I am Steve McQueen
Disclaimer: Dude..it's fiction. Fiction
Summary: A-Pup talks about why ppl love Stevie.
AN: This goes out to all the gals who write Stevie!fic!
Rating: R for the hell of it.
“The Tao of Steve” is a movie about a self-proclaimed “fat pig.” Dex believes there are two types of people in the world, the “Steves” and the “Stus.” The “Steves” are the charismatic, good looking sons of bitches who get all the gals. ie. Steve McQueen. The “Stus” are the rest of the idiots out there who cannot ride on looks alone. Dex and his friends have twisted the philosophies of Lao-tzu, Heidegger and Groucho Marx into a foolproof theory of dating—the Tao of Steve.
I normally don’t do the whole independent movie thing (they tend to be poorly made and boring), but this one actually kept my interest.
And no, not because I’m having problems finding the ladies. I have plenty of dates. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions!
Okay, not millions.
But pretty damn close.
After watching “Tao,” I always wondered about the “Steves.” Are they all just looks? Is that why women are drawn to them? Do the “Stus” not stand a chance?
I, uh, of course, am a “Steve,” but I have a personality and am extremely intelligent, so I figure I don’t fit the typical “Steve” mode.
Since I was doing the asking, obviously, I didn’t know the answer. So I couldn’t have asked myself anyway. So who do I ask? Who’s my Yoda?
I needed to ask a guy who’s hot. Unbelievably hot. One who attracts all sorts of women: the puckfucks, the virgin ninnies, the hockey wives. Maybe even the men.
I don’t think so.
Sorry, try again next year.
Light bulb moment in 3, 2, 1…
Stevie Y. is the ultimate “Steve.” I can personally tell you that at least half of my team is lusting after him, probably over half of the fan base (mostly men), and most women with 20/20 vision.
But, of course, I wasn’t going to be an idiot and walk up to him and ask him why women (and men) love him so much. The name’s A-Pup, not Dum Dum.
Besides, if I asked Stevie, he’d just shrug or he’d smack me over the head and call me “Rookie” or “A-Pup” or whatever stupid nickname Hull’s come up with this week. So I decided to go straight to the horse’s mouth.
No, not Hull. Although, he’s in love with Stevie too. But I didn’t want to talk to Hull about this. At least, not right away.
The first obvious choice was the wife. “So, uh, Mrs. Yzerman, why is your husband so sexy? I mean, why does Shanny love him? Er…”
Yeah, that would have gone over real well. Luckily, after she invited me into the house, I had already babbled out some sorry story about a girl instead and asked her how I would know if it was love or not. I figured she’s a mom, she’d like the sap. And if not, she’d laugh and I could run away before she told Steve.
So I asked her why she loved Steve.
And she freaking shrugged! The mother of his children and she doesn’t even know!
So I figured it had to be the looks.
Until she smiled (you know, that stupid coy girly trick where they pretend not to know to make you think, but then they realized you aren’t smart enough to figure it out on your own, so they give that knowing smile and tell you the truth) and told me she wasn’t going to tell me why she loved him, but rather, how she knew she was in love with him.
Dude, if I had wanted to know that, I would have asked that.
But apparently she wasn’t going to tell me she married him for his looks and money, so you’ll have to settle for this explanation.
This is Mrs Y’s story, verbatim. Okay, paraphrased.
“Well, Steve and I had been dating for around three years. It sounds like a long time, but it was on and off again, and we were young. He had his own apartment and I was over a lot, so I—”
Yeah, we can skip this part. I thought she was going to say something like she had “known him in the biblical sense,” but she ended up using “had relations.” Yeah, I nearly lost it too.
“And so, I had this sweatshirt. My father had bought it for me a week before he had died. As you can probably guess, I treasured it like no other. I wore it all the time until it became pretty ragged. Holes, stains…but there was no way I was throwing it out. I just, I needed something tangible to hold onto. Anyway, I must have left it over at Steve’s apartment. One night he invites me over for dinner. Candles, home-made dinner…for a hockey player, he really went over the top.”
