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alitheamateur · 5 years

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The Grind-Chapter 28

The eve of fight night fell, and Colton was exhibiting extremely peculiar behavior. Not a bad type of peculiar necessarily, but the man just wasn’t his usual self. When I woke up to head for a swim at Temple, the bed was empty on his side and he hadn’t left a note, or word with my parents as to where he disappeared off to. In fact, according to mom, he must’ve left the house before 6 a.m. when she and dad left for their walk. It was a routine they had with the dog back home, and they had been continuing the morning exercise while on their visit to the city.

When I got to my locker at the gym, there was a single Peony taped to the handle, and a square yellow note tied to it’s stem. The easily identified chicken scratch belonged to the missing man in question, so I tore it open jaggedly to gather some answers.

Livvy,

Enjoy your swim, & don’t you dare think of doing anything in the weight room. I told Cal to watch you. You have a noon appointment with that girl who does your hair, & a 10 a.m. massage too. I have some stuff to take care of today but be at home and dressed by 6 tonight. Wear that white dress I like. The one from that party at the Pilot a couple months ago. And don’t eat. I’ll check in later. I LOVE YOU

Colton had been a lot of things the last year, but romantic was a new side. He rendered me speechless from heartbreak, pleasure, and laughter on a fair amount of occasions, but this was unfamiliar lands. Never did I believe such a cynical, wild, tormented soul like his could conjure up the cleverness or the desire to throw together whatever plan he had in the works. But I’d obey the orders, and call mom to steam the crisp white, ankle-length, summer gown he referred to from the office gala event he suffered through as my plus-one, and it’s also the first instance he suckered me into bathroom sex in the family stall. The thin, flesh-hugging stretch of the drapery curved into me, and the low-cut of the back allowed him a subtle peep-show during the owners speech, which had him nearly feverish for a taste of me before the main course was served. I was chatting with Ryan who was seated at our dinner table, when Colton told me I looked a bit peaked and needed a few minutes of good ol’ fresh air. Thoroughly confused, I followed his lead as he took my hand guiding me through the bar area into the public pavilion of the venue. The details are a bit foggy, but I can’t forget the memory of his thirsty tongue licking a bead of summertime sweat from the valley between my breasts.

I concluded on returning to my natural blonde look at the salon, and sang the praises of the on-staff masseuse at SJS Salon on my way out the door. The unwind of my slow laps in the therapy pool, and the exceptional massage had me exuding peaceful relaxation. After the continual sessions’ day & night at the gym, in the cage, in the weight room, at the Pilot, some self-love and spa time was the perfect prescription for a Zen Liv. And I wanted all my tensions free and clear before I met up with Colton for this mysterious evening ahead, so I could fully enjoy the company of my perfectly imperfect companion. Wherever the pathway of our evening led, I knew I’d retire home once it was said and done feeling cherished, and probably horny.

I was puckering to smooth out a plentiful layer of rose-shaded smudge proof lipstick at my lighted vanity when I saw my mother peep around the unlatched door. I looked away from my own reflection to see hers smiling back at me from over my shoulder, as she brushed my hair back curious to discover my earring choice. This overly-feminine, lady-like and sophisticated side of her only child was a glimpse of the daughter she wanted 10 years ago when I was wearing sweats to school every day, and only wore heels for prom or homecoming dances. Mom stayed dressed to the nines every day of the week whether it be a run to the post-office or even a check of the mailbox, so seeing the vision of herself even more so in me now with sleek hair, and a posh taste in stilettos was probably the proudest she had been in a decade.

“Honey, you look excellent! Your little nose healed up just perfectly too, I see.”

Of course, mother. That’s what most important, ay’?

“Yep. It feels fine now. Thanks, mom.” I pursed my mouth, tucking both lips in a stark line and misted a lavish amount of Colton’s favorite perfume onto the exposure of my neck.

“Do you have any ideas what Colton has planned for you? You’re dressed awfully formal.” My mother asked turning her head to survey the final touches of accessory to my ensemble.

“He told me what to wear, and when to be ready to go, so that’s about the most I’m aware of. He’s been pretty shady today. And we both know he’s developed a keen talent for lying lately, seeing as how he managed to get you and daddy here.”

The last text I received from him at 2 o’clock that afternoon was a strange selfie of he and Andrew at the forefront of an impressive Styrofoam cup pyramid they’d apparently built on the display counter at The Grind. Those two had become quite the odd pairing lately, but I was happy Colton jived so well with at least one of my friends. I assumed he just went by the shop for his usual black coffee to-go, and Drew simply asked his assistance on a new merchandise display, which turned into the two of them goofing.

Mom checked her waterproof, step counting watch for the time as she followed be into the bedroom I shared with Colton. “It’s 5 minutes to 6 right now, Livvy. Have you talked to him?”

My heels clacked when transitioning from the carpet, to the tile down the hall. I clicked the unlock button of my cell to place a call to the very man sitting on an arm of the couch in an open stance, with those hefty forearms pushing in his knees. He stood upon hearing the soft tick of my heels step over the rug under the coffee table, and I was able to get a much desired, exploratory look at the very, very surprising dapper two-piece suit he sported. It was an oxford blue, atop a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt that he left casually, and very appealingly gaping open just enough to taunt me with his pecks. He was explicitly, lethal and delicious in the foreign dress of any sort of formal attire. Maybe more so even than those perfectly snug gray sweats I pulled off him on many an ‘afternoon delight’ occasion. That is, assuming I have to have him clothed at all.

“Well hello there, Mr. Ritter. Someone is looking exceptionally handsome tonight, I see. I must say you wear this look well, babe.” I admired, pulling on the lapels of his jacket to situate the wrinkle of his shirt. I tenderly grazed a manicured nail over the freshly shaved goosebumps of his neck, and smiled romantically looking up to him under extended lashes.

“You two enjoy yourselves! Tony and I are going to grab some dinner, and we’ll lock up when we get back. I’m sure it’ll be a late night for you guys,” mom spoke up, still standing behind me undetected. Colton tilted around me to smile appreciatively at her before she turned in pursuit of the spare room where dad was napping.

“Will you ever walk into a room ‘n not instantly have me wantin’ to rip off whatever you wearin’, baby? You look…you look fuckin’ perfect, Liv. I mean that.” He fiddled with the every-day, dainty, gold letter pendant I wore as he spoke, then touched his pointer finger to the heart-shaped opening at the center of my satiny lips.

I wondered reasonably if we’d ever even make it passed the 4 walls of our bedroom seeing the adamant, alluding examinations we were trading in the silence of our family room.

“As long as you promise to replace whatever it is you just have to rip off, then be my guest by all means.” I popped one shoe-covered foot into the air, and boosted up on the other desperate to touch myself to his mouth.

“Get. The hell. Out. That. Door. Now. With ya’ teasin’ little ass.” Colton palmed the front of my dress to clutch over the warmness of my womanly center.

We altered his plan a bit, and decided my car would be the most practical option for transportation considering the height of my designer heels. Once we exited the driveway, I couldn’t help but blast him with pestering questions, and chatting.

“Just sit tight, ‘ight. We ain’t far. You can hold out a few minutes, Livvy. A surprise here ‘n there ain’t gonna kill ya’.”

I unhappily sat tight as advised and waited a drawn out 10-minute car ride that steered us to a parking meter on the street near The Grinds’ entrance on the sidewalk. The white light of the ‘open’ sign that would’ve typically been plugged in the window was powered off, along with the appearance of any other lights, or evidence of business behind the door.

“Colt? What are w-“

“No more questions, okay? Hold on.”

I watched him shove my keys from the ignition inside the pocket lining of his coat, to jog around and assist me from the passenger seat onto the concrete walkway. I smelled something fishy, but I couldn’t place a sure finger on it just yet. With one arm clinging around my average size waist and the other holding my hand, we waited for the street sign to change then scurried along the crosswalk. Colton confirmed the time on his watch just as he gestured me to enter the strange darkness of the generally busy coffee shop.

I couldn’t move much passed the entry mat laying in front of the doorway due to the pitch darkness of the room, so I waited intriguingly for my next instructions. Colton moved in behind me and stepped straight for the location of the light switch he was apparently familiar with. Rather than the hardwired overhead lights of the café igniting with the flipping on of electricity, twinkling, warm garden decorations on green strands taking their place. The dusky glow hanging over our heads bared a table for two waiting empty in the middle of the open floor, and some sort of urbane, bubbly beverage sweating inside a tin bucket of ice. Calm, lazy melodious music struck up, and I finally escaped my confusion to scan for Colton.

“These a’ for you, baby. The best, for the best.”

He offered me a familiar a pink, fluffy bouquet which had become his apparent staple over the last year, and I could smell the odorous fog from gift laying in my arms. Taking a closer look over his face, I noticed he’d groomed up exceptionally precise, and his beard had been combed and trimmed. Colton Ritter may have even been wearing hair product, Ladies and Gentlemen. His matured facial lines, and the barely detectable softening sag around his eyes added a story-telling detail to his aging mug, but I admired every frown line, and ghosting scar.

I rested my arms over his shoulders, dangling the hefty bouquet in my hand behind his back to settle in for a lengthy embrace when a begging, muffled reverberation of hunger grumbled from my empty stomach.

“Well, you did tell me not to eat, silly!” I patted over my angry insides to stifle its interruption.

“I got just the thing to fix ya’ right up. Here. Let’s get you in a seat and I’ll be back.” He took my hand, and I took the seat he offered up, placing the flowers in a waiting vase at the center of his table spread.

