The Killer Strawberries Hockey Club

A Beau Tie

2012-02-15T09:16:00.004-05:00

Killer Strawberries 2 Dirty Mike 2

Game Report

February 8, 2012

Record: 12-3-3

It was a start that would make Paunch Imlach roll over in his grave, had he not been cremated. Within the first 2 minutes of the first period, Dirty Mike and The Boys were already up 2-0. The Killer Somnabulents were in shock. Not since the early days of Jesse The Leak had they had such an inauspicious start. The D was discombobulated, the forwards disoriented and the Marquis DeSave caught up in some reverie involving the girl he met the night before at Fanny’s and a strange itching in his nether regions.

Fortunately, the Strawbs are made of stern stuff. After the wakeup call, they revved up the engine and began playing like they could. The first period ended 2-0. In the second, Shiny, taking a lovely drop pass from the streaking Ice Marshal, fired one from 40 feet and caught the corner of the net for the team’s first marker. A short time later, MagBoy, doing his best Freight Train imitation, used his whole body to ram the puck past a surprised Dirty Mike’s goalie.

To keep the opposition off balance, Lil Wagner thugged it like the Butcher would have had he shown up. Official excuse: early Valentine’s Day shopping or, as it really was, sniffing women’s lingerie at Sears. Lil Wagner chopped his way to 3 penalties in a single skirmish and was quickly relegated to the showers.

The team picked up the slack, played well then-on-in and gained a point in the standings.

Given the lateness of the hour, the squad forewent their usual pilgrimage to the Terminal Tavren in favour of a post game wrap in some stranger’s driveway across from Peter Palangio Arenas. The driveway’s owner, a lovely single woman of 26, who identified herself as Narcissa Nonsuch, joined the team in the impromptu celebration and contributed 12 Heineken and more than one highly appreciated tale of unsurpassed salaciousness. She was made honorary team captain. We are hoping to see more of her in the future.

24 Steamwhistle, 2 litres of MagBoysian homebrew and 12 Heineken were consumed.

2012-02-08T11:25:00.003-05:00

STANDINGS (as of Feb 8/12)

CANADIAN LEGENDS ( 12 W; 0 L; 4 T; 16 GP; 110 GF; 48 GA; 28 Pts )
KILLER STRAWBERRIES ( 12 W; 3 L; 2 T; 17 GP; 83 GF; 47 GA; 26 Pts )
BARN MUCKERS (11 W; 3 L; 3 T; 17 GP; 97 GF; 60 GA; 25 Pts )
MIGHTY DUCKS ( 10 W; 4 L; 2 T; 16 GP; 102 GF; 66 GA; 22 Pts )
THE BATTALION ( 7 W; 6 L; 4 T; 17 GP; 50 GF; 52 GA; 18 Pts )
TURBO BEAVERS ( 6 W; 7 L; 4 T; 17 GP; 70 GF; 63 GA; 16 Pts )
SUNNYVALE CHARGERS ( 5 W; 7 L; 3 T; 16 GP; 55 GF; 67 GA; 13 Pts )
DIRTY MIKE ATB ( 3 W; 10 L; 3 T; 16 GP; 63 GF; 106 GA; 9 Pts )
CASEY'S CHIEFS ( 4 W; 12 L; 1 T; 17 GP; 46 GF; 86 GA; 9 Pts )
DRUNKEN MOOSES ( 3 W; 11 L; 2 T; 16 GP; 38 GF; 83 GA; 8 Pts )
AVIATION INVASION ( 3 W; 12 L; 2 T; 17 GP; 69 GF; 113 GA; 8 Pts )

Veterans Shine, Youth Lackluster

2012-02-08T09:06:00.000-05:00

Killer Strawberries 4 Turbo Beavers 1

Game Report

February 6, 2012

Record: 12-3-2

Consistent championship teams, from Les Glorieux to the Gumby-led Boxing Day Roadhockey Reds, have all had this in common: a strategic mix of experience, youthful vitality and very good goaltending. The Strawbs, who like to include themselves in this august company, have invariably relied on this formula, much to its advantage.

This year has been a good one for the Strawbs. Despite some serious injury problems, they have managed to lurk menacingly at the top of the league. Sure, Dr. Thug continues to self-concuss and frequently fall victim to nagging colds and dementia. Sure, the Vice keeps injuring his drinking arm in freak accidents. Sure, the Butcher keeps taking Cialis at the wrong times. Yet, it is not the veteran element which is (w)orrisome.

In last night’s tussle, MagBoy scored a beauty and used his truculence diplomatically and wisely. Pyjama Man played like Beliveau, in part to impress his fans but more because that is who he is (PJ Man not Beliveau). The Ice Marshal showed the leadership qualities for which he is paid the big bucks and set the scoring tone early with a truly Bossian effort. Shiny was solid but too often ignored as he roared towards the opposition’s net in perfect position to convert the pass that never came. The Vice made only one errant pass, much to the chagrin of the puckstopper, the Marquis DeSave, who, till that point late in the game, was nursing a certain shutout. Gumby was present even though often absent from his expected position.

It is the young legs which will have to step up their games if another championship is to be copped. Dash Headlong, recruited to score 50+ goals has been stuck at 1 for too long. But he makes up for his lack of production by bearing dressing room gifts for his elders. Mayor Maynot stills whistles all over the ice surface yet has been short scoring finesse as of late. True, it is RRSP season. Nevertheless, work should be left at work. Lil Wagner leads the team in shots off goal and needs to drink fewer comped ales at his place of work before each game.

Even with the problems listed, the Strawbs won last night in strong fashion. Its goaltending continues to improve and it will need to keep improving as the playoffs loom.

After the match, 96.72% of the team, plus MagGirl sporting her new red squirrel overcoat and matching hand warmer, reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to plot its payoff run and to point out to each other how their games could be improved.

10 Kokanee, 2 Guinness, 7 Steamwhistle, 5 Coors Light, 4 Bud, an Appletini and many pounds of flaccid fowl flesh were consumed.

Slow Start, Strong Finish

2012-02-05T14:35:00.004-05:00

Killer Strawberries 4 Mighty Ducks 1

Game Report

February 2, 2012

Record: 11-3-2

For the third game in a row, the hapless Strawbs’ defence corps (corpse?) put another marker behind their own goaltender. This time, it was within 5 minutes of the opening whistle which quickly put the team behind 1-0. The Marquis was apoplectic and refused to return to his cage until Shiny Shone Brightly made a public apology for yet another of his regular faux pas.

For the rest of the period, our goalie was on high alert for traitors in his midst. The squad has never seen such concentration on his part. The Strawbs were pretty much impotent for what was left of the initial frame. Only the Ice Marshal showed any signs of handsomeness, virility and life as he tallied his 37^th goal in 15 games to draw the score to even.

In the second frame, the team really went to work but were stymied repeatedly by a hot goaltender, something that has been lacking in their own end for quite a few weeks. Shot after shot was rung of the Ducks’ pipeman or the iron as he did a remarkable imitation of Patrick Roy in his prime. The Strawbs, tenacious and hungry, kept up the pressure and were rewarded with 3 more goals to finish off a 4-1 victory.

The Vice finally returned to the fold after a recuperation absence of about 3 weeks. He had so much extra padding on top of his already expanding idle bulk that he looked like the Michelin Man before the Man went on a diet.

In this workmanlike victory, two other performances stood out. Lil Wagner continued his incomprehensible fascination with ringing the biscuit off the end glass. He had 22 shots on the night and the only time he laid one on net, he scored. He claims he has been trying to be too fine in his picking of corners. Gumby had to tell him there are no corners on the back glass. This was quite a perspicacious observation from a self-styled defenceman, who, having just purchased his first new stick since 1996, wanted to christen it with a goal. In order to accomplish his impossible task, the Gumbster repeatedly abandoned his defensive post to place himself in rebound position in front of the opposition’s net: to no avail. After failing time after time, he would grumpily saunter back towards the center line where his defensive prowess is always at its maximum. Result: 0 goals, 0 assists, 0 contribution. It was suggested he go back to old stick. At least that way, he would spend a little more time defending his own end rather than embarking upon his quixotic vision of becoming a goal scorer.

After the game, nobody went out to the Terminal Tavren, given the lateness of the hour and what was perceived to be too little time to properly quaff post-match ales, lagers and poultry parts. The team plans to make up for its unusual abstinence after the next game.

Clouds Over Sunnivale

2012-01-30T22:01:00.003-05:00

Killer Strawberries 2 Sunnivale Chargers 0

Game Report January 26, 2012 Record: 10-3-2

Despite having more than 200 years of top flight hockey experience on the disabled list, the Killer Strawberries, bolstered by some fine goaltending by the Marquis DeSave, managed to pull out a 2-0 win over a confused squad of Sunnivale Chargers. Butcher Brophey (ACL, right medial lobe, foreskin), Dr. Thug (chilblains and rickets), Freight Train (hip, lip and grip) and Rob The Torch Greenfield (Glenfiddichitis) were unable or unwilling to suit up for the tussle. Management is detecting a pattern of abnormal absenteeism on evenings when Miss White Go Go Boots is entertaining the troops at Naughty Nina’s on old highway 63 (she is the hostess). Come on boys, we all know she is beautiful and alluring but hockey must be your first priority.

