from John Scott at The Players' Tribune,

It was like something out of The Godfather.

Just as I was all alone in my dark hotel room, the phone rang.

Brrrrrring.

I had just arrived in Nashville for the 2016 All-Star Game. After I landed, I went out with a few of the guys. We hung out on Broadway at the honky-tonk bars and had a blast.

I was lovin’ it.

I had been traded under some pretty suspicious circumstances two weeks earlier, and my life had been turned upside down, but hey, I was an All-Star. I was reunited with some of my old Sharks buddies. My wife was about to have twins. All the drama was behind me. In my mind, it was all good.

But just as I get back to my hotel room to lie down and watch TV, the phone rings. Not my cell phone. The hotel room phone with the loud, old-school brrrrrring.

Cue the mafioso music.

I pick up, and a mysterious voice says, “Hello, John. Mister Bettman would like to meet with you.”

I’m like, “What?”

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