Colton lit four small tea-light candles with a zippo frim his pants pocket, and kissed the crown of my freshly washed hair.

“I like the blonde, by the way,” he winked dragging his feet backwards to disappear into the back kitchen.

A few clanging plates and some ruffling feet could be heard as I sat legs crossed, and chin rested on my elbows. Mother Liz always cut my arms with a slap when I would prop my elbows up onto the tables, chastising my etiquette or lack thereof. I repeatedly listed off a careful list of the ‘important dates’ to mark the many milestones of our relationship to assure I hadn’t forgotten some crucial event on this day. There had to be some reason Colton had gone to such odd, starry-eyed measures, and my nosey, sharp-witted journalistic side was beating me to death to get to the real story hidden under wraps.

STOP IT! Let the man have this. Don’t ruin it because you’re a meddlesome pest who can’t just enjoy a surprise.

Just then, a smell so aromatic and reeking of garlic wafted like a puffy cloud of deliciousness into my nose. I inhaled deeply through my nostrils to trace the yummy culprit, and found the man exiting a revolving door that hid the kitchen. He had two enormous, blotchy, grease-stained pizza boxes marked from my very favorite deep-dish joint stacked in one arm, and a covered Dutch oven dish cradled in the left arm. Colt’s tongue peeped like the head of a snake from the corner of his mouth, walking strategically careful so not to drop the hot contents of his clutches.

“So, since you trained so hard, and it nearly killed ya’ cuttin’ out all those carbs, I figured you’d maybe want some’n downright filthy ‘n covered in cheese to hit the spot. Drew tried to tell me I should get some fancy takeout from that place you two are always goin’ to, but I knew this would suit ya’.”

He opened one of the boxes to reveal a cheese deep-dish smothered in sliced, tender black olives.

“You want me to eat the whole thing?” I chuckled with a large goading laugh, and quarter-sized eyes.

“One fa’ you,” he answered sitting himself to open the other cardboard box in his place setting. “’and one fa’ me.” Colton rubbed his hands together anxiously, like a giddy boy about to dive into an ankle-deep mud puddle.

“But you may wanna save a lil’ room for this too, baby.”

I watched as he pulled the sturdy lid from top the black dish, and fluffy, warm steam rolled from the inside. Peeping over the edge in anticipation, I discovered a dark chocolate, gooey treat, topped with whole praline pecans and stringy caramel drizzles.

“Colt, you made that? All by yourself?!” I smiled adoringly when the look of utter pride beamed from his coy face.

It was a turtle dessert my mom taught me to make, and my absolute favorite. Colton had stayed been at my old apartment one night, back before the fight, and said he needed a ‘sugar fix’. The city was covered in powdery snow and muck, with temperatures reaching their lowest degree all winter. Neither of us could stand the thought of leaving the warm solace of my couch, so I whipped up that same dessert for him. We demolished the entire contents straight from the dish, sharing a spoon for vanilla bean ice cream on the side.

“Liz wrote the ingredients down for me, but I remembered pretty well how you made it that night. Don’t be gettin’ all wound up before ya’ even taste it now,” he tittered taking his first bite of pizza.

We ate majority of each cheesy pie, (him asking for a slice of mine) then hysterically cackled for a good half hour after he sampled (and gagged on) a swig of my favorite merlot from a local winery. When our favorite Bob Dylan tune struck up on his iPod, I asked him to dance, and he obliged hugging me tightly with one arm, and gnawing on the last piece of pizza he clutched to in the other. The raw, real-life imperfections of the moment that would’ve had most females curling a lip in disgust, and trouncing far, far away from a man with such qualities as Colton Ritter, only had me needing his presence in my life more so.

“How’d you pull this off Ritter? I must say, I didn’t know you had it in ya’, babe.” I muffled with a full mouth of his well-made chocolate cake as I dabbed the corners of my mouth.

“Just called in a favor to my pal Andrew, no biggie. The bastard only made me pay him 200 bucks to make up for his ‘lost profit.’” Colton used his most sardonic air quotes to underline Andrew’s no doubt tantrum for his role.

“You been workin’ so damn hard, Livvy. And I just wanted to do somethin’ to make you feel special. Help ya’ relax and take the edge off of a lil’ about tomorrow night. ‘N judging by those sexy, heavy little wine eyes you been givin’ me, I’d say I did a fine job.”

The excellence of the entire evening, hand-in-hand with now a present buzz of red wine after so many months, made the air around me feel as if it touched my skin like expensive cashmere. My insides felt as if they were humming with muggy decadence, and no unkind thought weighed on my mind.

“Oh God, stop it!” I covered my face, ashamed of his insinuating light-weight insult.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Liv. I ain’t just sayin’ shit right now. I mean that. You’re perfect now, jus’ like this. And ya’ perfect on the couch with your face painted in one of those goopy masks you put on before you check your work email at night.” He leaned over the round table, mazing through the empty boxes, and melting candle wax staining the tablecloth to encase my fingers. Any fool could see there was nothing but earnest passion in his eyes, and a blatantly truthful, sureness in his voice.

“I love you. And don’t sell yourself so short! You are the perfect one. Even with all those demons, and whatever else is hiding in that head of yours.” I wanted to caress and pet his always warm cheek, but the distance between us caused me to settle for a tight squeeze of his hand, and a kiss to his scarred fingers.

“A perfect man wouldn’ta let somebody like you get away, baby.”

“Stop with that! We’re here now. Together. And we’re happy. Plus, there are more important things going on right now we should be worryin’ about.”

I knew I could back out of my fight right now, even the night before, and Colton would support my decision without hesitation, and anyone else who didn’t, would suffer at the hand of his consequence. The reality of what I knew I’d be doing only a few short hours from now, was a frightening one. But, one that I had agreed to for myself at the hands of no ones’ force. I wanted to make Colton proud of me for something more than just having my nose shoved in front of a computer screen 10+ hours a day. I had to prove to him, the world, my parents, and mainly myself that I was capable of greatness. That I had the potential to step out in faith, and achieve something like this with some courage like the old Liv.

“We’ve done everything in the gym we possibly coulda, baby. You’ve done everything. You need t’ believe in yourself like you were always tellin’ me. I’ll be there standin’ in that corner for you, I promise. And if ever you wanna cut it, just say the world ‘n we’ll walk outta there first round. You can do this, 2-1. Clear eyes, remember?”

“Thank you, Colton. For being the man that you are, and sticking with me through this even though we both know you hated the idea. And for all this God, it’s incredible, really. I’ve desperately needed some alone time with my guy.” I scooted to the front ledge of my chair, resting on the table to wink suggestively at the tantalizing specimen opposite my gazes.

“Calm ya’self, you dirty girl. I know wha’s goin’ on up in the head o’ yours. I got one more place I need to take you. Then, I can assure you…. I can really fuckin’ assure you, that I’m gonna get real good and close to every piece of your creamy skin under that dress.”

tags: @torialeysha @eap1935 @littleluna98 @mollybegger-blog

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyfanfic #tomhardyfanfiction #elizabeth olsen #tommy conlon #thegrind

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thrashermaxey · 6 years

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Ramblings: Lucky 28 for Connor and Ehlers; Niemi Blanks Buffalo; Hall Wills Devils – March 24

Vladimir Tarasenko returned to the lineup for St. Louis after missing the last couple of games with an upper-body injury. At least head-to-head fantasy owners will get him for this weekend and heading into next week. For those that needed all of his games this week, well, sorry about that.

He wouldn’t specify what the injury was, by the way.

He did, however, score in his return to the lineup.

Pretty big news from the Flames on Friday:

Breaking: #Flames source confirms that C Sean Monahan has been shut down for remainder of season. Tight-lipped about specifics, but will need surgery to repair one of his two injuries. Full story …https://t.co/b3YP9RFIWF

— Wes Gilbertson (@WesGilbertson) March 23, 2018

Not that Calgary really had much of a chance left for the playoffs – they would have had to basically win out and get some help along the way – but with Monahan out for the season, that probably seals their fate.

This is very bad news for anyone heading to head-to-head finals as well. For the time being, Sam Bennett may be the pickup because he was centering Johnny Gaudreau in practice. Whether that lasts remains to be seen but that’s what they have right now.

Mikael Backlund was moved to the top PP unit.

Remember when it looked like Patrik Laine would miss about a week after that blocked shot that took him out? He didn’t even miss a game, as he was back in the lineup for Winnipeg for Friday night’s home game against Anaheim. Great news for fantasy owners and just hockey fans in general. It wouldn’t have been right to see the Rocket Richard Trophy decided in that manner.

Noah Hanifin was at practice Friday for the Hurricanes while Justin Faulk was not. Faulk is considered a game-time decision so have a back-up plan ready if you’re going to rely on him for Saturday night’s game against Ottawa.

Jamie Benn may have scored the goal of the night. It’s also what one may call Vintage Jamie Benn:

.@jamiebenn14 doubles the lead with a shorty. pic.twitter.com/H40PLISSyC

— NHL GIFs (@NHLGIFs) March 24, 2018

It’s always good to see him making those power moves.

Antti Niemi posted a 35-save shutout in Buffalo to lead the Habs to a 3-0 win. That score may be a little misleading as the final two Montreal goals – 18th of the season from Paul Byron and 27th of the season from Brendan Gallagher – came with an empty net.

That game was Niemi’s 15th start and 17th appearance for the Canadiens and his save percentage is now up to .936 with that franchise. Hockey!

