A Day in the Life of Phil Pritchard, Guardian of the Stanley Cup
8:00 a.m. – Good god, where’s Stanley?
8:01 a.m. – Oh, there he is.
8:05 a.m. – I can’t believe they make me wear the stupid white cotton gloves every time I touch the damn thing.
8:07 a.m. – I know he’s “The Great One,” but would it kill Gretzky to pick up the bar tab once in a while?
8:10 a.m. – Hello, front desk? Do you have Prince Albert in a can? (hehehe)
8:11 a.m. – I didn’t realize you knew what room I was calling from. I’m sorry.
8:20 a.m. – Shampoo is better, I go on first and … oh, I’ll never get this Sandler impression down.
8:35 a.m. – Is there something I’m not getting about the guy who plays Stifler?
8:47 a.m. – O.K., time for breakfast.
8:49 a.m. – Waitress, can I get … This? No, this isn’t the Stanley Cup. It’s my wife. Say hello, honey.
9:00 a.m. – I wonder if Kournikova would be naked if I showed up at Federov’s now.
9:02 a.m. – Driver, can we go to Feder … nah, forget it.
9:27 a.m. – Hello, class. My name is Phil. No. That’s no good. Come on, Phil. Sell it. Sell it!
9:40 a.m. – All right, Stanley. Time to shine.
9:41 a.m. – Hello, class. My name is Phil. Hello, class. My name is Phil.
9:43 a.m. – Hello, class. My mame, er, name … dammit, Phil, you’ve lost them.
9:49 a.m. – O.K., I have to wear white cotton gloves to touch the thing, but this kid who just had his finger so far up his nose he was scratching his brain, he can touch it no problem.
12:04 p.m. – O.K., Stanley, what do you want for lunch? O.K., not El Pollo Loco again. We’ve had that for the last 5 days.
12:10 p.m. – Yes, can I have two chicken burritos and a … This? No, this isn’t the Stanley Cup. It’s the magic goblet from which I drink my Diet Pepsi.
12:24 p.m. – Stanley, if you cut another fart and don’t own up to it, we’re never eating Mexican again.
4:01 p.m. – I swear to god, if Pete Rose calls me again asking about how the hockey odds work, I’ll kill him.
4:15 p.m. – Hey, Stanley, who would you rather nail, Jennifer Connolly or Jennifer Aniston?
4:21 p.m. – Oh my god. There’s Brett Hull in that car next to us. I should moon him.
4:22 p.m. – Driver, could you slow down for minute?
4:23 p.m. – Hey, Hull, Cup THIS! hahahahahahaha
4:24 p.m. – Eh
10:09 p.m. – All right, I guess we have to go to the Playboy Mansion … again.
10:30 p.m. – Why do you think Hef wears that robe all of the time?
10:32 p.m. – Can I call you Hef?
10:33 p.m. – Sorry, Mr. Hefner.
10:40 p.m. – I wish I didn’t still live in Mom’s basement.
10:46 p.m. – I wonder if I can get two of the bunnies to make out with the cup between them.
10:47 p.m. – That wasn’t so hard. The guys in my hockey fantasy league are never going to believe this. This is going right up on my Web site: http://jiggacheese.com
10:56 p.m. – Oh, God. There’s N.H.L. Players Association president Bob Goodenow. Pretend you don’t see him. Pretend you don’t see him.
10:58 p.m. – That was close.
11:01 p.m. – Hi, Bob. How’s everything?
11:10 p.m. – God, this guy can talk.
11:12 p.m. – If I zone his voice out, his lips look like they keep saying “Watermelon”
11:14 p.m. – Watermelonwatermelonwatermelonwatermelon
11:19 p.m. – Yes, it was good to see you too, Bob. That’s a nice suit … FOR ME TO POOP ON!
11:20 p.m. – I can’t believe I wasted 20 minutes with that guy when all the lovely ladies abound. Oh, who am I fooling?
11:22 p.m. – Oh, you threw the Cup in the pool. How original. It doesn’t float? You don’t say?
11:25 p.m. – All right, Stanley, say good-bye to the girls. Good-bye, Hef, er, Mr. Hefner.
11:30 p.m. – I just realized that when I say, “I have to go polish the Stanley Cup,” people think I’m going to masturbate. Oh, god. I say that like 3 times a day. Oh, man.
11:39 p.m. – Good night and sweet dreams, Stanley.