Guys on Ice: Where Icing Happens

While I was watching Game One of the Stanley Cup Finals between Chicago and Philadelphia, Mike Millbury and Pierre McGuire had special guest Ryan Miller talk a bit during intermissions. I notice that Miller seemed a bit slow and tired when he talked. I’d like to think that what I have below is what happened before airtime.

RunOfTheMilbury: Hey, Ryan. Thanks for coming in.
Miller_Time: Sure thing, Mr. Milbury. I figure it was either this or pwning n00bs on xbox live.
LightMcGuire: It’s a MONSTER help!
RunOfTheMilbury: No, he does AMP.
Miller_Time: Actually, I don’t do AMP anymore. I used to do 37 cans a day, but then my doctor made me stop since it was eating a hole through my stomach. And then, there were the heart palpitations, the ringing ears, the hallucinations…
LightMcGuire: I hear you, Ryan. That stuff’s like DRIVING battery acid through your system.
RunOfTheMilbury: Actually, I have a little gift here for you, Ryan.

RunOfTheMilbury: /pulls out bottle of Smirnoff Ice from under the desk
LightMcGuire: OOOH BOY FOLKS, that is we’d call a good old-fashioned bro icing. That means that Ryan Miller is forced to take to the ground on one knee and chug the Ice.
Miller_Time: Unless I happen to have another Ice to block it. OH WAIT A SECOND…
Miller_Time: /pulls Smirnoff Ice out of pant leg
LightMcGuire: MONSTER Ice block by Miller!
RunOfTheMilbury: That’s right, Pierre. Normally, I’d have to chug both of these but OH LOOKIT I HAVE ANOTEHR SMIRNOFF TO BLOCK
RunOfTheMilbury: /pulls Smirnoff Ice from under his seat
Miller_Time: I’m a goalie. I know all about blocking!
Miller_Time: /pulls Smiroff Ice from under tie
RunOfTheMilbury: Don’t screw with me, Miller!
RunOfTheMilbury: /pulls Smirnoff Ice from pants
LightMcGuire: Why do you two have all of these malted beverages nearby? You guys must be MONSTER alcoholics who can’t DRIVE home!
Miller_Time: Blocked, sucker!
Miller_Time: /removes bottle from greasy hair
RunOfTheMilbury: Oh no you don’t!
Miller_Time: Oh yes I do!
RunOfTheMilbury: That’s a Mike’s Hard Lemonade! Doesn’t count! Chug ‘em all, bitch.
Miller_Time: …
Miller_Time: Well, crap.
LightMcGuire: I dunno, Mike, that’s an awful lot of bitch beer for one man to drink. How do you like Miller’s chances tonight?
RunOfTheMilbury: Well, he’s on his knees now and making an honest effort. You can tell he might do this kind of thing a lot.
Miller_Time: Just like yo momma.
RunOfTheMilbury: You shut it before I knock your lazy eye back into place!
LightMcGuire: He does not have a lazy eye, Mike. Miller just looks like a stroke victim out there.
RunOfTheMilbury: I am not about to take vision advice from a man who wears glasses.
Production_Person: OK Guys, we’re on in one minute.
Miller_Time: I can’t drink all this in one minute!
RunOfTheMilbury: You’ll just have to quit whining and drink faster, then.
Miller_Time:   Dear God, I’m never doing this show again!
LightMcGuire: Mike, is this anything like the times we had Jeremy Roenick in booth here?
RunOfTheMilbury: It’s nothing like Roenick. We went back and forth icing each other for half n hour, and then he punched me in the throat. I don’t remember much after that.
LightMcGuire: Then again, you don’t remember much after that time in ’95—
RunOfTheMilbury: Hey, I was actually behaving myself, we thought we could make it to Vegas, and all the charges were dropped, so CAN IT!
Miller_Time: I hate you guys so much right now. I can’t get the taste of malt mango out of my mouth.