Artturi Lehkonen was the only Hab to score with an actual goalie in the net and that gives him eight goals in his last 23 games. It’s not a shooting binge, either, as his percentage is at 12.2 percent over that stretch. It’ll be interesting to see where he slots in the lineup next year. He continues to put up very good shot volume and maybe he was just a bit unlucky. Maybe he can crack 20 goals next season? Just something to keep in mind for deeper drafts.

Despite being outshot 42-18, the Ducks managed to scrape a point out of a 3-2 overtime loss to Winnipeg. Thanks, John Gibson!

Kyle Connor scored the deciding goal, his 28th of the season. Nikolaj Ehlers scored Winnipeg’s first goal of the game, also his 28th of the season. Only two teams since the 2012-13 lockout season have had three different 30-goal scorers: the 2015-16 Stars and 2015-16 Bruins. Boston could get there again this year if Bergeron came come back soon. Tampa Bay could as well.

Mark Scheifele figured into all three Jets goals with a tally and two helpers.

All the praise, and rightfully so, has gone to Taylor Hall for the Devils’ season, with a little splash of rookie Nico Hischier. I would like to heap some praise on another Devils player who has become a very underrated fantasy commodity.

It was a rough first half for Kyle Palmieri who broke his foot in November and missed four weeks. He hasn’t really missed a beat since returning just before Christmas, though, posting 16 goals and 27 points in 41 games (heading into Friday night’s action). In fact, since the start of the 2015-16 season, he’s one of just 21 forwards with per-game averages of 2.5 shots or better, 0.35 goals or better, and 0.32 assists or better. Of those 21 forwards, he’s one of 11 players with at least 100 penalty minutes. Quite simply, over the past (nearly) three season, he’s been one of the better across-the-board performers in the fantasy game.

It’s not as if this came out of nowhere, either. Over his final three seasons in Anaheim, in a reduced role, he scored goals at a similar rate per 60 minutes to Ryan Getzlaf and had the same points rate as Patrick Maroon. He got his chance to shine when he came to New Jersey and he’s not wasted it.

I’m bullish on Palmieri next year. The top line for the Devils should be the same for the most part and there’s no real threat to his top-line status. Let’s hope that his month missed suppresses his ADP, which was already low this year, being routinely drafted outside the top-10 rounds of 12-team leagues.

On the other hand, Hall did nearly will the Devils to a 4-3 overtime win over Pittsburgh on Friday night. He had a goal, two assists, six additional shots, a blocked shot, and a hit for good measure. His goal was the overtime winner and though he finished the play, it was really Nico Hischier who did all the work:

The effort from Hischier on this play is fantastic. This Devil's team is the opposite of the 90's era Devils we all had to suffer through. pic.twitter.com/NxHJcnLPeb

— Mike Pfeil (@mikeFAIL) March 24, 2018

Those three points give Hall 81 for the season, which is a new career best.

Phil Kessel scored for the Penguins and that was his 30th of the season. Though long known as a goal scorer, it’s actually his first 30-goal season since 2013-14. It was his 83rd point as well, which sets a career-high for him.

Keith Kinkaid saved 40 of 43 shots in the win. He has a .931 save percentage over his last 10 games. I would have to assume that unless Kinkaid gets hurt, it’s his net now. I don’t want to outright say that Cory Schneider is droppable but man, it’s certainly looking that way. If you need a start from someone else on the waiver wire this weekend, I wouldn’t hesitate to toss him.

Brad Marchand had a three-point game for the Bruins, a goal and and two assists, including a short-handed point. It’s a career-high three short-handed assists for him this year. He also tied his single-season high for assists. You’d have to wonder what his season’s final point tallies would look like if he could stop getting suspended. He assisted on Pastrnak's winning goal with seconds left in the third period with the Stars blowing a 2-0 third-period lead to lose 3-2 in regulation.

The injury to Jacob Trouba has me thinking about another Jets defenceman. No, not that one. I mean Josh Morrissey.

DID YOU KNOW: over the last two seasons, Morrissey has the same rate of primary points (goals plus first assists) per 60 minutes at five-on-five (0.52) as Colton Parayko? And it’s higher than names like Oliver Ekman-Larsson (0.51), Aaron Ekblad and Drew Doughty (0.45), Mark Giordano (0.41), and Shayne Gostisbehere (0.37). That is a pretty good list of fantasy production on which to find yourself.

The problem, of course, is that he’s going to be stuck behind Trouba (assuming he’s re-signed, which he will be) and Dustin Byfuglien for years to come, at least in regards to the power play. He could still eat up a lot of five-on-five minutes as he’s probably the team’s top left-shot d-man (I say probably because Tobias Enstrom is still pretty good defensively), but power-play time will be sparse.

Until (unless?) the hierarchy changes, the best way to view Morrissey in the fantasy game is probably Mattias Ekholm with more hits, for leagues that count that. He’s very talented but with the glut of offensive options ahead of him on the blue line, unless there are injuries, PP points will be tough to amass, meaning a 35-point season is as much as we can hope for.

Speaking of defencemen, it’s time we accept Rasmus Ristolainen for who he is. His per-game rates this season are pretty much the same as they were, across the board, the previous two seasons. He hasn’t really taken a step forward in his game but he’s a volume monster. Until the team improves on the ice – and he’s a big part of that – expecting him to take the next step in the fantasy game to 50-point seasons regularly is misguided. It’ll be interesting to see where his ADP shakes out next year. He was a top-20 defenceman by ADP this season but with time missed and no further improvement, does that drop next season? I would think so.

I know it’s fun to pile on the Blackhawks for the trade they made sending Artemi Panarin to Columbus for Brandon Saad. It looks like the Jackets will make playoffs while the Blackhawks will not. Panarin will crack 70 points again for the third straight year while Saad might not reach half that. I get it.

Yes, this is Saad’s worst offensive season as a player. Is he really just playing poorly, though? I know I’ve discussed it before but it’s worth reiterating seeing as where the discussion has been for the last week or so:

His five-on-five shooting percentage this year is 7.45 percent, a career-low. He had never been below 9.68 percent and his three-year average from 2014-17 – which covers both Chicago and Columbus – was over 11 percent.

That very low five-on-five shooting percentage is going to lead to his lowest goals per 60 minutes (0.77) since 2013-14. He had not been below 1.00 since that season. This is despite the fact that he has a career-high per-minute shooting rate.

His individual expected goals per 60 minutes at five-on-five this year (1.06) is actually higher than his three-year (0.95) average prior to 2017-18. That means he’s not just shooting the puck at a career-high rate from all over the ice, he’s still getting his scoring chances. They’re just not going in.

His individual points percentage – the rate he garners a point when he’s on the ice – of 51.6 percent is also a career-low and the next-lowest isn’t even close (61 percent in 2013-14).

Almost everything that could go wrong for Saad, offensively, has gone wrong. How many times do we have to see an established player have one bad season before we stop piling on and just accept it for what it likely is?

Saad is going to come at a huge discount next year by ADP and I will be whole-heartedly buying. Just be ready for when he goes off for 25 goals and 50 points again next season.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-lucky-28-for-connor-and-ehlers-niemi-blanks-buffalo-hall-wills-devils-march-24/

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alitheamateur · 5 years

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The Grind-Chapter 1

Don’t forget to check out the Prologue, dolls. And feel free to ask if you’d like a tag for future chapters.

He had a jaw that couldn’t have been more defined if it were chiseled directly from a slab of frigid marble. His eyes were the most striking, indefinite color I had ever seen, lined with sweeping, full lashes. They smoldered into a look that I couldn’t place as seductive, or choleric, which made him all the more appealing to my curious disposition. I was sure I had never seen the man in my shop before. Oh no, no, no. I’d remember him. Those were lips you just forget about. Thankfully, he didn’t feel my eyes burning a ragged hole through his anatomy, nor catch sight of the lustful trickle of drool I know without a doubt was dabbling down my chin.

His cheeks were a blush shade, & his knuckles covered in scuffed, jagged tape. He moved his body with demanding supremacy, yet his feet glided so gracefully, & rhythmic. To be such a strong, uncannily masculine man, he seemed so elegantly poised. Carrying the knowledge I did concerning the world of athletics, I knew he had to be a fighter, but I couldn’t put my finger on it his chosen poison. Boxer? Wrestler? Cage, perhaps?

Immersed in trying to crack the case of the mysterious man, I felt myself snap back into reality hearing Andrew call out an order.

“Black coffee for Colton.”

His husky figure walked to the end of the counter nearest me to retrieve his steaming cup. He turned around surveying the quiet shop, seeking an empty seat. My eyes darted in sync with his to the single, empty chair at the white tabletop next to mine.

“Anybody joining ya’?” His crass, local-boy accent flicked the internal switch of intrigue deep in my insides. The cob-webs of my abandoned womanhood had awoken from an extended slumber, and yelped and groveled for more of his sultry lilt.

“Uh, no. No, you can help yourself.” I tried to be coy about shifting my stray hat hair, ensuring I didn’t look too much of a wretched mess.

“I’m uh, I’m Colton” he leaned his large, calloused hand to me. Almost instantly retreating it noticing the sticky tape across his knuckles. He unwrapped his tan fingers & tried again with pouty, shy smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. What can I say. Gym rat.”

I reached in his direction, locking eye contact upon introduction. “I knew it.” A faint whisper escaped my mouth without permission.

“What was ‘at?” He slurped hesitantly at the dark roast in his cup.

