Mystery, Alaska

---

Oh, Skank!

F*** me!

Hey.

What did you say?

You teach him that?

He heard it

in the locker room, Dad.

- From who?

- Everyone.

You know what it's like

in there.

He shoots.

He scores!

Wouldn't start again?

- Was it the gas line?

- I don't know. I'll ask Tinker.

- Mmm.

- Mmm.

Take the sled, will ya?

I wanna wait for the mail.

- The magazine's supposed to be here, express.

- Okay. Better be good.

Of course it's gonna be good.

That's the whole point.

I don't exactly trust

Chuckie boy.

Come on.

Pass it off.

All right.

Let's go again.

Bailey!

Hi, Bailey.

Fat men don't shovel,

Bailey.

No, it's dry.

It's dry.

- Ew! F*** me!

- That's a lung biscuit.

Joey!

That's it. Neither of you guys

are coming to the locker room again.

John?

Have a good game today.

- God, it's cold!

- The taters are hot.

Right here, Connor.

Thanks. Hot, hot, hot!

- What the hell kind of bird is that?

- Bobby, throw some tape.

- It's gonna be a hot one today.

- Hey, tape!

- Hey, is the magazine out yet?

- Monday.

- Johnny's supposed to get a copy expressed.

- Maybe we made the cover.

- We ain't on the cover.

- He said it would be a big story with pictures.

Yeah, Chuck exaggerates.

Hey, guys, you are

not gonna believe this.

Sarah Heinz.

I know!

She's supposed to be this shy girl.

I figure, what the hell.

I ain't that attractive.

I'll vaccinate her quick, get home for an

early sack, beat what's left of the bishop.

Like this?

- She's much fatter naked. Yeah!

- No.

I'm telling you, she got her February

fat now in the second week in December.

She's riding me

like a wet walrus,

making these fat sounds.

- Thwap, thwap, thwap.

- The boy's got no shame.

You're a sick man, Skank.

- Hey, you got the magazine? Damn.

- The mail didn't come yet.

- Hey.

- What?

- You kill one more wolf...

- Ain't no sheriffin' in here.

I ain't sheriffin'. I'm just

a teammate concerned for his freedom.

Come on, boys.

Let's move it.

It's two tenths below zero.

The committee won't be happy.

- The committee.

- You seen Weeks lately? He's been skating the river.

I don't care. I'm about to be on

the cover of Sports Illustrated.

That photographer said I have

one of those expressive faces.

- A face that tells a story.

- Too bad it's a tragedy.

- A comedy.

- A horror story.

Come on, guys.

Let's start gettin' our heads into it.

Like Connor says,

that Weeks kid, he's got jump.

I'm tellin' you, Tree,

there's rumors.

One of us is going down.

Let's go! Let's move!

Let's go!

Good game!

Good game!

Stretch 'em out.

- Let's do it, Sheriff.

- Sticks!

- Line 'em up, Michael!

- Don't give me Tree. I wanna win this week.

- I win no matter what side, huh?

- Win this, Tree.

- Maybe it's you and me, huh?

- Winetka.

Here.

- Paul.

- Brown's the winner.

- Dad!

- Thanks, Mikey.

Tree!

- You see Stevie Weeks yesterday?

- Chump.

You think

we gotta do it?

- Birdie!

- Try and pass me!

- Give it to me!

- Try it! Try it!

Pass! Damn!

Whoo!

All right!

Soon, it'll be you

out there.

- Oh, I don't know.

- It will, Stevie.

- Ow!

- Daddy!

There are things you do in public...

and things you don't.

We're just kissing.

For God's sakes.

Geez.

Very effective, Walter.

Nipped in the bud.

- MaryJane.

- You got it?

I got it. Look. It's three pages

with pictures and profiles.

- There's John.

- A mix between Bobby Bond and Moose DuPark.

Yeah,

he won't like that.

"Clears the crease like a snowplow. "

Well, he can't not like that.

Come on.

- Honey. Look at this.

- Hey.

- The mayor should get first look. Not bad, right?

- Wow.

Son of a piss whore.

Our town in Sports Illustrated.

Listen to this.

"The legendary hockey players of

Mystery, Alaska, were born on skates...

in a world perpetually covered

with ice and snow.

Isolated by rugged mountains

and vast glaciers,

they hone their skills

by playing each other,

Saturday after Saturday,

for as long as anyone can remember.

The citizens attend with

religious devotion in sub-zero weather.

A committee of town fathers

decides who plays and by what rules.

The game has become

more than a sport.

It's a weekly

ritual celebration. "

"The Winetka brothers

forecheck like gophers.

When a puck goes into a corner,

a Winetka comes out with it.

- Yeah!

- Read. Read!

And then there's

Connor Banks.

- Connor!

- What about Connor Banks?

Montreal had its rocket.

Mystery has its cruise missile!"

The only rocket you got

is your meat whistle.

Hang on. Hang on. " Perfecting the art

of the pass is John Biebe,

whose precision and accuracy more

than compensate for slowness of foot.

- The only player without lightning speed.

- Every team needs its thumper.

F*** 'em, Johnny. F*** 'em.

On pure skating ability,

the boys of Mystery, Alaska...

rival any team in

the National Hockey League!"

That's us!

That's us!

And isn't it exciting

for Charlie...

And isn't it exciting

for Charlie...

getting his article published

in Sports Illustrated?

I bet this is a big

accomplishment for him.

He kind of embellished

a little.

He's always been so smart, that Charlie.

I knew when he left he'd make it big.

Well, actually, I heard he left

'cause he skated like a homosexual.

You think because you scored two goals

today, you played a good game?

We don't talk about hockey at the table.

We've been talking about it

for 20 minutes.

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