes and fast food wrappers, had small patches of clear where Supah would place his feet as he walked to his bed from his couch and vice versa. Supah, throughout all of peewee and high school never had a season end early, except when he was suspended for sucker punches and the such, and after the mountain of hope QCC had came crashing down, Supah crashed as well. His handlebar had gotten out of control and stubble formed where his mystical mustache did not cover. Supah had received a few contacts from SHL gms for some late scouting but it was clear Supah’s lackluster season wasn’t enough to catch the eyes of a lot of the higher ups.

Supah, with a loud grunt and groan, sat up on the couch, looking at the TV where the draft announcers were in the midst of a conversation during the intermission between the first and second rounds. He ran a hand through his overgrown afro, ruthlessly tearing through any cowlicks or knots that may have formed before stretching out his long limbs. Looking back at the TV, a Popeyes commercial played, being easily swayed by simple advertising tricks, Supah opened up Doordash and put in his order. Supah’s feeling of depression extended to the draft, him falling out of the first round was expected by all pundits and Supah himself but its fruition still somewhat hurt Supah’s mountainous confidence. He became overwhelmed with a scary feeling, one somewhat foreign to him, uncertainty. Supah knew he had a home in QCC but it wasn’t his way to stall out. The second round wasn’t expected to start for a while longer and the anticipation started to eat at Supah like rust slowly overtaking metal.

He walked to his window, pulling up the tattered blinds and looking down at the street. As he looked he saw two familiar faces walking side by side, Song Ju-Gong and Demir Bellona. Their fates were already decided as the two current teammates would remain teammates in the SHL, playing for Montreal. Montreal was certainly no super team but Supah did crave the ability to say he was drafted even if it was to a team that wouldn’t be competitive for a few more years. Supah sighed before closing his blinds and walking to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and felt as though he almost couldn’t recognize who he was. He grabbed a razor and shaving cream and shaved off his stubble before reaching for the trimmer to tone down his handlebar a little bit. Supah was confident enough to believe he was a rather handsome fellow so as he cleared his face up a bit of confidence returned to his bones. He flexed his arm and back showing off the fine body sculpting he had done over the past season. He then remembered who he was, Supah Dupah, he hates moaners and criers, he was not about to become one. He threw on some clothes and a coat before walking outside for the first time in a few weeks. He entered the bar next door where he had become quite the usual, he sat and ordered a few drinks. The TV had the draft where the second round was preparing to start. He then saw a nice, sleek, black car pull up right in front of his apartment. This wasn’t a neighborhood where you would be parking a nice car unless you had a good reason. Hope filled Supah’s mind, this was some hot shot GM coming in to give him a quick interview before drafting him. He walked out of the bar and up to the car before someone exited from the driver side.

“Supah?” The man asks

“Yes!” Supah had a difficult time containing his excitement, this was his moment, he felt it.

The person reached back into their car and pulled out a bag with a big ‘P’ on it. “Here is your order.” He hands the bag to Supah.

His smile fades as he looks down into the soggy bag of fried chicken and biscuits. The car drives off and Supah walks back into the bar and starts to indulge in the delicacy of Popeyes. His confidence had taken another hit and he once again had the urge to go back to his apartment and never leave until practice started back up again. He looks at the TV where the first pick of round two is announced. All that mattered to Supah in that moment was it wasn’t him. He continued to eat and watch the TV. Of course this draft was in the middle of the day and Supah was the only person drinking at that time, at least publicly that is. He took a sip of his beer before hearing the sound of the door opening, another familiar face entered, Lukas Konecny. Supah and Lukas weren’t awfully close but being rookies they did have that connection, of course the other connection being their lack of SHL team, as well as a love for alcohol.

“Far from home, eh?” Supah poses the question toward Lukas.

“Knew I’d find you here.” Lukas takes a seat at the bar leaving one empty stool between him and Supah.

The next pick is in, Supah and Lukas both look up from their drinks and turn their attention to the TV, once hearing neither of their names they both sigh and focus back on their drink. “You’d think you didn’t lead the league in shutouts, the way this is going.” Supah speaks, glancing over at Lukas.

A solemn nod and small swig is the response Supah is granted with. Both player’s attentions turn back to the TV, the third pick is announced with relief gifted to neither. At that moment Supah’s phone rings, it’s a number he does recognize, a face he’s seen in the locker room before, Rowan O'Beirne. He picks it up. His conversation is short and to the point. One question was asked to Supah before the call ended. Looking at the board, Supah notices the Pride are drafting 32. This was his chance, in his mind it was set in stone. The picks went by much faster than before, San Francisco is on the clock. They use a rather curious nickname for Supah Dupah, one he wasn’t too familiar with, ‘Carter Crutchfield.’ Of course it doesn’t take long for Supah to see that he had been passed up once again. Supah thought he knocked the short phone call out of the park but it clearly was not that way. Pick 33 comes, and pick 33 goes.

Supah once again felt the hopelessness he had felt meer hours ago on his couch in his messy, cramped apartment. His confidence was on a roller coaster and had possibly hit an all time low (Of course the all time low for Supah would be high for most humans.) He stares at the dark brown, wooden, countertop that was sticky with spilt beer. His ears perk at the sound of a trade alert but it isn’t enough for him to stop his depression filled staring contest with the mahogany. It wouldn’t be until the trade was announced that Supah’s hopes once again were lifted. The Pride were trading a 77 2nd and a 76 3rd for the 34th overall pick. He looked back up at the screen and waited for the name. Now Supah Dupah was gifted with a great name, at least he thought so, he loved the sound of it. Of course his name was supposed to be Super Duper but his mother’s thick yinzer accent caused the -ah to come into play. But no matter how much he enjoyed his name over his entire life of hearing it, it never sounded as good as when he was picked. Supah got up from his seat and raised his hands in joy before gagging a little.

“Got up too fast.” Supah smiles and goes over and gives a big hug to Lukas. Lukas froze up awkwardly, he wanted to say something but Supah had a unique ability to push boundaries, especially while drunk, one that the QCC Locker room got quite used to. Supah ran out of the bar and yelled out “Fuck yeah.”.

Supah got piss drunk, but not the sad drunk like he was getting for the last month, instead happy drunk like when QCC beat Anchorage in game 5 or when he scored his first ever goal in the J. He wasn’t first overall and he didn’t care, he wasn’t even a first rounder yet this in no way bothered Supah in the slightest. Supah called every contact in his phone to come over, most didn’t but, once again, it didn’t bother Supah, nothing could’ve in that moment.

Waking up the next morning, Supah had the hangover of all hangovers and a box full of Pride jerseys that he bought on Amazon in his drunken state last night. Supah wouldn’t play a game for the Pride this year, of course, but he couldn’t care less. When Supah was brought onto a team, that team became his life and his joy. He did the same thing with QCC and now he had two joys. He then found out Lukas went in the third round, his celebration was much more tame, in fact almost all other draftees were far more tame and mature then Supah when it came to the draft. But in the end, his immaturity and wildness were what made him who he was. It was the thing that decided if you liked or hated him, he would never hide who he was, he had no shame about it, it was just who he is…it was Supah Dupah.