In my own mind, I slapped myself for letting my stupid thoughts escape out loud so foolishly.

“I um, I noticed the tape when you came in. I knew you had to be some sort of fighter.” I went with my first gut instinct. “Boxer?”

He chuckled, “Nah, too civilized for me. I prefer the octagon over the ring. MMA, actually.” My interest was instantly peaked, but I didn’t want to pry. So instead, I nodded in understanding & looked back down to my own cooling mug.

“I’m Liv, by the way..” I turned up one corner of my chapped lips, and meekly announced.

Each of us sat minding our own business for the next several, slightly awkward minutes, before I heard him shift to scoot the seat on the wood floors, then raise to a stand. Our eyes met as he nodded a wordless ‘have a nice day’ in my direction, signaling he was departing to begin whatever it was a fighter did at 10 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I smiled, sincerely wishing he’d sit in the stillness of the draining crowd of the café next to me for just a bit longer. He neared the exit, but his steps forward froze before he reached the door, turning back to where I quietly pined for his company.

“You mentioned ya’ knew I was a fighter. What gave me away, if ya’ don’t mind me askin’,” he began slowly lightening his stern face.

“Well, most of us normal folk don’t walk into coffee shops before lunch looking like they may light the place on fire.” I joked with him. “But, truthfully? I’m a sports columnist for the Pitt Pilot, and anything in the world of sports has kind of always been a love of mine, so the taped hands gave you away, actually.”

“The Pilot, huh? I’m training for a fight comin’ up in a few weeks. Danny Mendez. Biggest one of my career considering I’m gonna beat the asshole and take his belt. I bet your big bosses at the Pitt would be real impresses if you had some insider info on the biggest cage fight of the year. You interested?”

He was right. My boss Ryan couldn’t deny a huge spread if I had coverage like this. The bigger the story, the faster the promotion. Plus, the quality time with my newest handsome acquaintance would be a considerably added bonus.

Biting away in thought at the inside of my cheek, I tugged the hat over my sandy tussled locks, waved a kiss to Andrew, & followed Colton out into the Pittsburgh brisk, morning air.

“Heads up, I don’t usually trust the word of every strange man I meet on the street, ya’ know. This place is fully of psychopathic creeps from what I hear.” I wanted to make it sure fire clear he knew I wasn’t some naive child who took the word of every stranger she had known all of 1 hour.

“Well, if we happen t’ come across a strange man who seems remotely creepy, or the least bit psycho, it’ll be a good thing ya’ have me then, right?”

He was right. We couldn’t have made it down the side walk much more than 10 minutes, & yet somehow, I already felt safe in the midst of his broad presence.

The small talk along the way was slim to none, before he finally pulled his bear-like hand from the front pocket of a hoodie, to point up ahead towards a tall chain-link fence. This was an area I had yet to venture into, so I wasn’t familiar with anything in sight. He approached the gate & reached into his charcoal trackpants pocket for a single key.

“I always do my workouts in the morning at the gym. Couple of grappling sessions with my buddy, then an hour or so hittin’ the bag. But, I do a little outside training as part of my workout, too.”

We entered the squealing gate, Colton locking us in behind. A junkyard? My eyes took in countless torn apart cars, and piles of crushed metal. Rusted, beaten hoods, and dismembered motorcycles lined the fences, and we walked side-by-side down the beaten path. He ushered me over to a stack of large tires, and I scurried to keep up with his much longer strides. The worn, black rubber belonging once to something with the stature of a tractor like I’d seen back home in Indiana, sat in the sunken pocket of some snowy ground.

“Mick, the owner lets me come in after hours & get some extra work in. He’s an old friend o’ my pops.” My eyes trailed as he approached the tire, pulling off the shabby hoodie covering his well-built, disciplined form. The faded black T-shirt underneath fit him so impeccably, as if it were painted directly onto his skin like the ink of his assortment sundry tattoos. He squatted with a deep breath & reached his chiseled arms under the monstrous weight. Staining veins, and flexed muscles pumped down his triceps, and into the bend of his wrist, then a deep grunt escaped him as he flipped it over, with what appeared ease. The wind whipping around must’ve been reaching negative temps, but somehow the steaming warmth from my core rose to the surface, and I was as warm as an August afternoon. I was captivated in the man’s trance. Watching intently as he repeated flipping the tire, dust from the gravel ground clouding around him like a supernatural mist. When he finally came to a halt, bending to rest his rough palms on his knees, I could hear his rugged breaths from where I stood.

“Mind if I take a shot?” I tried to keep my mouth in s straight line when he cocked an eyebrow at my question.

“By all means, be my guest.” Colton held his hands up, sincerely offering me a try at the rubber mountain.

I let out a near snort of hilarity, “I think I’m doing an excellent job of standing here, & looking pretty. Thanks for the vote of confidence though.” I rolled my eyes with extreme sarcasm, shooting a thumbs up.

“You’ve definitely got that second part covered, I’ll give ya’ that.” He spoke.

#thegrind #tomhardy #tom hardy fanfiction #original #mma #Tom Hardy #tomhardyfanfic #lovestory

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alitheamateur · 5 years

Text

The Grind- Chapter 23

Warnings: Language. Touch of angst.

After wrapping things up with breakfast that morning, he dropped me off at home reminding me of the tour I had promised him, then kissed me in departure. I got to work only a couple hours later than usual, and dove into my daily responsibilities, hoping my shift would scurry by without a hitch, already eager to see Colton again. We agreed to meet for a workout, then he’d accepted an invitation to sleep over at my place.

I waited for him in the lot to escort me inside the gym, honestly afraid to enter alone in front of a usually vicious Tia. We’d had the occasional conversation since my confession of reuniting with Colton, and I had lunch one afternoon at her place of employment. I still considered her a close friend, but her shoulder seemed a bit cool towards me. We hadn’t actually trained together in quite some time, due to her fight quickly approaching. But, Willow so kindly obliged in meeting with me some late evenings to keep my training regimen in motion. And these days, I actually felt safer sparring with her with Tia still entertaining some obvious hostility toward me. I even talked Ryan into letting me spotlight her in a spread next week, hoping to fall back into her good graces. I wasn’t above brown nosing.

Colton had some mitts tethered to his hands, while I attacked him with pacing strikes as to warm up our workout. After his outburst from seeing me grappling with Tia, he had since become lukewarm to the idea of me in the cage. Or, so I thought. Tia came jogging in my direction upon her arrival in the training room. She looked only to me however, ignoring the stern faced man standing toe-to-toe with me.

“Hey, bitch. You got a second?” She spoke monotoned.

I left my gloves remained strapped, and Colt dropped the mitts beside him, reaching to the floor for my water jug, handing it to me. “What’s up?” I offered to her.

“So, one of Willow’s friends up in Franklin Park called her this morning about a fight,” she began. “Apparently, the girl is really new, hasn’t fought before, but her trainer thought Willow might have somebody she could get her in the ring with.”

Before my friend was able to lead further into the conversation and finish her thought, Colton interjected rudely. Seemingly knowing where Tia’s vague suggestion was heading.

“No. Absolutely fuckin’ not,” his words were calm and even, yet sliced sharply.

I looked to him, a bit flabbergasted at the way he just blatantly spoke for me. And Tia almost snapped her neck to square up with him.

“I don’t believe I was talkin’ to you, Ritter. So, step aside while Liv and I talk about this.”

She then proceeded to worm herself directly into the miniscule space between Colton and I, leaving him a full view of the back of her head. However, he looked directly over her petite stature right back into my eyes, heeding a wordless plea behind his shaking head.

“The girl is completely inexperienced, Liv. She’s been training a little longer than you, yeah. But all she has is sparring with her coach, just like you. You said yourself you wanted to see what being on the mat was really like.. This is your chance,” she reasoned level headedly.

“She’s in my weight class and everything? She’s not like, twice my size?” Colton outwardly huffed at my genuine curiosity in Tia’s proposition.

“Liv, you cannot be serious! You’ve barely gotten your feet wet with all this. You sure as hell don’t need to be thinkin’ about a real fight.” He stepped around Tia, disregarding her wasted attempt to separate him from the conversation.

I wanted to use the very gloves on my hands, and my much-practiced left hook to knock him to the unforgiving floor. What his presence of faith in my completely absent altogether? He still didn’t understand that I wasn’t a delicate, helpless flower in a windstorm. Is this what life with Colton Ritter would be like? Never being able to take a breath without his questioning, or hovering disapproval

I looked back to Tia, too sick and shaken to see his face. “Take a break, Colt.”

“Excuse me?” His skull leaned heavy to the left, offering a closer ear like he hadn’t heard me correctly.

“I said, take a break. I’m discussing this with Tia right now. So. Take. A. Break.”

He laughed, the genuine humor missing altogether though, and stomped quite literally to the other side of the room where Cal was working on his set.

Colton’s POV

She really just fuckin’ dismissed me like my opinion on the whole thing was completely irrelevant. I was her boyfriend, the man she supposedly loved, so, what relevancy was missing? I didn’t look back from the two of them once I stepped off, knowing I’d only get more pissed at the way Tia was coaxing her into this whole shitshow so slyly. Cal was a familiar face I was sure as hell grateful for in a moment like this, and I hoped he’d be a voice of reason as well once I keyed him in on what was the two of them were cooking up across the room.

“You good, man?” Cal said, noticing the no doubt look of merciless fury growing behind my eyes.

Cal was a decent guy, always had been since I’d known him, and I felt pretty comfortable letting off a little pent up steam.

