On a day that will go down in infamy and forever be known as Salt and Pepper Monday, this week fiery Vancouver Canucks coach John Tortorella was suspended 15 days by NHL brass for arguably the most exciting five minutes of Canucks hockey this season. Unfortunately the incident took place off ice and involved Tortorella losing his cool and attempting to barge his way into the Calgary Flames’ dressing room to give Calgary coach Bob Hartley a piece of his mind for sending his goon squad out on the ice at the beginning of the game and triggering a line brawl seconds after the puck dropped.
The 15-day suspension means we won’t have Tortorella’s manther-like aura vibrating behind the Canucks’ bench for six whole games. That’s at least 360 minutes we won’t be warmed by the glistening embers of his coal-black eyes as he yells profanities at the refs. His dusty stubble will become a distant memory like Zack Kassian’s hairline or David Booth’s last crossbow kill. And worst of all, no more of that rascally smile, resembling a cruel marmot ensnared in a leg-hold trap but determined to chew his way to freedom.
Truth be told, no other Canucks bench boss besides sharp-dressed, provocative gum-chewer Alain Vigneault has been as easy on the eyes as T-dawg. And frankly, assistant coaches Mike Sullivan and Glen Gulutzan, both of whom will be covering for Tortorella during the interim, don’t exactly make our goal crease slushy. We don’t even know what that means.
So what will Torts being doing on his two-week exile? Tanning his taut and limber bod in the Florida sun until it’s baked like a golden Fig Newton? Going deep into the woods of the Pacific Northwest, à la Rambo, where he mounts a campaign of retribution against his oppressors while yelling, “Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don’t turn it off! It wasn’t my war! You asked me, I didn’t ask you! And I did what I had to do to win! But somebody wouldn’t let us win!”? Or will he be working behind the scenes like a mysterious but sexy puppet master, cloaked in the darkness of night and his bespoke charcoal grey suits, tailored to the exact measurements of his compact Drakkar Noir-scented frame that refuses to quit. Deep breath. Only 13 more days to go.