On defence, Pyjama Man once again showed why he is a perennial all-star in the Canadore Intramural Hockey League. It is not his accustomed position. (He is usually on his knees begging for forgiveness). Yet he patrolled the blueline with aplomb and with other attributes than can only be described with French words. Shiny was a workhorse, logging over 30 minutes, most of them on the ice. Gumby, not to be outdone, was outdone, yet put in, what was for him, a superior performance.

Up front, the play was a little scrambly. Much of this scrambliness was due to the fact that the team spent just over half the game making small talk with the scorekeeper, a cute little brunette with a weakness for sweaty retards. Lil Wagner was particularly offensive, taking 2 penalties early on. Three penalties and it’s the showers for you sucker. Lil W. was on his better behavior from then on in. MagBoy was a buzzsaw, Dash Headlong, a whirling dervish with visions of post-game Creemore dancing in his head. Mayor Maynot, fresh from giving a sermon at the local Lesbyterian church, was inspired and athletically effusive. The Ice Marshall was august and modularly post-coital. His broken leg did not in the least lessen his performance on the ice.

After several cold showers (the hot water was not working), the team reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to plot its playoff run and to discuss whether it should try to play a 40 minute short-handed game next time, just to see if it can be done. 12 Creemore of various ilks, 2 Guinness, 3 Steamwhistle, 1 Blue, 6 pounds of protean protein and talk of drafting some younger players were consumed.

PS: The Vice's bench bossing was stellar.

Strawbs in Action or the Ice Marshal Still Plays with a Stick Too Short

2012-01-27T07:19:00.002-05:00

Strawbs Penalty Shot

2012-01-26T22:51:00.002-05:00

Workmanlike Win

2012-01-24T16:22:00.000-05:00

Killer Strawberries 6 Sunnivale 2

Game Report
Record 9-3-2
January 23, 2012

With Butcher Brophey out with a lacerated ACL, the Vice nursing a wonky elbow and Gumby studying up for his Doctor of Divinity with the Universal Church of Secondary Sin, the Strawbs still went on to defeat a demoralized Sunnivale Charger squad by a score of 6-2.

Even with Lil Wagner gooning it up with various opponents and spending time in the sin bin, the victory turned out to be an easy one. Pyjama Man, Shiny and Freight Train were solid on the blueline. The forwards were workmanlike and efficient, scoring when they had to, backchecking only when necessary.

The Marquis was not greatly tested between the pipes but did manage a few saves of note (but not noted here any further).

The Strawbs could have won this game with 6 Gumbys. Thank Gawd there’s no chance of that ever happening.

Those still awake at game’s end went out to the Terminal Tavren to get some real exercise. Four glasses of water and a grape knee high were consumed.

Trout Lake Driftwood lost on the snowy beaches

2012-01-20T15:57:00.005-05:00

Killer Strawberries 6 Drunken Moose’s 0

Game Report

January 19, 2012

Record: 8-3-2

Players were missing from both ends of the age spectrum and the TroutLake Driftwood foursome were missing likely disoriented and wandering the lake during a freak snow squall. Did someone say there was a case of scotch buried beneath the ice? Alternatively they were supposed to meet in the middle of trout lake and discuss tonight’s game but like navigating the ice rink there was too much whiteness. They likely ended up on the boards, I mean shoreline. If they exceed my expectations and survive to read this blog then note: Your attendance at the next game is optional. Gumby please drop off the water bottles by 745. That is all.

During the warm up the opposing team skated about with over confidence as they stared across the red line at a squad of 6 who weren’t even bothering to warm up. It was actually a treat to skip the pre-game line up lecture typically delivered in a communistic like fashion.

What the opposing Moose didn’t realize is that they ought to have sobered up before their grunts of assumed victory. By the time the first period was over the strawbs line +1 was filling the net like a commercial fishing vessel on a Tuna run. The Drunken Moose-es-says scrambled to crack the tireless defensive duo of Freight Train and Shinny by calling out the play that the leading forward should make upon crossing our blue line. That may have worked if we were deaf.

The Mayor dipped and dunked, stole the puck from the Drunk’d. Lill Wagner, Pyjama Man and MagBoy hardly let the puck cross our blue line except when we were setting up for the flying V. Even the Zebra’s tried to crack the short benched Strawbs by calling questionable penalties including a 5 minute on Shinny who was later sent to the dressing room early, leaving the Strawbs with 4 on the ice and 1 in the box. If it wasn’t for Marquis DeSave filling in for the missing defenseman and scoring a shorthanded hat-trick we wouldn’t have walked away with a 6-0 victory.

Half the team showed up to Terminal Tavren. By that I mean 3 players thus the highest post game attendance ratio to date.

4 Steam whistle, a glass of water, some simulated meat "on a bone" morsels and the effectiveness of a short bench win were consumed.

A Double Loss

2012-01-18T09:11:00.002-05:00

A Double Loss

Killer Strawberries 2 Barn Muckers 3

Game Report

January 16, 2012

Record: 7-3-2

With Pyjama Man unavailable due to injuries suffered in a home-manscaping gone bad, and with Gumby out for counseling, and with the Vice out of Scotch, the Killer Strawberries managed to put in a spirited performance against a strong squad of Barn Muckers.

The game was close throughout as the Marquis finally put in an effort worthy of Strawberrydom. The forwards and defence were stellar, including Dash Headlong, just freshly returned from a month of unrestrained Saturnalia in his hometown: Langorous Rapids, Manitoba.

Unfortunately, with 12 seconds left in the game and the score tied at 2-2, the Ice Marshal had some kind of cosmic brain fart and coughed up the puck at his own blueline. The opportunistic Muckers seized the chance to pot the winning goal. “ I played like a burrito crossed with a toothless comb” moaned the team leader. “I am demoting myself to the Bottomfeeders until I feel better”. The Executive concurred with him, and he will spend the next week spreading his not-unsubstantial charm in the boondocks.

Following the debacle, the squad braved a snowstorm to get to the Terminal Tavren to lick the wounds of a victory lost and to lament the loss of their spiritual leader and moneylender.

4 Muskoka Cream Ale, 6 Guinness, 7 Bud Light, a glass of water and the temporary loss of the captain they admire were consumed.

20 Good Elbows

2012-01-15T14:49:00.001-05:00

Killer Strawberries 7 Aviation Invasion 1

Game Report

January 12, 2012

Record-Revised 7-2-2

There are usually many reasons for victory (and usually many, many more for defeat). Let’s start with the obvious ones for victory: the injuries and the no-shows.
The Vice was absent due to a recurring drinking injury involving his left elbow. This past Christmas season has been especially hard on him, what with never-ending visits by the likes Jim Is-so and by The Gumby and his ilk. It did not help either that the Vice lives in way-too-close proximity to the Ice Marshal’s liquor cabinet. Fortunately, The Vice has fashioned a rather advanced machine to aid him with his heavy lifting. His calls this aid (aide?) Marsha.

Dash Headlong failed to appear as well. Apparently, he is still being feted with a two month long revelry in his hometown, which revelry is commemorating his first goal as a Strawb, scored sometime around December 6, 2011. Come back, Sir, the team needs you. Bring beer.

To round out the missing, let’s not forget Dr. Butcher Brophey who is the only human ever to have circumcised himself with a hockey stick just to know how it must feel to be his opponent in an unsupervised corner. According to the team’s spies and procurers, the good doctor was delivering some kind of sermon or address to his local church on the topic of Self-Forgiveness. Wethinks he may have been in over his head. According to his paramour, the lovely and talented Miss White Go-Go Boots, a frequent overnight guest at his dacha on One Mile Drive (a gross misnomer), he could not make the game because he had burst like an overstuffed horsehair couch after Christmas dinner. The team’s upholsterer expects the Butcher to be soon recovered.

Now to the game itself. The line of Mayor Maynot, Lil Wagner and the Ice Marshal were devastating. Their passes were smoother and more frequent that the White House Clintons and they scored more often. On one shift early in the game, they pounded in three markers in under two minutes before removing themselves to the bench for a well-deserved breather. They scored many more times and could have had even more goals had Lil Wagner not repeatedly mistaken the back boards for the back of the net.

The line of Dr. Thug, Pyjama Man and MagBoy were almost as good as the top line. Enough said about them. No use dwelling on second best.

On defence, a neutral observer would have thought the squad had been involved in some kind of holiday blockbuster trade to bolster its blueline. The observer would have been correct in his observation but wrong in his rationale. The D did step up to previously unseen heights. Freight Train Laronde was a mountain of solidity and flawless execution at both ends of the rink. Shiny Shone Brightly, eager to add to his offensiveness, was often in on the play, just missing a few solid chances but capitalizing on others. His second goal was a thing of beauty. He rang the rubber biscuit off the interior upper middle post so hard that the ringing can still be heard in Butthole, Alaska. What a beauty!

The Gumby not only Gumbied, he meta-Gumbied by completing his first ever “Gumby Hat Trick”: a real goal, a questionable penalty and well-played unsportsmanlike misconduct. Bravo Sir Gumby, your pitiful life now has some meaning.

Between the pipes, the Marquis DeSave displayed his routine adequacy. He may have faced only one shot but he did get his glove on a bit of it before the puck trickled into his cage with all the energy of a drunken co-ed peeing her pants on New Year’s Day morning.

After the match, 20 good elbows braved the snow filled roads to be insulted by their favourite perky barmaid at the Terminal Tavren. Poppy Creeme greeted her Thursday night men with cold suds and a warm heart, always at the ready with a few bon mots and a gentle gibe to keep the conversation lively.

3 Steamwhistle, 2 Muskoka Cream Ale, 7 Guinness, 3 gallons of unfiltered water, and most-assuredly-not-the last retelling of the Gumby Hat Trick Caper were consumed.

Stop Online Spying | OpenMedia.ca

2011-12-15T12:01:00.000-05:00

Stop Online Spying | OpenMedia.ca:

'via Blog this'

New Math, KS style

2011-12-11T09:42:00.001-05:00

Interesting

The Strawbs went from a 5-1-1 record to a 7-1-1 record in only 1 game.

Gotta love the game reports!

Dash Does It

2011-12-08T10:00:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 6 Canadian Legends 8

Game Report
December 5, 2011

Record 7-2-2

Finally, after 11 games, Dash Flashinger, the Strawbs’ rookie and beer provider, found the back of the opposition’s net with more than the seat of his pants. It wasn’t a pretty goal, but the best ones never are.

Playing on line with Mayor Maynot, the king of how-dee-doo, and Lil Wagner, whose last pass to a team mate occurred sometime in late October, Dash positioned himself perfectly in front of the Legends’ net. Shiny Shone Brightly let go a tremendous wrister from the blueline and the puck screamed its way to its intermediate destination…the back of Dash’s helmet. The puck quickly changed direction and squirted through the goalie’s legs into the yawning abyss within. The puck was ceremoniously retrieved by an alert Zebra who pocketed it for sale on EBay. Oughta fetch quite a handsome sum.

The game saw the return of Pyjama Man who was escorted to the rink by the lovely Loans Jones. Apparently it was some kind of anniversary and PJM had promised her a nice dinner after the match. And what a dinner I was. The staff at the Terminal Tavren had set up a nice quiet table by the men’s washroom complete with candles and matching table cloth. This was an anniversary Ms. Jones is bound never to forget.

Ms. Jones was not the only fan in attendance. MagGirl, first wife of MagBoy and mother of MagTot, showed up in her best squirrel jacket and puffy boots. The word “glamour” does not begin to describe her sartorial splendour. She could be heard as far away as the Strawbs’ bench, exhorting her man to go “faster, faster, faster.” The line seemed well rehearsed.

Dr. Thug was back and scored a loud marker. Freight Train 444 was relegated to defence where he outshone the Vice (groin injury, elbow injury) and P. Gumbington Pettigrew III (groin, brain and ego injuries). The Ice Marshal wept at the ineptitude.

Post game, the boys and fans raced to the Terminal Tavren to take advantage of any seniors discounts available before 10pm. They were too late, as seniors’ Happy Hour ended at 4pm so that those seniors could get home to bed at a decent hour.

3 Steamwhistle, I gin and tonic, 1 cranteeny, 4 Muskoka Cream, 7 Bud, 6 jugs of water, various pressed-protein delights and the warm memory of Dash’s lost strawberry were consumed.

A New Low

2011-12-05T09:09:00.003-05:00

Killer Strawberries 1 Battalion 1

Game Report

November 30, 2011

Record 7-1-2

This game was so indescribably dull that the new paint in the lobby of the Pete Palangio Arenas refused to dry for the benefit of those fans who could not stomach watching the horror show unfolding on ice pad #1.

Pyjama Man must have known a stinker was in the forecast and, consequently, did not bother to show up for the match. And, although he was somewhat present, Sir Gawdawful Gumby, did not bother to show up either. He must have bathed in some kind of super-soporific before gracing the ice complex with a complex of his own.

Gawd was, in the words of a long time Strawbs’ fan, an abomination wrapped in a disgrace. This reporter believes he caught a glimpse of Gawd’s not-so-distant-dotage in which our anti-hero will be shuffling, single-socked and diaper-filled, about his third rate nursing home in search of the remains of his mind.

Not only was he counter-effective on the evening, he and his defence partner, whose own performance lacked more than a smidgeon of je ne sais quoi, took shifts so long that they had to shave each time they returned to the bench. There is gumbying, which is occasionally forgivable, and uber-gumbying, which is never so.

Dash Flashinger continued his frustration, missing frequent opportunities to score his first goal of the year. The Ice Marshal is considering elevating him to a position on his opposite wing in order to help him break out of his scoring virginity. “The kid has ability” stated the team’s handsomest man. “He just needs to move his hero-worship from Uber Gumby to someone, anyone, more appropriate.”

Between the pipes, The Marquis DeSad, finally had a good game, more or less.
After the game, those who played well reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to discuss potential moves before the upcoming trade deadline. But as someone noted” We ain’t gonna get anything for him anyway.”

4 Steamwhistle, 6 Muskoka Cream, 1 Bud, 2 Granville, 5 lbs of chicken scrotums and a lot of head shaking were consumed.

A New Low

2011-12-05T09:09:00.000-05:00

Strawbs Pant To Victory

2011-11-30T10:03:00.002-05:00

Game Report

November 24, 2011

Killer Strawberries 8 MNB 4

Record: 7-1-1

Once again, in typical Strawberry fashion, the KS Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club powered its way to victory over a stunned agglomeration of exuberant acne-infested youth who call themselves MNB. It was a good victory and the Strawbs left the ice content: not necessarily because of the win but more because they could hear the MNBers mumbling such niceties as “how did we just get beat by those crusty old farts?” and “if they didn’t have those young guys, we woulda killed them”.

Of course, the start to the evening was, as usual, a comedy of errors. First, Freight Train Laronde, a hulking mass of gentle menace, forgot his hockey pants at home. The team’s trainer advised him he could just let his hockey sweater slide down to his knees but he was reluctant to do so: reluctant because, as the Esquire Man of The Year In Amateur Hockey, he has his sartorial reputation to uphold. So off he skittered to various dressing rooms, dressed simply yet elegantly in his jock and runners, asking strangers to help him out. Once security was advised that his hockey pants were missing, he was able to continue his quest, in the company of said security.

Freight Train did manage to borrow some gear from a visiting Lilliputian and returned triumphant to the dressing room. Unfortunately, the hockey drawers were 15 sizes too small for him. A game of musical pants ensued with Mayor Maynot taking the Lilliputian’s pants, then giving his pants to the Butcher who, in turn gave his sorry excuse for pantaloons to Freight Train. The pants on all three were so tight you could tell at a glance that none of them was Jewish.

Needless to say, our trio of fashion plates had more than some difficulty skating. It was like watching a toddler move about the living room in an odiferous diaper best left handled with elbow length gloves.

As to the rest of the game, this reporter must confess that he did not notice much else, having spent most the evening curled over with fits of laughter. He did notice that the Strawbs’ goalie, the Marquis DeSave, finally ramped up his game to “questionable”, an improvement over “crappy”, “disappointing” and “abominable” which adjectives accurately characterize his 3 previous outings. Perhaps it was the threat of demotion to the Butthole Bottomfeeders, or worse, to the Nasty Cupcakes, which was impetus for his “improved” play.

After the match, the squad holed up at the Terminal Tavren to bask in the glory of another victory; pants off to the Strawbs, this year’s team of destiny.

5 Steamwhistle, 4 Granville, 2 Muskoka Cream, 7 Bud Light, 5 lbs of chicken parts and stories of missing pants, pre and post marriage, were consumed.

What An Effort

2011-11-22T02:43:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 8 Mighty Ducks 4

Game Report

November 17, 2011

Record 5-1-1

It didn't look like much and it wasn't.

23 double lite beer and a no foam, low fat latte were consumed

A Close Shave

2011-11-17T10:19:00.002-05:00

Strawbs 5 Turbo Beavers 4

Game Report
November 14, 2011

Record 4-1-1

It may not be Christmas yet, but the Strawbs almost handed an early gift to a team it dominated for 36 of the 40 minutes of game time. At the 16:33 mark of the last period, the Killer Strawberries were leading 5-1. Dr. Thug was having a marvelous game, having scored 2 beauties and lusting after a third. His whoops could be heard in hell each time he slammed the biscuit between the opposition’s pipes.

Freight tain Laronde continued his torrid scoring pace (for him), notching one marker and barely missing on 2 other drives to the lower left corner on the T.Beavers' net. He hasn’t shot this hard since he was in the back seat of his Dad’s Chrysler Imperial following his high school prom.

The D were uncharacteristically effective. The forwards were seen many times glancing to the right to see if they were on the proper bench.