“I sure as hell will be once you help me talk some sense into those two conniving females over there.”

I nodded a head in the direction of Tia and Liv still chatting keenly in the corner, and Cal grinned in understanding.

“I can’t help you there, Colt. Those two are relentless apart. But together? Nah, dude. That’s a damn snake pit I don’t want any part of.”

He had that right. There was no interfering once Liv had made her mind up, so I knew it was some divine miracle that I was able to crawl back into her good graces at all. But, Tia seemed to be, in the short time I’ve had the pleasure of knowing her, a fucking fortress of anger and headstrong sarcasm. I was truly thankful for her though. It’s an admittance that would never exist anywhere other than the deepest, darkest, most treacherous corners of my own thoughts, but it was a fact regardless. Liv told me that she’d been a strong tower for her after the colossal fuck up I’d made, and I respected the fact that I knew Tia had been the support system to picked up the pieces I left behind.

“Tia wants her to take a fight with some broad from Franklin Park, Cal. She wants Liv to get in the fuckin’ cage and actually compete against a total inexperienced newby. You see the problem, right?” I reasoned to the man.

He practically lived in this damn gym, and saw the ins and outs of training every single day. Like me, Cal understood underlying dangers that could come from two newcomers, complete cage virgins, knocking gloves in an actual match. True, we all had to start somewhere, and I myself climbed the octagon steps the first time to square up with some fucker from New York who couldn’t have hit the broad side of a barn with his left hook. But, it was just by pure luck that it happened that way. I wasn’t about to condone my Liv risking those odds. What kind of man would I be, if I sat on my hands and let the only light in my entire fuckin’ contemptable life be squandered out by a potential merciless, nasty competitor? With one single jab landed in the very soft indention of a temple, Liv could hit the mat, and I’d never see the shine in those emerald green, speckled eyes ever again. Not a risk that I could allow myself to take.

“I know about it actually. I was talking it over with Willow earlier,” Cal replied, moving further into his bench presses. “She actually showed me some video of the girl, too.”

“Cal, c’mon. Don’t be an asshole here, man. You can’t think this will end well.”

“Liv can beat her, Colton. The girl doesn’t have even half to discipline, or ¼ of the technique we’ve seen in Liv, either. And to be fair, you’ve only seen her in the ring with Willow. I saw her with Tia, and believe it or not, she held her own.”

Everyone was out of their damn minds at this God-forsaken gym apparently. How could they throw her to the wolves so carelessly like this? My headstrong, loyal, independent, dedicated, beautiful fuckin’ Liv had been nothing but good to them, and yet everyone was so quick to set her up for failure.

Or, was I withholding her from greatness…..

“Liv’s a force, Colton. I don’t have to tell you that. She’s not gonna be some dainty little debutant for you. Whether it be fighting, or whatever comes along that may get a little gritty, she’s gonna grab it by the balls. Just like she did with you…” Cal said with a lighthearted voice.

Liv Elliott was the eighth wonder. Beautiful, uncontrollable tangled hair, an opened mouth smile that made it look like she was about to burst into a cackling fit, and skin softer than any of those cashmere sweaters my mom pays too much damn money for. She was smarter than any person within three zip codes, always using words like ‘miniscule’ or ‘ tenacious’, and had these doe green eyes the color of some meadow in Kentucky or something. Clearly, she possessed the power of witchcraft as well, and made me compare her to a fuckin’ meadow? Not to mention she could have me groveling like a damn 12-year-old- in the sack.

What the hell was wrong with me? Was I somehow twistedly trying to stifle her success so she wouldn’t one day wake up, and comprehend that she was worlds too good for me? Was filling her head with doubt and a lack of faith the way I wanted to show how agonizingly deep I loved her?

“Oh, fuck off, you little prick.” I brushed off Cal’s undermining remark, and he bellowed out a laugh, knowing it was me admitting he was exactly right. “I’m tellin’ you right now, Cal, if anything happens to her……. My past with you aside, I will personally unleash on your ass. You hear me?”

Time to castrate my pride, and blindly support her in this little endeavor. No matter how foolish I thought it may be, I’d stand in her corner the rest of my days if she’d have me.

Liv

“Did they give you guys a date? How much longer would I have to train and stuff?” I chewed idly on my lips, careful not to draw my own flood forth.

“They suggested 2 months from this Saturday, which is a tremendous amount of time for us really, Liv. We could cover a lot more ground in two months. Once my match is in the books, I’ll buckle down with Willow and personally make sure you’re ready. IF this is really something you think you wanna do.” Tia was petting my arm calmly, visibly aware that I was beginning to overheat with nerves, and mostly excitement.

“I want to, no question about it. The idea makes me want to throw up, but I want to. I just… I wonder what Colton’s deal is, y’ know? Why do you think he exploded like that? I mean, I trust him, especially when it comes to fighting, so I’d feel a lot better if he hadn’t have objected so damn quick.”

Tia was a sealed Pandora’s Box of all things me, and I would’ve jumped from a 60-story building had she held my hand through the fall. But, Colton Ritter was an MMA aficionado, and more importantly, the love of my life. I didn’t need it per say, but my heart longed truly for his sanction and support.

“He’s a loose cannon, LC. The piece of shit is a chauvinistic pig who thinks he owns you or somethin’. He’s a sick fuck, and I told you, he’s just too damaged.” She answered ever so ungraciously.

Before I held my breath and delve deeper into her incessant objections of my relationship, a set of broad, weighty shoulders were approaching carefully at a judicious pace. He stood, mute, hands shoved into his pockets, waiting apprehensively for permission to speak. I decided to dismiss Tia, inferring it best to hash this out one-on-one, woman to man.

“I think before I say anything else, I might as well just drop to my damn knees now and kiss ya’ feet for puttin’ up with me, first. Then, ask you to keep puttin’ up with me, and tell ya’ I’m sorry…” Colton began with the unsettling voice of a scorned boy. I dismissed his heed, and was flabbergasted when he rested a palm on one of his knees to ease into a bowed, kneeling position.

Instantly, I halted him before reaching the floor, and laughed unbelievably. “DEAR GOD! Stop it, you crazy fool! Don’t you dare.”

This near gigantic, solid as an uncut diamond, fear inflicting, prideful man was willing to offer himself to me, on his very knees. In a room occupied with enough people to be considered a crowd, he, without one shred of dignity, was selflessly groveling for acceptance and forgiveness. If that doesn’t speak monumental volumes, I don’t know what does. The vulnerable, unsure Colt was becoming a regular attendee in our relationship, and I was so proud of him for unveiling that undisclosed side of himself to me. Leaps and bounds, I tell ya’. Leaps and bounds.

“First of all, I would never ask you to do such a thing like that. Second, I’m going to say this about your little explosive fit, and then we’ll move on,” I shook my head. “I can’t have you shouting at every little decision I attempt to make, belittling me. I’m a grown woman, and I will make my own decisions. Have a little faith in me, Colton. Don’t you think more of me than that? Besides, I would’ve consulted with you about the whole thig before making a final decision.”

He grabbed a pinch of my shirt between two fingers and lured me into him with empathetic eyes. “Got it. I am so done selling you short, and I’m sorry for doing it as much as I have. I love you, and I’m behind you 1,000%, Liv. I’m a short-fused bastard, babe. Imma’ try to get a handle on it. Truce?”

I knocked knuckles with him in agreement, accepting his white flag, but there was one more thing I needed to discuss with him. “I just have one more thing I need from you though.”

“Name it, girl.”

“Will you train me? I mean, Tia and Willow will definitely be involved, but you’re the one I want.”

As thankful and trusting as I was to have been in the hands of Tia and her team for the last several, taxing months, Colt was who I needed now. He’d teach me to kill with my bare hands before letting me step into the cage with this girl unprepared. That bond, and dedication with him would be the only thing to help hold my nerve. Tia was absolutely fearless and extremely talented, but she wasn’t the seasoned professional my Colton was.

“I’d be fuckin’ honored, baby. If you’ll have me, then I’d want nothin’ more than to prep you for this,” he chimed with a full smiled, taking my chin into his hands to direct me into a kiss. “Now, drop and give me 50, Elliott.”

Oh thiiiiiiiis, should be loads of fun.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935 @littleluna98 @mollybegger-blog

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tomhardyfanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyfanfiction #tommy conlon #elizabeth olsen #thegrind

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alitheamateur · 5 years

Text

The Grind-Chapter 11

Seats were limited by the time I got to the small dressing area turned conference room, so I opted to stand against the back wall instead of stepping into a crowded aisle. Plus, a standing Liv would catch his attention sooner than a sitting one. Within 5 minutes of waiting, Mendez sashayed through a side entrance, championship belt undoubtably in tow, clashing with his red, yes, RED suit of choice. Jolly ol’ Saint Nick himself would’ve turned up a nose in disgust. He took a seat, propping his prized possession in display on the white table. Prayers of pleading rolling through my head that this blatant narcissist wouldn’t drain all the life out of the room with endless ramblings for the upcoming hour. Right now, it wasn’t this particular fighter that I needed answers from. Thankful for a recording device, I muted most of the repetitive questioning until I was ready to join in.

“Yeah, Miss Elliott in the back there,” he selected.

“Congratulations on the victory, Danny. I was wondering, if Colton were to call you out for the title again, would you accept?”

He chuckled, “ I mean, yeah. I beat the guy once, so I wouldn’t have a problem doing it again. All jokes aside though, honestly, the guy is scrappy in the cage. I’ll give him that.” In Danny Mendez translation, that was a compliment.

