Face Off: Gretzky Edition!

Here's a new feature on HS,HS! called "Face Off!" In Face Off, we'll each describe in agonizing, amusing, and in Moose's article, boring detail about coming face to face with a real, live star of the greatest league of any kind, anywhere, the NHL.

Since this is the premiere article in the series, what better way to start off than with a tale of personal encounter with the premier hockey player ever, Wayne Gretzky. Right. That's just what I was thinking, there would be no better way.

The time, 1 and a half years ago. Le place, The Kings' practice facility in El Segundo, California. It was sometime in the mid-morning. I had just finished playing and was in the parking lot loading my car with all my gear. With me, my friend Devo; a slight, sickly, observant type, who, when asked to participate as a writer in this blog, gave it not more than a moments thought and completely refused.

So we're talking away, loading our stuff; Devo using both hands to load his 16 pound stick into the car, when suddenly the Crips or the Bloods decided to roll up and shoot us. It must have been one of them because up pulls the sickest, blackest, 24" rimmed out Range Rover anyone has ever seen. This thing was a black hole for energy. As it sapped up my remaining apres skate strength, I made a brief mental note to try and fall post shooting into a position comfortable for sleeping. As I thought this, I heard Devo quietly say,
"Holy shit, it's Gretzky."
"What?" I said.
"It's Gretzky." He replied.
The Range Rover now parked beside us, the driver door opens and out steps the most illustrious spokesperson the GWG Jeans company ever had.
Now, I was never really a big Gretzky fan. I even hated him after he stabbed Doug Gilmour in the face with a high stick that Kerry Fraser "decided not to call" leaving Gretzky on the ice to score the game winner against The Leafs, thereby not allowing us to go to the final against Montreal. So anyway, that's how I feel about him, but still, it's Gretzky, right?
"Wayne." I call out.
A LOT of seconds go by.
"Hey, Wayne."
Somewhere, a clock in a belltower starts to ring... A snooze button is pressed by a sleepy owner for the forth time... A young child grows another inch...
NOTHING.
I GOT NOTHING.
Gretzky just turned and walked and walked and walked away.
I GOT NOTHING.
"Holy shit," I said, "I just got snubbed by Gretzky."
I got nothing from ol' Wayner. The Boy on the Bus, Daoust skates, Titan stick, 50/39. Nothing.

That's it for this edition of "FACE OFF". Please join us for future installments which will probably include:

NORTE, talking about meeting, I don't know, some guy once.
WASH, talking about seeing Messier snap Craig Muni's balls in the shower with a wet towel-whip.
MOOSE, who cares.

Watch here as Gretzky pretends to drive a Ford: