You're The Bryan. You've finally listened to reason and blown up the team, having given up on the twin pipe dreams of squeaking into the playoffs as the #8 seed and the ensuing first round sweep.
So now, after playing your cards just right you find yourself sitting in a Montreal strip club pondering next day's draft ("Why yes, Bambi, that IS the first overall pick in my pocket. Why do you ask?").
One is some hybrid scoring machine/uber-leader, genetically engineered from DNA harvested from the sweat of old Mark Messier jerseys, and Steve Yzerman's discarded teeth.
The other is a giant Scandinavian mutant, a young Zedno Chara without the hands of stone or the blazing speed of a beached ocean liner.
You know your team can't score, or stop anybody from scoring on your team.
Tavares or Hedman. Who ya got?