His session ended with mumbling something about having a bottle on ice and blah, blah, blah, leaving us now to wait for the losing man of the hour. Upon 15 very exasperated minutes, two reporters withdrew due to justified impatience of Colton’s delay. Amongst the growing chatters, the black hands of a clock at the rear of the room ticked noisily, it’s repetitive soundtrack creating a deafening echo amid the whispering gallery. After what I assumed was at least 25 minutes passing, an unidentified blonde wearing some sort of badge on her hip, resolutely marched her way front and center.

“Alright guys, that’s gonna be it for tonight. Sorry to disappoint.”

I teetered between irritation, and concern. Was this one of his rebellious PR stunts? Or was he currently being rushed to the nearest emergency room for some kind of growing side effects resulting from an unanticipated injury? I would’ve liked to think Mac, Beth, or perhaps some member of his team would’ve had the courtesy to think of me if that was the case. However, after the cold shoulder from Colton earlier, maybe I was no longer in the inner circle. No longer one of the “popular kids.” Surely, I hadn’t already been tossed aside to join the other outcasted groupies already?

We filed out of the room scattering down different hallways, and I withdrew my phone from my purse. Seeing no missed calls, I decided to lean on relief rather than panic. When I pushed the panel opening the parking garage door, I slid a single key between my middle and index finger. A defense tactic that Colton stressed as dire necessity when I was alone out in the city, at night especially. In his words, I was evidently “green” to the harsh reality that there were indeed violent people here, who’d stab you for the 14 bucks you had in your wallet, and the busted Coach knockoff hanging over your shoulder. Back in Indiana, we didn’t even lock our cars most nights, so Colt’s enthusiastic warnings about his own close call with a mugger, did not fall on deaf ears. If any brave, or entirely ignorant individual had the gall to attempt a robbery on a barrel chested man such as my guy, they’d see me as a sure score.

I double tapped the unlock button opening the driver door, and intently scanned the surroundings when my headlights ignited. I sat aimlessly staring at the blank screen of my phone, the thunderous internal battle now underway.

Call the clueless fool, Liv. Give him the scolding he deserves.

The devil on the right: NO chance. Leave the bastard wondering where you’ve gone. If you’ve made it home safely.

Back to the left. CALL HIM. What if something bad really is going on. You’ll never forgive yourself if he’s hurt.

That was all the convincing I needed. I truly couldn’t live myself had he been unconscious in a hospital bed, suffering from some life-threatening contusion with me not at his side due to my hurt feelings. Vindicated, even still.

“It’s Colton. You know the drill. Leave a message or don’t.”

“Um, hey Colt. It’s Liv. Which you obviously know. Anyways, just checking in with you before I head home for the night. Call me back. Wanted to make sure you’re okay. Uh…yeah, that’s all. So, call me back. I love you.”

I gave myself 5 minutes in the warming car for a call back before my mind spoke up. If he is indeed hurt somewhere, a call to his phone would not be sufficient to reaching the root of the problem. So, one measly text to Beth, then I really would engage the silent treatment.

L: Sorry to bother you so late, Beth. Just checking in on Colt. I can’t seem to get in touch with him. Wanted to make sure he was alright.

The indicating bubbles of reply danced quite timely after I had hit the send button. I was impressed by the youngest generation of the baby boomer era and her swift technological skill.

B: No bother, sweetheart. He left the arena not long after you hurried off to the conference. Said he just wanted to call it a night.

So, the bastard wasn’t on his death bed in the back of some ambulance after all. Or dying in the hands of a brain surgeon attempting to locate the source of some imagined internal bleeding. Leaving him completely and utterly unexcused for the selfish, and frankly juvenile behavior. Sure, I get the loss was hanging heavy and a night alone in his own bed was therapeutic to nurse his defeat, and freshly wounded body back to health. I couldn’t be mad at him for seeking out a little isolation, I guess. That was one of the personality flaws of Colton, it seemed. Something doesn’t play out in your favor? Run. Someone questions your judgement? Shout, then run. The fact that zero communication had been made with me, the innocent spectator, was the true “no-no” in my book. Especially after the hypocrite scolded me one afternoon for leaving my phone at home on the coffee table one day on my brisk exit to work. He had driven down to the Pilot office, had the secretary summon me to the front entrance so he could reprimand me in the corner about he had worried all morning when he didn’t hear from me, and wasn’t sure if I was alive or dead. Yet, here we were. Tables indeed turned, and not even so much as a single text message just assuring me he was home safe, sound, and not experiencing signs of a brutal concussion or what not. I made up my stubborn mind that when, or if for that matter, that he wanted to talk he could find me. I wasn’t about to drag myself any further into oncoming traffic for a man who pulled stunts like this one. Not without an apology at least.

Tuesday morning. Two days since the fight. Two FULL days. Crickets. 48 hours. For all I knew, Colton Ritter had hopped a plane to Mexico and was sunning on the beach with a beautiful, topless native as we speak. Keeping the promise to myself, and my self-respect, I held my ground & hadn’t reached out to him since leaving a voicemail late after the fight. The plus side? I had an over abundance of time to finalize my article for Ryan, who had texted me with instruction to head straight for his office as soon as I made it to work. It was edited, proofread, and emailed to him by midmorning on Monday, so I was sure he’d had his chance to look over my work. I mindfully sported my best suit on this particular day, leaning if he thought the article was shit and I was in for a lecture, at least I’d look fabulous while taking my reprimanding.

I marched directly to my boss’ office at 8:00 a.m. sharp, shoulders held high ready to take whatever bad, or good that was coming my way. Two knuckle knocks to his wooden, “editor-in-chief” plated door before he granted my entrance.

“Liv, hey! Goodmorning. Come in, have a seat, have a seat.”

I flashed a reserved smile, lowering to be seated directly across the L-shaped desk from him. “You wanted to see me?”

Thankfully, he grinned brightly, “I did, yeah. Feeling a bit of relief with this one off your shoulders?”

“Actually, I enjoyed it a lot. I mean, aside from Mendez being quite the… snide character, it was honestly kind of fun for me. MMA isn’t really a sport I’ve had much exposure to, but I’ve grown pretty fond of it now.” I figured that response was better than saying “I fell in love with Colton Ritter during this process and we’ve been dating under the table for the last several months.”

Ryan leaned forward on his desk, intertwining his hands together outstretched. “That’s actually one of the things I wanted to discuss with you. This piece was by far the best work I’ve seen from you. Not to discredit any of your past articles, of course! But, it was clearly displayed that you were genuinely enjoying yourself with this topic,” he explained. “Which is why I’ve decided to move forward with publishing you front page.”

A toothy smile immediately turned my lips upward, sweating palms replaced with a leaping heart.

“I know we spoke about only going that route if Ritter took the win since the piece was centered around him. But, your writing was too unbelievably excellent to not reward the dutiful job you did.”

I tried to save face, remain composed but I cupped my hands over my cheery face and released a tiny squeal, however not forgetting to thank my boss for the career altering opportunity.

“Thank you so, so SO much, boss. Truly, I’m so grateful!”

“You earned it, Liv. But don’t thank me just yet. There’s something else I’d like to suggest.” Was he pulling the “good news first to stifle to bad news” bit with me?

“I’ve discussed it with a few of the higher ups, and I’d like to designate you as our resident journalist for all things in the world of fighting. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I think you may have found your niche with this one. Of course, there’d be a slight increase in pay with the position.”

The heaviness of the weekends dramatic unfolding’s took a momentary backseat to the unexpected pleasantries of this spring-esque Tuesday morning. Still, this very second, the only thing I wanted to do was run to Colt with the good news…

“If you think that’s where I belong, then I’d love to give it a shot. It’s definitely a sport I’d like to continue getting familiar with.”

He nodded with a single clap of his hands, “That’s what I like to hear! We’re lucky to have you here, Elliott. I think this a good move. So, we’ll talk later on in the week to settle everything 100%. And I’ll see you on the front-page Thursday morning, my friend.”

We shook hands, and I nearly skipped the distance spanning from his office to my quaint cubicle. I wondered if the birds I heard singing a song of rejoice around my head were visible to the rest of the office. I lifted the screen of my silver laptop, primed and ready to dive into the world of my latest endeavors. I searched the internet scanning for upcoming matches in the city, some of Pittsburgh’s own who competed in the arena of cage fighting, then I heard a ding signaling a message on my unsilenced phone.

C: Meet at Mac’s soon?

The utter nerve of this guy. Sure, I haven’t heard as much as a ‘hey’ from you in two days, but I’ll be sure to leave an hour into a work day per your request. God help the male population if they’re all this clueless.

L: He speaks.

He knew me well enough to know I’d throw a tad bit of shade at him.

C: Meet me, please?

L: Its not even 10 a.m., Colton. I’m working.

C: After? We need to talk.

Oh, ya’ don’t say, genius. I’d say we were about two days overdue for a talk, sweet, silly boy.

L: 4:30. I have some news of my own too!

C: Great.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyfanfic #tommy conlon #elizabeth olsen

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alitheamateur · 5 years

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The Grind-Chapter 5

Warnings: Language. Mentions of nudity.

A/N: First of all, I’d like to extend a bear hug to the ones who are showing any love at all to this piece!!!! I can't begin to express my gratitude. And secondly, I know to some, the plot may be bit slow right now, but HOLD ON! I can assure you, there is LOADS TO COME, so buckle up, buttercups.

