BY ERIC GIACOMETTI
Damien Franolich Daily Journal
Saturday, June 30th, 11:24 pm
Are you kidding me? This is getting ri-goddamn-diculous. It’s starting to look like a morgue around here. Now I gotta deal with Pearce dragging his mangled mess of a body into my training room? What a joke. I knew nothing good would come of a trip to Canada! …Easy, Damien, this too shall pass.
Sunday, July 1st, 10:12 am
Rough night. Too much vodka and poutine. Note to self: never let Dane talk you into partying with him. Need this day to recover. Owwwwww.
Monday, July 2nd, 8:15 am
Back to the grind. Can’t wait to find out what kind of ailment has stricken our boys today. Malaria? H1N1? Somehow I’ll get tasked with fixing it either way. It’s not right, it just ain’t right.
Monday, July 2nd, 10:23 am
Well, that’s certainly a first. Just spent the last 20 minutes trying to get Thierry to come out from underneath my table. Guess the Hans finally broke it to him that we’re playing in New England on Sunday. His turf-phobia is the worst I’ve seen in years. Poor guy is still shaking. And don’t even get me started with Rafa. He straight up walked in here, told me he was hurt, and walked away. Does DP stand for “doesn’t play?” Guess I gotta think of something to tell the boss. The academy didn’t train me for this. Don’t know how much more I can take.
Monday, July 2nd 9:02 pm
Finally home. Hans has left seven messages on my voicemail begging me to get a quick fix for these clowns. The last one’s got me worried though, says he has something “special” in store for tomorrow’s training session. Told me to be ready… I need a drink.
Tuesday, July 3rd 11:31 am
So that’s what he was talking about. The Hans is running a goddamn fight club now. Set up a fight between Miller and Richards and just laughed as they nearly took each others heads off. He’s here to make my life a living hell. I’m sure of it. Watch out for the Hans, he’s a crazy son of a bitch.
Wednesday, July 4th, 12:27 pm
I should be enjoying myself. It’s Independence Day for God’s sake. But no. I’m haunted by the ever-expanding injury list. Henry’s scared of the turf, Rafa’s too good to play, Solli’s a “litt-le bit” unsure of his status, Pearce has a “soft tear” (Good one, Hans), Teemu’s prepping himself for a retirement home, and Holgersson’s just been yelling at me for the past two weeks now, and I have no idea what he’s saying. There isn’t enough knesio tape in the world to fix the problems these guys have.
Someone get me a burger.
Thursday, July 5th, 1:48 pm
I’ve become the laughing stock of the league. The other trainers are leaving me voicemails. Taunting me. Saying I couldn’t even put a band-aid on properly at this point. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I can’t hack it at this level. Things were so much easier when I was just dealing with the U-13′s. Me and Erik need to have a talk, not sure how much more I can take.
Friday, July 6th, 9:31 am
Complacency is setting in. I’ve come to the realization that my job is, in essence, a battle rooted in futility. Dr. House wouldn’t be able to keep this bunch of bastards healthy. Yeah, that’s it. It’s not my fault. They’re just brittle, weak. It’s not my fault!
Saturday, July 7th, 8:03 am
I think I’ve had one of those Peter Gibbons moments, ala Office Space. I’ve never felt so free. I can honestly say I haven’t a care in the world. I’ve locked myself in my office, not even gonna get on the team bus to Gillette. That place is cursed anyway. I can only imagine the sort of things I’ll have to deal with on Monday. Ignorance sure is bliss.
Sunday, July 8th, 2:34 pm
Whaaa? Where am I? And why is my head pounding? It’s so dark. So hot…. Oh no. Not again. The Hans did it again! That bastard! He knocked me out and shoved me in the bottom of the bus, didn’t he? I gotta get outta here. The door won’t budge! Wait a second, there’s someone else here. Is that? No. It can’t be. It… it is! Brian Nielsen! So that’s where you’ve been all this time. Well, better make the most of it.