#brian foster

The Canucks are holding a press conference about Bryce and Jared, and Stephen is sitting on his living room couch in front of his TV, rather than at his desk, or even in his home office, where he should be, because it is the start of a work day. Those two things are related.

“Who let me become emotionally invested,” Stephen says. “Clearly I am now, I’m not denying it, but who let me be.”

“You, honestly,” Gabe says, which is true but not appreciated.

It’s early for a press conference, even by eastern standards — ludicrously early compared to the usual press conference starts — which Stephen assumes is so there will be as few eyes as possible on it. Which may have worked before the advent of internet, but not so much anymore.

Stephen hasn’t bitten his nails since he was a teenager, but he’s had to stop himself multiple times in the past few days, and once again he forcibly moves his hands into his lap, squeezing them between his thighs.

“Hey,” he says when Gabe pulls his left hand out of his lap and laces their fingers, but he can’t bite his nails if Gabe has custody of his hand, so it’s just as effective a deterrent, he supposes.

“Nervous?” Gabe asks.

Stephen scoffs.

“Yeah,” Gabe says. “Me too.”

Foster’s on first, before Bryce and Jared, and Stephen’s expecting that one to be by the book, can’t squeeze water from a stone, like most press conferences with GMs are, a lot of words to say very little of consequence.

That is not what happens.

It does start off that way, for the first few softball questions, the lead ins presumably meant to get his guard down, but as soon as the questions become more pointed, it veers off script.

“Were Jared Matheson and Bryce Marcus married when you traded for Marcus?” lands, and Stephen winces, because that opens up a line of questioning he doesn’t think the Canucks want to go down. Not so much them being married, because that’s a verifiable fact, but whether the Canucks knew that, used their relationship as trade leverage.

“That’s something you’d have to ask HR,” Foster says. “And they’re generally pretty big on employee confidentiality.”

Someone says something to him from off-screen, Stephen can tell by the tilt of his head. Stephen bets it’s PR telling him to cut the sarcasm.

“Were you aware that Matheson and Marcus were romantically involved when you traded for Marcus?”

“No comment,” Foster says, clipped. Back on script. Probably his entire script, honestly. “Next question.”

‘No comment, next question’ is the answer to the following question as well. It’s a little more blunt a tool than the way most GMs will equivocate or obfuscate or answer a different question entirely than the question they were asked, but at least it keeps things moving quickly.

“Does their marriage violate a franchise fraternization clause?” an unfamiliar voice asks. “Or the league’s?”

“I’m not sure what your question is here,” Foster says.

“Shit,” Stephen says. He’s gone off script again. Nothing good ever comes out of that.

“I think it’s pretty clear,” the reporter replies.

“You’re asking me like this is a novel situation,” Foster says.

And now he’s back to sarcasm. Which makes Stephen like him more, but he doubts he and Canucks PR have that in common, and it’s not actually good for the situation — a snappy soundbite spreads news, that’s one of the main reasons why Foster is supposed to be as boring as possible.

“Isn’t it?”

“The Ottawa Senators had three out players on the same line at one point,” Foster says. “Two of whom are in a relationship with one another. So what are we talking about here? Why are we even talking about this?”

“The Senators’ checking line,” a reporter says.

“So it’s fine to be gay as long as you aren’t top six? ‘You Can Play, but only as long as you don’t play too well’?” Foster says. “Is that what you’re telling me right now? You want to say that to Marc Lapointe? Or Julien Perreault, while we’re at it? You don’t get to selectively gatekeep this league. Either it’s fine or it’s not. Pick a fucking side and stick with it.”

“He’s getting fined by the league for this,” Stephen says, utterly fascinated. “Five figures at least.”

“Shut up,” Gabe hisses.

“You come here, wringing your hands about best business practices,” Foster says. “When a decade ago both Riley and Lapointe went to the Habs as a package deal. Did you forget about that or are you just coming here with a bullshit line of reasoning so you can pretend you’re not being homophobic as you’re asking homophobic questions? You don’t get to have it both ways, you don’t get to say their sexuality has nothing to do with this and then turn right around and ask me if I knew about their sexuality when I signed them. That’s not how this works.”

“I’m going to kiss this man,” Stephen says.

“Shhhhh,” Gabe says. “And come on, Brian’s my boss!”

“Who is getting sexier by the second,” Stephen says.

“I don’t even recognise half the faces here,” Foster says. “You come in from probably — TMZ, or Deadspin, or Barstool Sports, or whatever the hell shitstain bottom-feeder publication, you don’t give a shit about the Canucks. You sniffed out a story, congratulations. How dare you come here and talk to me about best business practices when you’re trying to sink two careers just because two men love each other. Why is this a story? They’re not the first to come out in the league. We’re at two hands here, guys. We’re running out of fingers before we hit double digits.

“You want to ask about our plans for the power play or our LTIR situation, I’m here, but as far as this subject is concerned, no comment to all further questions. And I don’t care if you make me out as a bad guy, I don’t care if I get fined for this. Know that I am saying this with the approval of ownership on down: this organization doesn’t give a flying fuck about how you decide to spin this, or what the league says, or fair-weather fans that claim they’re going to cheer for another team over this. We care about the players in our organization. And we stand behind them a hundred percent.”

“Drop the mic,” Stephen whispers. “Walk out.”

Gabe elbows him.

“Fred Simpson, the Athletic.”

Stephen glances at Gabe. Simpson’s never rubbed him the wrong way, which is frankly extraordinary for a reporter — well, never rubbed him the wrong way except when he criticises Gabe for any reason, fairly or not, but Stephen is fully aware he is not objective when it comes to Gabe — but Gabe will have a better read on him for obvious reasons.

“Freddie’s good people,” Gabe confirms.

“Go ahead Freddie,” Foster says.

“About the power play,” Simpson says, and Foster slumps with relief in the exact same way Gabe does.

“Well,” Stephen says, when it’s back to an empty podium, except for a staff member adding an additional chair for Bryce and Jared’s portion of the press conference.

“Well,” Gabe agrees.

“No one in your franchise has any chill whatsoever,” Stephen says.

“Nope,” Gabe agrees.

“Except you,” Stephen allows.

“I have very little chill on the inside,” Gabe says, which Stephen is well aware of, thank you, though nobody else seems to be, or would believe Stephen if he told them. Still, even the appearance of chill is more than anyone else has. He’s kind of dreading Bryce and Jared’s press conference. More than kind of.

“Can I make popcorn?” Stephen asks.

“It’s ten in the morning,” Gabe says, which does not, in Stephen’s opinion, count as a no.