The Grind-Chapter 5

I had to make a visit to Danny Mendez’s training spot for article research that morning, per Ryan’s demands. Colton had playfully teased me, suggesting I run his opponent over with the car, or slip him something to ensure he’d fail the pre-fight drug test, to give him the guaranteed upper hand on Danny. I had originally intended for the piece to be strictly centered around the life, and journey of Pittsburgh’s silent underdog, Colton. However, my nagging objections hadn’t convinced Ryan, and he’d instructed me that the piece would be better received by the public if I covered both competitors. Although I had never worked directly with Mendez, word around the office from coworkers who had sat down with him in the past, was that he was quite the bombastic pig. Oh, lovely. As if having to appear completely unbiased wasn’t already going to be enough struggle, now I’d have to spend my entire morning penning notes as he stroked his own roaring ego.

I checked the given address Danny’s trainer had emailed me, taken aback with surprise when I wheeled into the parking lot. It was a far cry from the gritty, seedy vibe at Mac’s gym. I glided through the automatic doors of the tawdry, two level complex and was greeted by a clearly well-trained receptionist.

“Hi, uh… I’m Liv Elliot with the Pitt Pilot. I have a meeting this morning with Danny Mendez.”

She escorted into the glass box of the elevator, where I kept any further communication with her to the bare minimum. The entire drive over I stewed and fretted over the dread of having to even look Mendez in the eyes. My chest puffing with quite the prejudiced attitude, and a newly protective girlfriend instinct kicking in. I withheld an airy squeak at the thought “girlfriend.” Until this instant, I prided myself in the stern, professional ethic I displayed in all aspects of my work life. But now, I was struggling to sort through, and control all the newfound feelings that Colton had provoked in me as of late. The ding of arrival sounded when we had reached the second floor, opening to reveal a painfully illuminated gym facility. Treadmills, and weight benches, and therapy bikes, oh my.

“Mr. Mendez is right over there, Miss Elliott. He’s expecting you.” She pointed her manicured finger to the left toward a huddle of men.

I readied the recorder on my cell, and boldly marched in their direction, the subtle clack of my black pumps announcing my approach. He was waylaying into a battered speedbag, but turned his smug face to me without ceasing his blows, obviously in shameless effort to impress me. Danny had countless tattoos much like Colton, but his height towered over me at least double the distance his challenger did. He was a very large man, however not quite as amply defined.

“Afternoon, Olivia. Come to get the word from the real champ for your story?”

He indeed impressed me alright. With only a handful of words he had already tempted me with lacing his open water bottle with a certain substance that could easily disqualify him from stepping into the ring with Colton.

“Actually, it’s just Liv, Mr. Mendez. How are you?”

One of his pathetic goons promptly handed him a towel to wipe the sweat from his slick, hairless head, and I tagged along on his heels to find a seat next to the empty caged octagon.

“Is this where you train for every fight, Danny? I know most fighters tend to find one gym they favor and stick to it.”

“it is, yes. I own the place, in fact. None of the shit hole facilities in the city had the right feel for me. So, I took it upon myself to build this one. I’m a firm believer in doing something yourself if you want it done right, Miss Elliott.”

My eyes may have rolled instinctively in obvious hatred for the guy. I wanted to get what I needed as soon as possible and bid riddance to this prick.

“I was just about to hop in the cage with my grappling partner, you mind? You can pass the word to that amateur asshole Ritter about what he’s got comin’ to him next weekend, huh?”

To say I wanted to rattle the stupid, snide smile right off his bearded face would be an amplified understatement.

“Please! Don’t let me stop you. I’m here to see what a day in the life of the champ is like, right?”

He chuckled at my statement, dumbly oblivious that it was intended as 100% sarcasm.

I wasn’t at all pleasantly surprised at what happened in the half hour I had spent there. He was indeed the middleweight champion, and I learned very quickly why. He, in my opinion, wasn’t what I would call more talented than Colton on any level, but he definitely wasn’t the scrub I ignorantly assumed he would be either. Unlike the utter animalistic indignation Colton displayed in the cage, Danny was so poised and light on his feet. His expression was focused, yet calm. I noticed instantly he was the type of fighter who paced himself for the duration of rounds, making sure he kept his breaths as even as possible, analyzing every move he made, and why. I wouldn’t say that I left the gym with doubts that Colton could come out on top. However, I feared the victory wouldn’t come served to him on a silver platter as I’d hoped. Mendez unquestionably proved every bit of gossip that insinuated he was a dreadful human being. Unfortunately though, he wasn’t the slouch I needed him to be on the mat.

I went back to my quaint cubical at the Pilot to compile the very limited, nearly useless comments Danny had given me for the spread, but my protesting mind had other plans. Colton had yet to reach out on the report he had gotten from the doctor, and there was no chance of me focusing on anything aside from him. I promised to him I wouldn’t pry, so texting him was a no-go. But, he did tell me that anything going on with him, was indeed my business as well? My over-worked, over analytical brain had nearly reached over-heating, when a gentle buzz rattled my tiny metal desk.

Message from: Colton

How soon can you make it over to Mac’s?

It was almost as if I had willed the text into existence. I raised the rose gold watch on my wrist into view, 1:57 p.m. Getting an early start this morning with the commute to Danny’s gym, meant I would be able to add drive time onto my hours for the day. Sure, I’d still be shy roughly an hour shy from a full days work, but Ryan would understand if I explained that one of the competitors from the match I was covering may be facing a detrimental injury, and he would shoo me to catch the happenings. I hoisted my black, alligator skinned satchel over my shoulder, laptop in tow, and trudged impatiently downstairs to the parking garage.

The short drive to the gym, I couldn’t seem to still my tapping fingers on the peeling steering wheel of my silver SUV. I tried to occupy myself with the radio in attempt to build a blockade from the piling thoughts racking my mind, but it was entirely useless. He knew I was working, why had he needed me at Mac’s? Was the hand injury worse than both of us imagined? Had the doctor advised him to bow out gracefully from the fight against Mendez? My tripping mind, and the fussing over a doomed lost of hypothesis nearly teleported me to Mac’s before I even knew where I was.

I pushed through the double doors of the building, and slowed to a more casual pace giving off the illusion that I wasn’t an eager, panicky mess. Colton was easing his half naked body into a scuffed silver tub resembling that of a horse troth like Mrs. Bishop, the widow down the street from my childhood home in Westfield, had transformed into a flower bed. There was a vicious wince spread wide on his lips as he lowered to be seated, and my eyebrows upturned in evident concern.

“Hey doc, mind comin’ over for a second?” He motioned the salty-haired man over to where I now stood at his side, petting back his combed over hair.

When I had gotten a closer look, I realized the painful twitches of his face where thankfully caused by the rigid ice bath he sat in, the cold therapy submersion aided in the healing of his exhausted muscles.

“Dr. Cooper, this is Liv. The pain in my ass who insisted I let ya’ take a good look at my hand here. Would you please tell her what we talked about earlier? I know she’s too hard-headed to believe it outta my mouth.” The smart-elic tone of his voice generally would’ve set me off, but the way he intertwined his fingers through mine when he spoke to the doctor was his saving grace for the moment.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss. As Colton said, I did take a good look at the hand earlier this morning. I took an x-ray, revealing no broken bones, which is obvious good news. And after observing him in the ring a bit, it seems Mr. Ritter does have some severe inflammation going on. However, with a series of cortisone shots, I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t proceed with the fight.”

My eyes met Colton’s with a nod of relief, happy for the weight of worry to be finally lifted from my chest. “Thank you so much for the explanation, Doctor. And thanks for taking such good care of this one.”

Dr. Cooper returned to the conversation he was previously having with one of the other fighters Mac was working with, leaving Colton and I to ourselves. I retrieved the large towel he’d laid to the floor in close proximity to his bath, handing it to him, but yanking it back swiftly before he could pry it completely from my hands, “Well, well. Looks like now that we know your hand is fine, you’ll have to come up with another excuse when you lose to Mendez.”

A wide, wicked smirk danced over his handsome face, and with one instantaneous motion, I was plunged into the subzero pool of ice. The fitted material of my wool pencil skirt now clung tighter to my figure, and the collar of my blouse now heavy from saturation.

“Oh God, I didn’t mean to pull you so hard. Guess I don’t know my own strength, baby. Sorry...” His shoulders shrugged mimicking innocence in the matter of my now trembling appendages, as he patted dry his own wet chest.

“I probably had that one comin’, huh.” I reasoned.

He guided me to the locker room, offering up a change of some spare sweats that obviously swallowed me from his cubby, and he wrapped his arm over my shoulders as we shivered into the nighttime streets back to my place.

I was dangerously teetering on what I swore was frost bite after travelling the 11 blocks to my place, so my now extremely apologetic boyfriend had taken it upon himself to run me a scalding bath. I stripped off the damp cotton leaving a trail of articles from the living room to the bathroom plopping onto the floor, in urgent effort to dive into the water as quickly as possible. Sadly, the bathtub in my miniscule home wasn’t nearly large enough to fit the both of us, so Colt had dropped his clothes in the dryer then situated himself in the floor near the tub, propping his back against the wall to keep me company while I attempted to regain feeling in my toes.

“How’d it go with Mendez today?” Colton asked pulling off the unraveling toboggan from his head.

“Oh, he’s just a modern day, prince charming, that one. Let me tell ya’.” He widened his eyes in agreement, no words needed to express his agreeance.

He’d given me the run down from everything else with Dr. Cooper this morning, and reenacted the “crunch time” sermon Mac religiously gave him when the closeness of fight night approached.