At 16;34, the excrement started to hit the air distribution device. Penalty trouble. Lacksadaisical face off taking. Brain breaks and goalie confusion began their proliferation. The Strawbs barely held on; yet, they put another tick into the win column. It may not have been pretty, but it sure was ugly.

After the match, the squad zipped over to the Terminal Tavren to reacast recent history into a more favourable light. It must be reported that they were more successful in this endeavour than was warranted earlier at Pete Palangio Arenas.

2 Granville, 4 Muskoka Cream, 20 Bud LIght, 4 Steamwhistle, 6 pounds of pulverized poultry and the after-effects of a close shave were consumed.

2011-11-12T22:43:00.002-05:00

Rollin' On

2011-11-12T12:35:00.000-05:00

Killer Strawberries 2 Casey’s Chiefs 0

Game Report

November 10, 2011

Record 3-1-1

Finally, after the testing the virtually limitless patience of the Killer Strawberries’ Executive, the Marquis DeSave, who, as of late, has been rustier than Gumby’s boudoir techniques, put in an adequate performance which resulted in a shutout. Unfortunately, his performance infused him with a little too much cockiness…cockiness bordering on effrontery.

In the dressing room following the match, while recalling his on-ice performance in terms which seemed to abuse too many superlatives, the Marquis tried to give some credit to the defensive skills of his team mates. “All the other guys in the league keep telling me that for a team full of shitty old players, we sure win a lot of games” he exclaimed enthusiastically. He was forced to clarify his remark after being towel smacked in the jewels by the team’s elder statesmen.

Despite the impression of the goalie’s ill-chosen words, which words could negatively influence a neophyte unfamiliar with Strawberry history, the team played very well. The defence was cohesive, the Vice didn’t stumble once on his new blades. The Butcher showed startling hand to eye coordination, Gumby gumbied and Shiny shone brightly. Pyjama Man had his best game of the year (the bar was low), probably due to the fact that his main squeeze, the pulchritudinous Miss Loans Jones, was swooning for him in the stands.

Dash Rip Roarin’ extended his shifts to 18 seconds on average, MagBoy repeatedly broke the sound barrier, Mayor Maynot and Lil Wagner played well with each other (on and off the ice) and the Ice Marshal was his magisterial self as he strutted about the frozen pond. Only the refereeing of a small dwarfish egomaniac put any tarnish on the game.

After the match, a coterie of thirsty birds reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to defend themselves against the inevitable taunts expected at every post game session. The gibes were warm and the beer was cold, marking another successful Strawbs’ outing.

5 Granville, 3 Stella, 1 Guinness, 2 Muskoka Cream and some very, very frosty Offside Pale Ale were consumed with relish.

A Dash of Dishwater

2011-11-07T13:21:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 6 Drunken Moose 3

Game Report
November 3, 2011

Record 2-1-1

Last night’s 6-3 victory over the Drunken Moose was remarkable for a few reasons. Firstly, it was rife with excellent examples of how to move the puck out of the defensive zone, through the middle, without giving the goalie a heart attack. It is sincerely hoped that Sir Gawdawful Gumby, the Butcher’s new chauffeur, was taking notes.

Secondly, the game showed that it is possible for two brothers to suck badly in the same outing. The Marquis DeSave had better elevate his game soon or he may find himself driving the dog sled powered “bus” for the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team, the Nasty Cupcakes, a squad notorious for the 3 B’s of Alaskan hockey: brawlin’, beerin’ and buggerin'. The Marquis’ 1/3 brother, Lil Wagner, played with all the nonchalance and ersatz swagger of a baloney sandwich. The Executive suggests he read carefully the fine print of his agreement with the Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club to ascertain his options in the light of his two-way contract.

Lastly, the whole shooting match was broadcast live to the team’s HQ at Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu where it was closely watched by the club’s top brass and by the squad’s Advisor Emeritus, the lovely and talented Miss White Go Go Boots. Miss WGGB was in town running a hands-on pole dancing seminar for local girls who have been admitted to the Killer Strawberries Benevolent Finishing School for Wayward Waifs. The team applauds Miss WGGB ‘s unwavering commitment to charitable causes. (next month’s seminar, “Using What Gawd Gave Ya To Make Your Man Happy” is already oversubscribed.)

As for the rest of the game itself, the excitement meter barely registered above “dull as a Vice’s lecture”. Speaking of the Vice, he continued to play valiantly on one elbow,(his good one?) while protecting his other one using advanced Butcher Brophey Repelling Techniques TM.

PJ Man played like his jock was put on wrong, which it was. How you can do something like this is anyone's guess.

R. Chee Bald kept surprising his rotational replacement with unorthodox shifts which consisted in nothing more than going out the forwards’ door, puffing his way to the defencemen’s end of the bench and begging to be let in lest his lungs collapse. In honour of his grit, the Executive has altered his moniker to Dash.

After the match, a prayer meeting was held at the Terminal Tavern. The sacraments of beer and poultry parts were administered with gusto. Someone also reported seeing Baby Cheeses through the kitchen doors.

4 Granville, 2 Muskoka Cream, 2 Guinness, 1 Bud ,2 Stella and 4 pounds of chicken pressed into the form of hockey pucks were consumed.

Late Game Blues

2011-11-02T12:09:00.002-04:00

Killer Strawberries 5 Sunnyvale Chargers 5

Game Report-Oct 31, 2011

Record 1-1-1

The Marquis DeSave, fresh from a tropical sojourn in Labrador City, started his first game of the year against a determined squad of Sunnyvale Chargers. To say that he was a little rusty would be like saying that the recent tsunami in Japan was a little wettish. The Marquis struggled with the puck all evening, causing the Strawbs to think it was MagBoy tending the pipes. The Executive is greatly concerned and has been in communication with the ButtFace Bottomfeeders to see if Jesse The Leak might be available on short notice.

Fortunately, it was not the entire Wagner clan who was less than stellar on the evening. Lil’ Wagner continued his torrid scoring pace, notching at least one marker on the evening and setting up 2 others, according to his own recollection of events.

Dr. Felonious Thug crawled out of the woodwork to join the team for his inaugural outing. Apparently, his summer of decadence has leached into his Fall play. He was out breath after tying his skates and was positively asthmatic on the ice. He was sucking for air so hard after each shift, that he almost vacuumed up 3 pucks from the floor of the players’ bench, which, luckily, got stuck on the outside of his cage before they could disappear down his wind pipe.

Gawd continued to attempt the perfection of his "up-the-middle-in-his-own-end” pass without success. Maybe it's time to try the boards. Shiny was impressive in joining the rush, which resulted in numerous excellent scoring opportunities. The Vice was flabby and elbow-challenged. The Butcher was finally on time for a game start but his performance never again reached such heights. Freight Train 444, fresh from knee surgery or something like that, might have scored a goal but, in any event, was certainly a massive presence in the offensive end. Magboy was more than adequate at centre, a position as unfamiliar to him as right wing, left wing or anywhere else on the ice. Mayor Maynot was full of sound and fury, and should have contributed a lot more than he did, given the extensive ice time awarded to him by the coaching staff. Rookie and new team treasurer, R. Chee Bald needs to get his skates sharpened. The Ice Marshal was the game’s first star as chosen by the women in the crowd.

Due to the lateness of the game (11 f*ing pm!!), only a few Strawbs ventured out to the Terminal Tavren. This writer could not make it, as he had to be up by 4am to knit winter mitts for incubator babies in Romania. It has, however, leaked back to him that 2 glasses of ginger ale and a Car Bomb were consumed.

Happy Hour

2011-10-24T10:34:00.002-04:00

Killer Strawberries 7 Aviation Invasion 3

Game Report
( Record 1-1)

After being beaten handily last week by a team of acne plagued speedmongers, the Killer Strawberries, bolstered by the absence of Dr. Butcher Brophey and others of his ilk, finally got into the win column with an impressive 7-3 victory over a befuddled Aviation Invasion.

The game marked the illustrious debut of Lil’ Wagner, 1/3 brother of the Marquis DeSave, the squad’s probationary goal keeper who has yet to suit up for a match this year. The Marquis’s vision quest to Labrador ends this week and he has threatened to play in the Strawbs’ next game, the Executive willing.

Lil Wagner showed all the determination his lesser sibling lacks and scored 4 goals to cement his spot on the roster for the time being. “It is awful nice to start out the season playing with such excellent linemates “ he mused at the post game press conference. “Mayor Maynot, despite his drinking problem, is a Gary Croteau-type centre. And we all know how good he was. As for the Ice Marshal, well, enough said.”

Pyjama Man continued his frustrating season. “He seems disoriented” noted the team psychiatrist. “Probably too many paint fumes from the renovations to his new house. When it comes to mental constipation, there are a lot of variables to consider."

Despite the victory, there were some worrying signs of the inevitable effects of aging among certain team members. Freight Train Laronde, crashed down, unassisted, onto one of his knees and watched most of the second period from the bench. With all that weight on a single point of impact, he was forced to have his wife, Lazily Lamoan, drive him to Emerg. for a quick look-see. He was cleared for physio and plans to return to form by no later than tomorrow.