I was about to fall asleep at this point. My leg already had.
“After dinner, Steve handed me a box. It had a bunch of tape and the ribbon was pretty jacked up—” Hey, I said badly paraphrased, “And it was so sweet. You could really tell he had put a lot of effort into it.”
I asked her if that was how she knew she loved him. She gave me the evil eye and looked like she was going to smack me, so I shut up.
“As I was unwrapping it, he said to me, ‘I figured you could use a new one. And when I saw this, I immediately thought of you.’ It was a sweatshirt, similar to the one my dad had bought me.
"‘Thanks,’ I said.
"He smiled. ‘Now you can finally get rid of that nasty old one.’
"I blinked. ‘What?’
"He smiled again, brighter. ‘Don’t worry, I already took care of it. I was cleaning out my closet and getting rid of all my old clothes too. That old thing is probably at the bottom of the dump by now.’
"By then I was crying hysterically. He had thrown away my sweatshirt. It wasn’t the only thing left of my father, but it felt like it at the time. He had thought he was helping; I had been nagging him the weekend before about clearing out space in the closet for my things. He had been expecting me to be overcome with joy, but instead I was aching inside. I wanted to scream, hit him, anything to make him feel the pain I was feeling.
"And that’s how I knew I was in love with him.”
Yeah, I said ‘what?’ too.
“You see, Sean, in three years, that was the first time he had ever made me cry. Sure, we had little squabbles here and there, but that was the first time he truly hurt me. Cut me straight to the core. And it was over a stupid sweater. How often do you meet a guy who makes you feel so loved, makes you feel so happy that the first time he makes you cry it’s over something as stupid as a sweater?
"Once. You meet and fall in love with a guy like that once in a lifetime.”
Pretty trippy stuff. You can call it deep if you want.
So that was Mrs. Y’s explanation. Stevie’s a “Steve” because he doesn’t make girls cry. Like that Shakira song.
Uh huh. I’m bilingual in the language of “love.”
That’s sex for you nerds out there.
Since Mrs. Y was no help, I went to a guy who’s also madly in love with Stevie.
Yes? Then you’re stupid.
No? You’re one sick puppy.
You remind me of me.
So I went over to Shanny’s place and asked him why he loved Stevie. He told me some stupid story about a remote control. I figured since he’s Irish he was probably drunk, so I left and came back later that afternoon.
I asked him again, and he looked at me funny, but at least this time told me an actual reason.
“Well, the clicker story was a metaphor for our entire relationship, but since you want more reasons and you’re interested—”
I feigned interest.
“I love the way he makes me feel.”
I interrupted him there and told him I didn’t want any details about Stevie and his ass. He feigned hurt like I feigned interest, before continuing.
“About three years back we were on a road trip.” He smirked. “You were still a baby, not even an A-Pup yet. Anyway, we had just lost to Dallas. A real lopsided score.” I snickered. “Hey, they were actually good that year—a well oiled machine, not like this year.” Since I’m me, I made a joke about oil and being lubed up. He didn’t find it very funny. “I was a minus-five on the night.” I held back a laugh when I saw how angry he was getting. “Bowman had really let us have it after the game. After all, we were supposed to be defending cup champions. He laid into me the most, mainly because I was an easy target and had played poorly. I know I was just an example, but that didn’t make me feel any less depressed.
"I was lying on my bed, flipping channels when Stevie walked in. I wasn’t paying attention to him because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and listening to Barry Melrose tear into me. He finally caught my attention when he flicked the t.v. off. He had just gotten out of the shower. I could tell because he still had these little beads of water on his shoulders. I remember staring at this one bead of water as it fell from his shoulder, made a trail down his chest and to the little indentation in his stomach—”
I about screamed “no details” because I could tell from Shanny’s flushed face where this was headed.