“So, your parents… Will they be coming next Saturday?”

We had limited conversations about our families up until this point, but one thing he had told me, were his parents, Michael and Beth, were his biggest supporters. Granted, his mother had definitely resisted the idea when she discovered he had taken such a violent career interest, making him promise to “use his head, and hang it up” if things ever got too rough for him on the mat.

“Yeah, they’ll be here on Thursday dad said. I wanted to talk to you about that…” I boosted up out of the now cooling water, my full attention on him. “I’m supposed to meet ‘em for dinner, and uh, I’d like you t’ come. Unless you think it’s too soon, then I totally understand.” The antsy man kept his eyes on the sage colored shag of a rug he was seated on, pulling nervously on some strands of the soft material.

I reflected back on a remark he’d made about his mom in a talk we had regarding her bout with cancer, and now 6th year in remission, where he’d said he wished he was half the warrior she was. And then, informed me that he had never actually taken any girl home previously because there were none he considered worthy of his mother’s company. The sudden realization that apparently, I was deemed “worthy” had me buzzing with pleasure, my head swimming with overwhelming delight. Was this what the blindsiding smack of love felt like?

“If you want me there, then I’d love to. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to invite me, Colt.”

He leaned his arm into the tub to clutch my bubble covered hand. “Liv, do I seem like the type of guy who feels like he has to do anything? Let’s be real here, girl. You ‘n I both know, I only do things I want to do, that’s just the type ‘a guy I am.”

Boy, did I know that. He hadn’t been shy about his bull-headed tendencies in the passing months we’d spent getting to know each other, and who was I to belittle him for the very same attribute I carried myself. Cupping his check in sheer admiration, I accepted. “Name the time & place, mister! I’ll be there.”

Lifting me from the bath, he tucked my now very toasty skin into bed, insisting that if he stayed over, there’s no way he’d let me get any sleep so he should head home. A lingering peck to my lips, followed by the same to my nose then forehead, topped off with a playful “noogie” to the crown of my head, Colton Ritter had smothered the urge to say, that no matter the resistance he had tried to muster up, he was in fact unequivocally falling in love with me. Rather than unveiling those very sentiments, he secured the door to my now dark apartment, doubling back to check to lock, spatting murmurs of regret as he walked to his tired old Chevy truck, wishing he wasn’t going home to a bed without me in it.

TAGLIST: @torialeysha @eap1935

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tomhardyfanfiction #tomhardyfanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #tommy conlon #elizabeth olsen #thegrind

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thrashermaxey · 6 years

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Ramblings: Shooting Percentage Outliers (Jan 30)

If you’re like me, you desperately want to see the All-Star draft return. It’s probably never coming back as the players hated it, but considering the NBA has started to dip their toes into the water we could see it sparked up again. My fresh idea to remove some of the angst of the players is that once the All-Stars are named, you have three captains who draft three teams’ worth of players. The leftovers are the fourth team. This way, you don’t have one player singled out. You have an entire team who could then band together. I’d bet the leftovers team would win more All-Star tournaments than not.

This idea only works now that they’ve moved to the 3-on-3 tournament style, which was a brilliant wrinkle. Bringing back the draft would kick it up one extra level and really help to market the players, but maybe this is just too counter to hockey culture.

I really enjoyed the wrinkle of the consecutive saves streak replacing the shootout challenge as it flipped the narrative towards the goaltenders and took pressure off the skaters, allowing them to be more creative. I still like the idea of having mic’d up celebrities tending goal against NHL shooters in a shootout challenge and really getting them to ham it up, but I wonder how long it would take for that gimmick to get old.

There are 12 players with at least 25 games played who are currently shooting 20% or higher. Last season six players pulled off that feat, and none of them are repeaters. In fact, since 2013-14 there have only been 14 players who have shot over 20% for a full season and only one of them shows up on that list twice: Paul Byron. The point being, these kinds of outliers don’t usually hold up over 82 games, and more scarcely do they pop up more than once. The list of players currently above 20% shooting:

Goals

SOG

SH%

Brett Connolly

30.2

Alexander Kerfoot

27.9

William Karlsson

101

26.7

Kevin Roy

23.1

Anders Lee

119

22.7

Sonny Milano

22.2

Mathieu Perreault

21.4

Jaden Schwartz

20.9

Matt Nieto

20.4

Yanni Gourde

20.2

Brad Marchand

104

20.2

Anthony Beauvillier

What the top three on this list are doing is ridiculous. You have to go back to 1994 and Cam Neely for the last time anyone with any kind of shot volume scored on over quarter of their shots. Peak Mike Ribeiro also had a 25% shooting season once, but generally this kind of shooting is a thing of the past. None of this is to say that these guys can’t continue to be productive, but a lesser version of said productivity should be expected going forward.

On the flip side, let’s look at players with at least 50 SOG shooting less than 5%:

Goals

SOG

SH%

Joel Eriksson Ek

1.4

Artturi Lehkonen

2.6

Max Domi

102

2.9

Ryan Callahan

2.9

Joakim Nordstrom

3.1

Jason Chimera

3.2

Sean Kuraly

3.2

Brendan Leipsic

3.3

Logan Shaw

3.3

Magnus Paajarvi

3.4

Derek MacKenzie

3.7

Boone Jenner

103

3.9

Tomas Plekanec

4.1

Carl Hagelin

4.1

Alex Iafallo

4.4

Colton Sissons

4.4

Charles Hudon

124

4.8

Zack Smith

4.8

Most of that list is predictable junk, but some of these players, particularly the top three are of real interest to fantasy owners. What in the hell happened to Domi who carries a career 10.2% shooting percentage? I know Lehkonen has been banged up, but how does a shooter that good fall off so steeply? Some of the players on this list should improve in the second half.

Filip Forsberg could be back as soon as tonight against Chicago. He practised yesterday with full contact. Make your lineup adjustments accordingly.

This could really help Ryan Johansen who has stumbled with just five points in 12 games since Christmas. I’ve discussed this before, but with Johansen’s game steering more and more towards playmaking he has become very volatile. Not only have you lost his shot volume, but he is also at the whims of his shooters, and outside of Forsberg, there aren’t too many above average shooters in this lineup.

Jacob Trouba will miss the next 6-8 weeks with an ankle injury. The first instinct is to pray for Connor Hellebuyck, but the Jets have been quite resilient in the face of injury having already lost a good deal of center depth with Mark Scheifele and Adam Lowry on the shelf. Eventually, however, you hit the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I am not sure if we are there yet as the Jets are one of the few teams with legitimate right-handed defenseman depth. Presumably, Tucker Poolman will draw in as a lineup regular. While Tyler Myers and Dustin Byfuglien will step into bigger minutes.

This could prove particularly beneficial for Byfuglien who has taken a real step backwards after having his minutes clipped by over four per game. The entirety of his loss in minutes has come from penalty kill and 5-on-5 use so it shouldn’t have impacted him that badly, but Byfuglien has had gripes about not playing as much as he’d like. I hope he’s ready.

The Jets also have a ton of cap space, organizational depth and their full complement of draft picks to play with if they want to dip into the rental market. They have generally been resistant to making big splashes, but did pull off the Evander Kane/Myers deal, along with some low-cost rentals in Jiri Tlusty and Lee Stempniak on the road to their last playoff run.

I’d argue that promoting internally is the best method for these guys to upgrade since Jack Roslovic is on the cusp, but playoff teams can never have too much depth. They are also still giving Matt Hendricks a regular shift so there is room for upgrades. Do they risk upsetting the apple cart too much if they push him out?

Some Avalanche updates:

{source}<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-lang="en"><p lang="en" dir="ltr"><a href="https://twitter.com/Avalanche?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">@Avalanche</a> Varlamov full practice today could play on trip; Bernier in tomorrow; Barrie possible for tomorrow; Andrighetto and Barberio still ailing, staying home.</p>— Rick Sadowski (@RickS7) <a href="https://twitter.com/RickS7/status/958103232080789506?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">January 29, 2018</a></blockquote>

Jonathan Bernier was the bee’s knees for a couple of weeks but has now lost two in a row. With Semyon Varlamov apparently close, you can probably jump out soon.

Tyson Barrie’s imminent return takes a bite out of Sam Girard, but the truth is that even with top PP usage Girard hasn’t been particularly relevant. He could take over full time if Barrie is trade, but remember that Cale Makar looms as the future here.

It sounds like John Gibson is ready to go after getting banged up before the All-Star break.

Amazingly, Victor Hedman will travel with Tampa Bay on their four-game road trip meaning he is likely to play at some point in the next week. Apparently, he has been out for three weeks already, but it seems like he has barely missed time. I suppose January was the month to miss. Between the bye week and the All-Star break he missed more games than he might have.

Mark Stone was placed on IR retroactive to January 20th, so he could return right away, but this looks like it’s going to be a bit of a guessing game.

Stone has been the only Senator who has avoided slumping yet this season so losing him is a big hit.

Jaromir Jagr has passed through waivers and is expected to be heading overseas.

In other Flames news, Michael Frolik appears to be back from injury. Frolik isn’t particularly fantasy relevant, but he is a massive upgrade on Troy Brouwer, which will help the shutdown line with Mikael Backlund and Matthew Tkachuk tilt the ice better.

Check out my latest fantasy hockey stock market piece.

Thanks for reading! You can follow me on Twitter @SteveLaidlaw.

from All About Sports http://www.dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-shooting-percentage-outliers-jan-30/

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