MagBoy also played injured, hobbling about the ice surface like a two-legged horse with both good legs sprouting from the same side. Apparently he has been pulling his groin quite a bit over the last month and hopes to stop soon. The Vice was a mess too, nursing a very sore elbow, the condition of which has been exacerbated with his relentless 24 hour care of the newly-minted invalid, his wife and co-dictator, Madame Lachaise. His self-imposed physiotherapy regimen of Guinness consumption out of 20 oz glasses ought to help immensely.

After the game, many thirsty Strawbs reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to engage in some much needed elbow stretching and commiseration.

2 Okanagans, 2 Muskoka Cream Ale, 1 Guinness, 2 Bud Light, 12 warm 50’s, 2 pounds of Shirley MacLain chicken wings and too many injury reminders were consumed.

The Killer Strawberries Go to the Symphony

2011-10-23T16:57:00.003-04:00

The Killer Strawberries attended the symphony on Saturday night, a non-game day. The Butcher's daughter was all the rave with her oboe virtuosity. She obviously didn't get her chops from the old man.

The Butcher's daughter all a-glow in the Strawbs' finest.

0-1

2011-10-18T12:17:00.002-04:00

Game Report

October 17, 2011

Killer Strawbs 5 Barn Muckers 8

It was a less than auspicious debut for the Killer Strawberries in their first game of the season against the Barn Muckers. They started the schedule while missing several players of dubious morals and commitment. The Marquis DeSave was screeched-in in Newfoundland where he had flown at the last minute to meet some bimbo he had met on the internet. Word has it that he was less than enamoured with Tiffany Smallwood, a toothless, transvestite hooker from Corner Brook. “I just couldn’t get over the mustache” was all he could muster in his most recent Tweet.

Dr. Thug, Concussion Canada’s Poster Boy of the Decade, was a no show. He didn’t call. He didn’t write. He didn’t email. Rumour has it that he was clipping his grandmother’s toenails as her 125th birthday gift and, somehow in all the excitement, lost track of time.

The 2 rookies drafted by the team’s scouts, the lovely Olsen twins, failed to appear. As penance, they have been ordered to help Gawd complete the move-in to his new residence just down the road from the Butcher. “I’ve only had 45 days to get settled” whined the “never-on-time” rearguard. “Besides, I’ve been sharing recipes and gardening tips with my new neighbours’ wives, and we all know how much time that can take.” It is fully expected that, with the rookies’ help, he will have a least 2 more boxes uncrated by Christmas, 2012.

On the ice, nothing really exciting happened, as the Strawbs did their best impressions of opium-addled flies caught in a spider’s web. Except for Mayor Maynot (and Shiny for the first 2 minutes of the game), the top speed recorded in the game was 12 miles per hour, which was the speed the Butcher reached as he crossed the ice to start the game. Dr. Bonehead was the first to arrive at the arena and the last to get to the bench before the puck was dropped. He blamed his tardiness on a recalcitrant bowel movement which left him grunting and squeezing helplessly in the public water closet. Being a world renowned mathematician, he worked it out with a pencil. On a positive note, Freight Train Laronde scored his first marker in a century, a beautiful knuckler from 45 feet out.

After the game, a small sprinkling of Strawbs reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to compare shortcomings. The discussion ended around 2:15am with a lot of territory left to cover.

41 Leaf Trail Pumpkin Ale, a mickey of Aqua Velva, 3 pounds of Avril Lavigne chicken wings and the memory of one rather unpleasant giveaway at the blueline were consumed.

2011-10-17T07:13:00.000-04:00

Killer Strawberries 1st game of the 2011-2012 season TONIGHT at 10pm!!!

Recruiting

2011-08-03T07:36:00.001-04:00

The Executive has been on a recruiting mission of late for "staffers" at the Aloha Baby Compound East. Interested applicants can contact the Executive on site.

Swwwwing!

2011-07-29T12:59:00.002-04:00

Yesterday marked the 5th Annual Killer Strawberries Invitational Golf Tournament at the incredibly difficult and often surly Osprey Links. Seventeen hackers, slashers, semi-pros, recidivists and boulevardiers competed for Strawb golf supremacy in the Grand Richard and Grande Richarde divisions.

First out were the never-champion Vice who had squeezed himself into his once well-fitting, self designed golfwear, 2008 champion Dr. Butcher Brophey, P. Eng., MBA, PhD, LMNOP, and 2009 champion Shiny Shone Brightly, now Principal at St. Gertrude’s School for Wayward Girls. All 3 players got off to magnificent starts, with each of them clearing the women’s tees by several yards.

Next up was a foursome led by Jesse The Leak, tax auditor and two time Goalie of The Year in the Canadore Intramural Hockey League,as chosen by his Mom. With him was his younger brother, Mitch Match, whose apperarance at the Invitational was designed to get him a tryout with the Strawbs for next season. It must be pointed out that his golf attire, consisting as it did of a lime green checkered golf-like shirt, ¾ length suede corduroy hicking shorts, black nylon knee highs and shoes stolen from some dead clown did nothing to enhance his chances. Also in the group were brewmaster Magboy still stinking of the strained beets and carrots he attempted to shove down MagTot’s throat at lunch, and 2010 Defending Champion, Vinnie B. Weedwacker who more than re-earned his moniker with a fine outing of pond-edge manicuring.

The third group, by far the handsomest , consisted of Slickery McMillan who beat his balls so hard off the tee that most of them jumped from his bag and committed suicide in the pond on #3; Snowtop O’Farrell who played the best golf of his life, easily breaking 100 for the nine; Achilles Perron who started out with a brilliant 9 on the first hole, only to birdie the second; and the inaugural 2007 Champion, still remembered by every pretty girl who ever met him, the august Ice Marshal himself.

La Grande Richarde group followed and it was not pretty, what with 3 Alpha females competing in the same group for the top wymyn’s prize. This is not to say that the members were not pretty. You couldn’t stuff more pretty into a threesome. Luscious Lori,(defending and 2 time champion), the Siren of Brockville (SOB, 2009 champion) and Glasgow Glamour (2000 Scottish Tea Brewing Champion) clawed their ways through nine holes while fighting like feral cats in a bag of full of catnip, much to the delight of threesome fans everywhere.

In the last (or deadbeat) group, came a sad collection of humanity, more to be pitied than scorned. With no real golfer in the group, the lads had to entertain themselves with stories of their glorious, imagined pasts just to take their senescent minds off rapidly mounting stroke counts. Dr. Thug, fresh from writing son Richard’s entrance essay into Pharmacy at U of T, Gawdawful Gumby, fresh from 3 night’s luxury accommodation in a comfy ditch at Voyageur Daze, and Moses Mclean, who recently celebrated his 60th birthday with a tour of Casselhome, finished off the field and dragged their butts back to the clubhouse just before midnight.

All golfers, except Mitch Match who had some kind of life threatening blister on his ass, then re-assembled at the team’s new watering hole, the Moose. Wings were ordered and gobbled, beer and wine flowed and the day’s highlights recounted with more than a dash of bovine droppings. Because it was too loud in the boozery, all attendees, including the non-golfing Mrs. Jo B. Weedwacker, scurried out to the parking lot for the awards ceremony.

The Ice Marshal presided presidentially from the tailgate of the Vice’s 1942 Ford pickup. Dr. Thug was thanked for bringing all the past receipts from the Moose which he was delegated to collect on behalf of the team. The Moose gave the Strawb’s the equivalent of 15% of the total receipts, as a token of their appreciation for Strawb patronage. What they didn’t appreciate was Dr. Thug’s attempt to slide in few dubious receipts, among which were found a $526 bill from the San Francisco based La Senza For Gay Doctors and Their Ilk Shopping Emporium.

La Grande Richarde was handed out to the Siren of Brockville who used the occasion to slander her opponents in a manner unauthorized in the Killer Strawberry constitution. The Grand Richard ( the Big Dick, for those whose French peaked in grade 1)was ceremoniously conferred on co-winners Slickery McMillan and Shiny Shone Brightly. A lovely photo of the champions sharing the green-brown jacket can be seen somewhere below or above or maybe not all all.

All in all it was a fine day.

500 chickens died for Strawberry pleasure.

Killer Strawberries Golf - July 28, 2011

2011-07-29T11:39:00.000-04:00

The Strawbs enjoyed yet another fabulous day of frivolity and camaraderie on the links, at the pub and in the parking lot.

The Ice Marshall on Vacation

2011-07-28T09:35:00.002-04:00

The Ice Marshall naps after entertaining the Olsen twins at the Compound.

The birth of a new batch of KSBA

2011-07-28T09:07:00.003-04:00

26 pounds of fresh strawberries - check

Mag Boy preps the kettle - check

the mixture ready - check

Dave receives last minute instructions from the Executive - check

Annual KS Golf Event

2011-07-23T18:01:00.001-04:00

The Killer Strawberries, alumni and guests will be hitting the links, Osprey Links, this Thursday, July 28 at 3pm to contest the "grande Richard." C'mon out for some hilarity!!