He blushed slightly before continuing. “Well, um, afterwards he pulled me close. I felt like I was the only one in the world that really mattered to him. I didn’t even have to tell him how I was feeling; he just knew.” I knew better than to make a crack about Miss Cleo here. “And he knew how to make me feel better. He didn’t talk to me about scoring or how to improve my game. He just held me and told me he loved me. Stevie always knows exactly what to say.”
So to sum up, if you want to be a Steve, you have to be clairvoyant.
And you can’t make girls cry.
After dinner I head over to Boyd’s place. The kid’s been lusting over Stevie since who knows when.
Actually, Shanny said something about twelve. That’s a little scary. (And don’t be bringing up that stupid prom article! Stop wagging it in my face; it was a joke. I’m not into fourteen-year olds. Really.)
Boyd was already in his pajamas and I was surprised there weren’t any feet on them. After a dumb joke about it on my part, I was finally able to haggle my way in. Yeesh, he’s so serious. I wanted to check out his room and see if the rumored Stevie poster was inside, but he led me over to the couch instead. He seemed a bit shocked by my question and rather reluctant to tell me.
So I think I told him some lie about being in love with Hully ever since I was fifteen. But, of course, I told him I wasn’t sure if it was love and I promised him to secrecy about it. Even made him cross his heart.
“There are so many things,” he gushed. “I really don’t know where to start.” I told him I already had the clairvoyant and no-cry thing down. He wrinkled his brow, but continued. “I suppose…it’s his wisdom. He’s just so smart.”
I busted out laughing. I couldn’t help it. I sputtered an apology, though, and things were amended.
“I guess it’s just age and experience, but it’s just like he knows so much more than anyone else. Things he can teach me. I’ve always looked up to him, and while he protects me, I’m also his equal. He gives me advice and I know I don’t have much to offer in return, but what I do tell him, he makes me feel special. Like, whatever I tell him is important. No matter how small or insignificant I think it is. He’s a father in some aspects. He looks out for me and stands by his convictions no matter what. There are so many things I can learn from it. But at the same time I feel like…oh, I don’t know. Like he’s my age. He’s not thirty seven at all—the excitement in his voice, the way his eyes light up when he looks at me.” He smiled and looked down at his socks. “I guess that’s it. He makes me feel…” I asked him what, and he just smiled again. “No, that’s it. He makes me feel alive, he makes me feel special, he makes me feel young, old, smart, funny. He just makes me feel.”
No crying. Psychic powers. Go for people who’ve forgotten how to feel.
I was feeling kinda “Stu-ish,” and less like my normal cool “Steve” self, so I ran into Boyd’s room. I was disappointed at first. No poster.
But the boy has an interesting beanie baby collection.
I about died laughing at Boyd’s, but I eventually recovered. I wasn’t quite sure who to talk to next until I saw Joe Sakic’s number on my bulletin board at home. Yes, the Detroit Red Wings do make prank phone calls to the Avs.
C’mon, it’s fun.
No, I’m not a “Stu.”
I just—I don’t have to explain myself! Back to the story, I called Joe Sakic up at around midnight here, so it was like…seven p.m. over there.
He sounded a bit groggy. I don’t know why, though. Then he sounded a bit annoyed when he found out who I was. I quickly remedied the problem by telling him I was calling about Stevie. He immediately perked up.
Literally. Figuratively. Who cares? The boy is in love with Steve. And it was my mission to find out why.
Joe laughed softly. “Could you have asked a broader question? I love Steve because he’s Steve.” Yeah, apparently Joe didn’t get the memo the first time around. I could practically hear the guy grinning—he was busting at the seams to tell my why he loved Stevie, but he wanted to yank my chain first. “Mmm…there are so many things, but if I had to choose one, I’d have to say his loyalty—his values.”
I made a crack about Steve cheating on his wife and being a traitor by hooking up with an Av. Joe wasn’t too amused.
