Hey there. Remember me? It's Mats Sundin once again, gracing you with my presence. I was looking through some hockey magazines and surfing the net lately and I realized that, for some reason, no one was talking about me. I don't understand why. Surely a borderline Hall-of-Famer who has enjoyed zero postseason success over his career should be headline news every day. I think I may change that. I'm going to hire a lucky columnist to follow me around and report on all things Sundin. Important things that the public should know even if they don't want to. Like the fact that I save my fecal matter. Why, you may ask? Anything that Mats Sundin creates or does is special, no matter what form it may take. Especially my dookie. I've sold several on ebay. Some lucky people will be able to pass my shit down from generation to generation. I swell with pride when I think of some grandfather showing his grandson my poop and telling him that one day it will be his. Surely that would be that young man's proudest day. It would be mine.
Before I go, I will let you in on a secret. I'm leaning towards joining New York. They have a shortage of European assholes since Jagr left and I'm sure that no one can fill that void better than Mats Sundin. Plus they have offered me free lawn and home care for the duration of my contract. I guess they are going to send some Mexican fucker name Gomez over to take care of my chores. He may be illiterate and smell like cabbage and dog shit, but it was just the incentive needed to seal the deal. Mats has always wanted a pet.