Killer Strawberries on Tour - The Voyageur Route

2011-06-23T07:17:00.004-04:00

The Vice and G.A.W.D. pose at the conclusion of the trip.

The Butcher and G.A.W.D. celebrate the end.

Cheers!

The Vice and Freight Train on Elm Point of the Mattawa River before breaking camp on the final leg of the Voyageur Canoe Trip.

Killer Strawberries do the Voyageur Route

2011-06-15T09:20:00.002-04:00

The Butcher, Freight Train, the Vice and G.A.W.D. looking fresh after a 3 day canoe trip from Trout Lake down the Mattawa River to Samuel de Champlain Provincial Park. An Uber Excellent adventure. More photos to follow.

The Desert Blooms

2011-06-11T10:21:00.006-04:00

Wow! Not only are Killer Strawberry affiliates producing beer in massive quantities, it would appear that baby production has also been high on certain members' agendas.

Samara Desert and Warrin' Peace are the newest parents in the Strawbs'universe. Kirsten Valeria Adrianna was born on June 2, 2011 and weighs about a quarter ounce. According to Warrin' Peace as he was interviewed by the local press as he exited the Garage of Bad Ideas, "After cutting her own umbilical cord, she walked out of her mother's womb, did a cartwheel and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich." Great things are expected of her.

The Vice's Vices

2011-06-07T11:35:00.003-04:00

You get a phone call in the middle of the night from your buddy telling you to show up for a vice-filled afternoon. After checking whether you have to go to work within the next 3 days and find out that you don't, you agree to rendezvous. And this is what can happen.

Hookers, cocaine and some bad stuff too!

Strawbs on the Limks

2011-06-03T08:15:00.002-04:00

There's a bit more "evil" going on here than meets the eye as the Vice, the Ice Marshal and Strawb "gone to seed" Viking Ericson rest between holes.

Magtot Pops out

2011-06-02T11:56:00.003-04:00

Next generation Strawb Emerges From Womb

The Immaculate Conception of MagTot Buchwald came to fruition earlier this month (date withheld for privacy reasons) as MagGirl gave birth to a whopping 14 pounder in the outhouse of her parents' cottage in Restoule, On. "We had to use the outhouse" claimed proud dad MagBoy. "All the local inns were booked and there has been a dreadful shortage of mangers."

MagGirl survived the ordeal with nary a scratch and had to be informed that MagTot had been birthed 5 minutes earlier. Apparently his arrival conflicted with her Appletini Hour, a habit she developed over the last couple of years to ease her afternoon boredom. MagBoy' though, fainted at least four times, not because of the trauma of childbirth, the cruel words of his birthing wife or the odour emanating from the outhouse holding pit. It was more of a "there goes my spare time" type of thing.

MagTot, or MagNolian as he is being called at home, has already been signed up for power skating, power biking and power brewing. His future looks bright.

2011-04-16T09:54:00.000-04:00

The Vice and Magboy at the Dubious Achievements Awards night.

New Strawbs fashion wear

2011-04-16T09:52:00.002-04:00

Grip of shame sandals.

Pitchers Poured

2011-04-15T23:08:00.001-04:00

Killerstrawbs strike again. Annual awards night was a ceremonial success, other lies were told, and logs were laid. We're out of invisible tshirts, we'll order more for next season.

KSBA on Fire!

2011-04-15T19:25:00.001-04:00

Killer Strawbs enjoying many pints around a fire on a fine April evening.

KSBA IS BACK!

2011-04-13T14:20:00.004-04:00

KSBA for the next gathering

2011-03-20T23:02:00.001-04:00

Folks it looks like this popular sud is making another appearance soon.
This time you can expect a much more clear presentation of the KSBA.
See here, A glass of un-fermented ale. The expert tasters may get their wish. A perfect taste and clear presentation. Once this is ready in 3 weeks it will be a show stopper, or maybe just a limb stopper after say 5.

Powered By The Fumes Of A Glorious Past

2011-03-18T11:51:00.002-04:00

Killer Strawberries 6 Longshafts 2

Game Report

March 14, 2011

Wildly cheered on by its most devoted fan, Miss Loans Jones resplendent in furs and jewels from head to toe, the Killer Strawberries rammed their way to a hard fought Bronze Medal in the Canadore Intramural Hockey league.
It was a subdued but very serious dressing room before the game as the Strawbs discussed game strategy and helped each other get attired for the match. Shanky VI, the team’s newest good luck amulet, stood erect in the centre floor garbage pail, radiating good vibes and greetings from the unknown ether of cosmic fortune. The Grip of Shame cowered in the corner and seemed to know full well that nobody was about to lay claim to it by putting in anything less than a total effort.

The match started out with some pretty bad omens. On to the ice sauntered North Bay’s finest referees, both of whom appeared to be laboring under the triple threat of myopia, dyspepsia and simmering rage. They promptly called the Strawbs for some marginal obstruction in which Butcher Brophey, fresh from his stint with the 7th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital in Kandahar, bloodlessly removed an appendix from an opposing player. The Strawbs killed off the penalty. The zebras countered with 2 more calls of the dubious variety. The Strawbs weathered the storm.

Then, they went into hyperdrive. MagBoy buzzed about like a raging toro who had spent the afternoon quaffing uppers, speed and RockStar by the gallon. Slickery used his laser to net 3 beauties, shredding the mesh in the process. Pyjama Man spit off the funk which has dogged him like a bad smell for too long and tallied an important marker at a crucial part of the game, sending Loans Jones into flights of barely controlled hysteria. Shifty Drouin notched up his game to SuperStrawb™ level and may even have scored. Mayor Maynot hurtled himself full tilt into every fray and he may have scored. The Ice Marshal, suffering from arthritis, melanoma and halitosis, metaphorically polished off the metal plate in his skull and played better than Gumby had predicted. Gumby gumbied. The Vice obstructed with the finesse of a player half his age and IQ. Achilles cast off the lingering lethargy of his pre-game nap to perform steadily at his defensive position. The Butcher butchered bloodlessly and compassionately, even though his eyes said “kill”.

In net, the Marquis DeSave showed why he was awarded a life time contract (or as long as he remains at the pleasure of the large foreheads on the Executive, whichever comes first). He looked 3 times his normal size, zipping from one side of the net to another, a spaced out butterfly crazed on testosterone. Snap went his glove, crack went his stick, boom went his brain. What a performance!

In the dressing room post game, Shanky VI was smothered in wet kisses, champagne was quaffed like it was New Year’s Eve in Pissuptown, butts were fondled with towel whips and MagBoy threw up in the garbage can. The Grip of Shame was beaten into moccasins with Shanky VI and everyone took home a new pair of slippers.

After the game, the team sped off to the Galaxy Theatre to catch the last 5 minutes of the cult classic Shaving Ryan’s Privates, the war movie the Executive has used in the past to rally the troops. Then it was off to Terminal Tavren to bask in the fumes of the Glorious Present and to once again harangue, in absentia, Shiny Shone Brightly and Dr. Thug, Mr. and Mrs. No Contribution.

45 Guinness, 74 Steamwhistle, 32 Lake of Bays, 43 Bloodthisty, 1 Appletini, and the never-old pleasure of a playoff medal were consumed.

Bombed by Bosheviks

2011-03-10T11:49:00.003-05:00

Game Report

March 3, 2011

Strawbs 4 CCCP 11

Last night, the Killer Strawberries played above the pay grade and got bombed 11-4 by a much better team. They kept it close for the first period, with the score 5-4 for the Bolsheviks after 20 minutes of whiplash. Then deluge began and mercifully ended with the last buzzer.

The boys went out to the Terminal Tavren afterward to point out each other's weaknesses and faux paws (yes, paws). They had left their real paws at home, and these paws are not to be confused with the pause they took for the whole second period, which pause had its own faux pas. They blamed their pause and faux pas on their biological Pas, none of whom was present at the game.

36 Dad's root beers were consumed without any noticeable pause. "Pas de pause" as the French so eloquently put it.

Pictures from the last game

2011-03-04T01:54:00.001-05:00

I has a stick

Eh let go of my stick!

Gandolf vs CCCP part 1

2011-03-03T23:01:00.001-05:00

We got mordored 7-3

.

The Killer Strawberries 2011

2011-03-01T08:24:00.001-05:00

Better Shorthanded

2011-02-28T10:15:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 7 Sunnyvale 2

Game report

February 24, 2011

The Killer Strawberries should play all of their games shorthanded, if last evening’s tussle against the swift skating Sunnyvale Chargers is any indication. Bolstered by the absence of Butcher Brophey (lower body injury-member in zipper), the squad held its own in the first period, holding the opposition to under 100 shots.

Early in the second frame, with the score notched at 2-2, the team shifted into its seldom-used but highly effective “Penalty Box” strategy. The idea is to stuff the Sin Bin with its fattest, slowest, dimmest players so that those who can actually play the game above turtle-speed can get more ice time. Since it is a smallish penalty box and goalie equipment is rather bulky, only 10 players could be put on the list of “stuffers”.