“Yeah, but Steve’s never lied to me about being married. He’s always been up front and I know his wife and kids come first. Same thing goes for me; I love my family as much as I love Steve. He’s a real stand up guy. It’s why people respect him—players and non-players.” He sighed. “He’s just, one of the good guys. You don’t meet too many guys like him. He sticks by his convictions, and his convictions are well founded. His parents brought him up right. Maybe he’s cheating on his wife, but I doubt Lisa doesn’t know. If she asked, he’d tell her the truth. And it’s not like Steve’s out every weekend banging whoever.” He sighed again. “Maybe that hurts her more, knowing that he is doing this for love. That he’s finding love elsewhere, outside their relationship. But I suppose she’s secure enough with herself and knows it has to do with him, and not her. And maybe she can’t leave him because she loves him. Or maybe—”
Damn. Guilty people sure do ramble. I nonchalantly told Joe to get to the point.
“I don’t really know how to explain it. He’s just Steve. He’s this great guy, a good person. I’m not saying he’s infallible. I mean that he is—he’s perfectly flawed. And he learns from his mistakes. He’s a better person because of them. And he makes me a better person. I like how I am when I’m around him. I’m happy. I’m loved.”
My teeth hurt too. I hung up a whole freaking boring hour later. I don’t want to see that phone bill. So let’s see: no cry, psychic energy, hook up with paralyzed people, and be a relatively good person.
The other guys weren’t really helpful, so I decided to go to the one person who could give it to me straight.
That’s right. Brett Hull. (There is a reason Mike Keane has a “Shut Up, Hull” hat.)
I didn’t want to go. But I had to. (Okay, I really didn’t have to, but after the talk with Joe I had gone to sleep rather late and the stupid dog next door—which shouldn’t be there since no animals are allowed in the building!—woke me up extra early so I wasn’t really thinking straight)
I can’t think straight in the morning and it's obvious that Brett isn’t a morning person either. I arrived at his house and he was still in his boxers with his hair sticking up at different angles. He took one look at me and slammed the door in my face, muttering something about rookies. I proceeded to knock on the door for five straight minutes until finally he let me in. His kids thought it was hysterical. He led me to his kitchen while they ran into the other room to watch cartoons.
“So what do you want, A-Pup? And it better be good.” I explained it all to him: the movie, my questions, even everyone’s reply. He got this wry grin on his face and then told me to sit down.
“Now, you realize you’re an idiot, right?” He laughed while I scowled. I hadn’t gone there to be insulted. “Calm down, Sean, I’m not being facetious. But did you ever stop and think that maybe you weren’t asking the right question? None of those guys were telling you why they loved Stevie. They were telling you why they loved how they felt when they were around him. They told you why they loved how Stevie made them feel. Not surprising considering they’re all self-centered—” Since he thought he was Mr. Knowledgeable, I told him to tell me why everyone loved Stevie. He looked at me like I had grown a second head. “You really are a rookie. People love Stevie because he makes them feel good. Physically, emotionally, the captain has all bases covered.”
I asked him why he loved Stevie.
“It’s a purely sexual relationship.” I grinned. That’s why I love Hully. Okay, so I really don’t love him, and his nicknames are annoying and embarrassing, but you gotta respect that mouth of his. “And Stevie’s not a “Steve.” And he’s not a “Stu.” It’s a movie, Sean, about a guy who realizes all that stupid shit gets thrown out the window when you fall in love with someone. Did you not notice how that one guy, the “Stu” gets a girl without using the “Tao of Steve”?”
Oh, yeah. I knew that.
“Sean, I think you should stop asking people why they love Steve and I think you should start asking yourself why you love Steve.”
So it took a baby-chick-haired, boxer-clad, loud mouth to give me the revelation of the decade. Maybe I’m not in love with Stevie quite yet, but he certainly peaks my interest. He’s a hall of famer and he’s easy on the eye. Okay, he’s pretty darn sexy and from what I’ve heard quite the lovable guy. He’s caring, he’s thoughtful, and according to Hull, he’s got a mouth like a—
Well, he’s not a Steve. And he’s not a Stu.
He’s just Stevie Y. and I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him. I have no clue why and frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.
What can I say? I’m a movie fanatic.