With the boys piled on top of each other beside the poor timekeeper who needed four hands to keep wandering paws from using the Braille method to determine the colour and shape of her unmentionables, real heroes like MagBoy, IMW, Shifty and Mayor Maynot potted three beauties in short order. At least this is what the scoresheet said after IMW had a look at it. How IMW scored from the penalty box is anyone’s guess but it may have had something to do with his offer to help out the timekeeper while he awaited his sentence to expire. It is a trick he may have learned from Rob “The Torch” Greenfield, aka The Vice, who always volunteers to set and interpret all rules when games are played at his Compound For Minor Vice, the only dual dictatorship in the Western Hemisphere.

The Marquis DeSave was efficient and workmanlike between the pipes, as he used every available millimeter of his equipment to advantage. “You don’t win 2 consecutive NDA championships without good goalie gear” he mused after the game to anyone who would bother to listen.

The line of Slickery, MagBoy and Mayor Maynot was especially dangerous, at both ends of the ice. Pyjama Man continued his scoring funk, having last tallied in a 2010 charity match against a PeeWee C- squad, BLBCBW (Blind Lesbian Biker Chicks in Broken Wheelchairs), a small pickup team from Togo.

Achilles Perron played the match paired with the inimitable Gumby (first name of Gawdawful) and has advised the Executive that, should such a pairing occur again, he would rather Gumby be limited to patrolling the end of the bench while he (Achilles) is on the ice.

For his part, P, Gumbington Pettigrew III lived up to his moniker. The one good play he made (and we are rounding up to call it “good”) had him sending a speeding charger on an aerial mission through the 8 feet of empty space between said player and the net, with the journey concluding rather abruptly against an unforgiving near post. The move got him 3 minutes in the box, and the Strawbs used those 3 minutes to pot another goal.

The final score was 7-2. The Strawbs now face the CCCP Bolsheviks in a best of 2 semi-final. It is expected to be a barn burner, whatever that is. Maybe Rob “The Torch” knows.

After the game, the club reconvened for some sudsy libation at the Terminal Tavren, new home to Shifty and Shiny’s Wings, wings double fried in reprocessed lard, canola oil and salted butter, wrapped in lean bacon and dipped in a light gravy with a cheese curd reduction. As the delicacy was chawed down with vigour, the coaching staff was lavishly praised, the team’s new lucky charm, Shanky VI was lovingly fondled and strategies for squeezing the P out of CCCP were discussed.

15 pounds of Shifty and Shiny’s Wings, 2 jugs of Creemore, 1 Guinness, 2 Keith’s White, 2 Stella and some visions of playoff success were consumed.

NB: Butcher Brophey became the first 2 time winner of the Grip of Shame Award. Odds are 40:1 he’ll make it a threepeat on Monday night.

Killer Strawberry Blonde Ale Tasting

2011-02-27T14:38:00.003-05:00

The keg before tasting.

The Butcher in rapt thought of thongs and marketing.

The toasts flowed.

Shiny waits for his.

Updating the blog on the fly.

More photos from the KS blonde tasting

2011-02-27T14:29:00.002-05:00

All parties end up in the kitchen.

Yikes!

The Butcher after a sojourn in Buttface, Alaska.

Lies interrupted.

Nice save.

Man at his best

2011-02-26T22:29:00.003-05:00

If you are patient enough, you too can catch flies.

Killer Ale Was a Hit

2011-02-26T21:59:00.002-05:00

We need more ale, boys.

Tasting in progress...

2011-02-26T18:40:00.002-05:00

Must be good, it's refill my glass time!

Killer Strawberry Blonde Ale Tasting

2011-02-26T18:30:00.001-05:00

Cheers!

Pointless Again

2011-02-24T10:29:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 1 Thrashers 5

Game Report

February 17, 2011

The Strawbs played well, holding the game to 1-1 until last 10 minutes, against a much stronger team. Then stuff went wrong and the game got so chippy on both sides that the Strawbs' asked that the clock be run out for the final 2 minutes.

This was supposed to be a playoff seeding game. Unfortunately, the large foreheads which run the league forgot to think about what was to come next. OOPS! Now all teams find themselves exactly where they started...wherever that was.

After the match, the team reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to do what they do best...only this time they did it better.

5 jugs of liquid chaos were consumed

Pointless

2011-02-17T14:27:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 3 Longshafts 3

Game Report

February 14, 2011

With the Strawbs and the Longshafts tied in the standings, the winner would get 4th place. Unless there was tie. There was a tie. Longshafts got 4th place on some calculation involving goals for and against, despite the Strawbs' better head to head record on the season. Canadore logic...an oxymoron since 1969.

On the plus side, Mayor maynot starred in goal and will start the next game with the Marquis DeSave as waterboy and proud recipient of the second Grip of Shame.

Nothing else to report. Think I'll have a nap.

The End

Get A Grip

2011-02-13T20:56:00.006-05:00

Killer Strawberries 2 Free Agents 4

Game Report

February 10, 2011

The Executive of the Killer Strawberries was, not to put too fine a point on it, fecking pissed. After spending untold dozens of dollars to bolster the club’s run at another championship, it expected more than the flaccid and utterly shameful performance put in last night by a terribly uninterested bunch of Strawberry Jamheads.

Immediately following the game, the Ice Marshal was called up on the carpet, despite his 2 goal and 4 assist outing. This reporter was lucky enough to have caught the IM as he exited the post-game meeting with his inferiors. “I tried to point out to the Executive that, yes, the game was poorly played, yes, rookies mistakes were made by rookies and aging veterans alike, and yes, it was an embarrassment. On the plus side though, the boys were rather nicely dressed and groomed” stated the serene team leader.

According to the Ice Marshal, the brass was clearly looking for a scapegoat. “Although I had to agree with the Executive that there were at least 10 candidates worthy of the dishonor, I decided to take one for the team” he mused philosophically. When further probed, the humble hockey statesman let it be known that he would be the one to fall on his sword and thus become the first ever recipient of the “Grip of Shame”, a battered suitcase that the Executive now wants to bestow upon, in their words “any and all further embarrassments to the Strawberries’ uniform”.

With the Grip comes an automatic, no time–limited one way trip to the Buttface Bottomfeeders for re-conditioning and attitude adjustment. “I plan to use the time constructively” the Ice Marshal noted. “I’ll be checking out the Ovatorium to find out for Shifty who his father really is, and maybe even make a deposit while I’m there. Maybe I’ll shoot some left-wing mosquitoes with Sarah P. and brush up on my Swahili. Maybe make some tie-dye shirts for the church choir. But don’t cry for me Argentina, I’m sure I’ll be back for Monday’s game.”

Below, is a photo of this week’s scapegoat as he started out on his journey to Buttface, Alaska on a mercilessly cold Friday morning. By noon, the IM had already reached the end of his closest neighbour’s driveway. Interested readers can follow the progress of his demotion on his new ButtFaceBook page. If anyone is speaking with him, they might like to suggest that he re-word his hitchhiking sign.

1 glass of scapegoat’s milk was consumed.

Buttface Babies

2011-02-09T11:46:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 7 ALU Warriors 3

Game Report

February 7, 2011

The absentee list for last night’s matchup with the Warriors was as long as the excuses were dubious. Dr. Butcher Brophey claimed he thought it was February 14 and, consequently, spent the evening pining by the front door in the hopes that his enamoratta, the legendary Miss White Go Go Boots, would show up swaddled in nothing but a lascivious smile. Alas, Miss White Go Go Boots had other fish to fry and our intrepid defenceman once again finished the evening scoreless.

Slickery Mac, on the advice of his marriage counselor, was attending a wiener roast in Punta Cana. No details of his adventures were available at press time. Freight Train 444 was continuing his quest to pee in every country of the world by 2012. His latest location is reported to be somewhere in New Zealand, having left Fiji to evade Cyclone Yasi. Apparently, he wet himself on more than one occasion in Fiji worrying about whether he and Lazily LaMoan would be evacuated in time.

Dr. Thug, who had previously threatened to commute for every game from his new base somehere on Lake Erie, failed to keep his promise and chose rather to stay put so that he could review his lecture notes on the life cycle of the Beddus Buggess Latinium.

The goalie, the Marquis DeSave, was in San Diego, looking for employment at the world famous Zoo. Unfortunately, they already have 3 or 4 shitty goalies working in their baboon exhibit.

Warrin’ Peace was a no show. According to his rarely updated blog, Inertia, he was unable to make it because he was too tired. With his wife, the beautiful Samara Desert, unable to do everything around the house, poor Warrin’ has been asked to help her shovel the driveway when snowfall exceeds 3 feet and, to heap work upon work, to set the table EVERY NIGHT! The Strawbs send their condolences and a snow scoop.

Also absent was Achilles Perron, despite playing on a line with Pyjama man and the Ice Marshal.

Now back to the game. Even though shorthanded, the Strawbs came through with a 7-3 victory. Mayor Maynot, breaking a scoring drought which dates back to September 2010,tallied 2 markers, one of them on purpose. MagBoy came away with a MagBoy hat trick…2 goals, 2 penalties and 2 unconsummated breakaways. He was urged on in his performance by his current wife, Bootsey MagGirl who, when not “knitting 1 and purling 2”, could be heard trying out new names for the baby fermenting in her womb. The odds-on favourite for a baby’s name is MagTot if it turns out to be a boy… MagWag if it’s a puppy.

Speaking of births, it was officially announced after the game that Shiny Shone Brightly and Shifty Drouin are brothers. Shiny apparently found this out while shaking his family tree late one night last week. According to medical records recently unsealed by the Ovatorium Society of Greater Buttface, Shiny and Shifty were born in test tubes on different dates. While the same mother donated a couple extra eggs she had lying around in her Fallopian tubes from which the boys were eventually hatched, their fathers are separate entities. Shiny’s male donor was a former nuclear physicist with a gambling problem, born in Green Bay but who emigrated to Buttface on a lark (or maybe it was a bus). He was known to collect wads of gum from local sidewalks when not lining up at the local Cheap Spirits and PowerBall Emporium. Shifty’s sperm-bound DNA came from either a former Killer Strawberry demoted to the Bottomfeeders or from Keith Richards. It was probably the demoted Strawb (Moses McLean??), as there is no record of Keith Richards ever touching an organ.

After the game, there was the usual caravan of thirsty Strawbs who headed to the Terminal Tavren. While MagGirl continue knitting her “Madame Lafarge Neck Warmer”, the team drank as much as usual, still reeling from the news of the Buttface Brothers.

2 Guinness, 4 Muskoka Cream Ale, 3 Steamwhistle, 1 Stella, 1 water and some insemination speculation were consumed.

A Vesuvius of Wisdom

2011-02-07T10:52:00.003-05:00

Game Report

February 3, 2011

Killer Strawberries 10 Turbo Beavers 0

When he used to be chauffeured to his games, P. Gumbington Pettigrew III was never late. This allowed him to position himself upon his dressing room throne well before most of his team mates showed up to play. From this perch, he would dispense his voluminous hockey wisdom whenever he saw fit to whomever should be so lucky as to enter his realm. He almost always saw fit.

Things have changed since P. Gumbington became dissatisfied with his chauffeur’s services. He now drives himself to all Strawberries’ matches secure in the knowledge that, in accordance with the words of his once imaginary lover, the ageless Carole King, “nobody does it better.”

One of the consequences of his newly implemented “Chariot of The Gawd’s” plan is that he rarely gets to a game before the Zamboni has completed its last lick of the ice. This gives him very little time to correct the most recent flaws he has detected in the play of his inferiors. It is a great loss, a shame really, that so much wisdom gets left undispensed by someone who is so full of it.

As his disciples and worshippers know, Sir Gumby is as adept at forward and goaltending as he is at defence. No scale yet exists to properly measure the performances he routinely puts in. Because the coaching staff knows to expect to same level of play from him whether he plays up , back, between the pipes (or is just on the bench for that matter), he has been shuffled about quite a bit since the Christmas break. This peripateticism has been necessary to adjust for team injuries, unforeseen absences and the rare over-subscription. And because Sir Gumby shows up with little pre-game time to spare, he often does not know what role will be expected of him on the evening.

As had been anticipated last night, our pumpkin-socked pontificator did not show up until the last minute. He barged into to the dressing room like a bulldog with a grudge, barely able to contain the volcano of miffed-induced advice needed to be spewed forth. He made his way across the the floor, swept away a couple of stunned rookies besmirching his perch and magisterially demanded of the coaching staff… “What do you want me to play tonight?”…. “Better” was the terse reply.

Well, to his credit, he did elevate his game to “unexpected.” He even got a breakaway while playing defence. He did score because, as he so properly noted “the score was already 10-0 for us. Both the breakaway and the deliberate miss were intended as life lessons for my team mates. Anyone interested in absorbing the philosophy behind my decisions are invited to gather about my person at the Terminal Tavren following the game.”

The game ended 10-0. Hands were shaken, showers taken and compliments in wolves’ clothing were exchanged. It was midnight before P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third scurried off with all interested parties for post-game cheer and a chance to pick up the kind of hockey wisdom not available elsewhere in the universe.

1 Guinness and the puppy-eyed adoration of a young waitress who didn’t know better were consumed.

Frank Undergoes Strawbs' Training

2011-02-04T08:45:00.001-05:00

Headless Chicken Dance

2011-02-03T11:46:00.000-05:00

Killer Strawberries 4 Longshafts 7

Game Report

January 31, 2011

To call last night’s performance by the Strawbs “flabby” would be akin to describing Miss January , 2011 as “okay to look at, if you’re into that sort of thing.” What happened to the promise glimpsed in last week’s tough-fought loss to the CCCP Bolsheviks?

The boys started out well enough and the score was close through the first period. There were flashes of adequacy on both offence and defence, including the goaltending. Unfortunately, the buzzer which sounded after the first 20 minutes must have had some kind of Pavlovian effect upon the whole squad.

Right from the drop of the puck to commence the second period, the team fell into a strange headless chicken dance, an ugly faux-quadrille bereft of rhyme and reason. Dancing, in any form, has never been this inept. The defence forgot how to defend. The offence became offensive even to the opposing Longshafts who felt they deserved a least o modicum of effort and resistance from the Strawbs. And the Strawbs’ goalie, usually reliable, took an unexpected break from competence and quickly regressed to a level which merited him the. “GetOuttaTown Suitcase Award”. This is new award given to the Killer Strawberry most likely to the return soon to the Buttface Bottomfeeders, the team’s farm team’s farm team. “ Our goalie was shittier than the Ice Marshal’s septic system after a weekend invasion by the in-laws”, mused a clearly disturbed Gumby.

On defence, one aging veteran, who pleaded for anonymity, put in a display which prompted the Ministry of Transportation to ask the Executive if he would be available to work as a pylon on Highway 69 this coming summer. Shiny was present only by his remarkable absence. And this reporter will not bother wasting a perfectly good simile on either of the other 2 D.

Up front, there was no shortage of on-ice work deserving of calumny. Let one egregious example suffice as indicative of the whole. This example would be Slickery Mac, a young man with a belly like his dad’s. What good Slickery managed to eke out against the opposition, although no worse than any of his other compatriots, would not have been detectable by the best microscope in the world.

After the debacle, the weakest performers reconvened at the terminal Tavren to drink away the foul-tasting memories of the game just played. Although there is no official report of what or how much was consumed, it can only be guessed that, by the time the Strawbs’ representatives left the building, there was no more humble pie remaining anywhere on the premises.

The Making of Killer Strawberry Blonde Ale

2011-02-01T17:48:00.000-05:00

Warrin' Peace Prepares For The Playoffs

2011-01-31T11:01:00.001-05:00

A Promising Loss

2011-01-30T14:20:00.001-05:00

CCCP 6 Strawbs 2

Game Report

January 27, 2011

The odds were stacked last evening against the Killer Strawberries as they entered their match with the first place CCCP Bolsheviks. The Bolsheviks are, to a man, a squad of excellent teenage players, most of whom represent Canadore College at the varsity level. The Strawbs, too, have some fine players, a few of whom are still young enough to squat relatively undisturbed in the family basement for a couple more years. Fortunately for all concerned, they are out on their own having been nudged out of the nest not so long ago. They are living under new roofs where they are masters of their own domains, second in command only to the strong women blind enough to love them while still desperately trying to mold them into specimens they can occasionally take out into public.
Other Strawbs are in their thirties, an age which permits them to stay up routinely past midnight, join their mates for a few post game sarsaparillas and still be able to function the next morning without the aid of copious quantities of A535, Ibuprofen, Alka Seltzer or little blue pills. The remaining Strawbs, older, wiser and more forgiving of the foibles which are now inextricably entrenched in their very DNA, continue to live out the dreams gifted to them eons ago…..dreams first made vivid in street hockey games spanning every season, incarnate in countless pick up battles which followed endless shoveling of school and playground rinks, and still alive in memories of pure hockey joy which miraculously surface, unannounced, like some long-forgotten and fondly remembered friend.

To say that these Killer Strawberries, in their encounter with the Bolsheviks, faced the long end of Vegas odds would indeed be accurate. But strangely, the unexplainable chemistry of youth and near senescence combined once more to produce a worthy performance. After one period of playing with a skeleton crew of 3 defencemen whose total age surpassed 160, the Strawbs found themselves in the thick of a well-contested 2-2 tie. They were full value for the score and, with a little liuck, might have been ahead.

The last period was hard-fought with the sides trading many scoring opportunities. In the end, CCCP prevailed 6-2…..worthy winners but a little shocked that, despite the score, the game was a very close one. The Killer Strawberries may have lost. Yet, they will carry with them into the playoffs the knowledge that, as in their playground dreams, anything can happen.

After the match, those not yet ready to go home reconvened at the Terminal Tavren. Playoff hopes were discussed, well-executed plays recalled, and outdoor rink rat exploits, real and imagined, were recounted with all the fondness they deserved.

3 Stella, 4 Creemore Pale Ale, 4 Lake of Bays, 2 Bud and the promise glimpsed in a well-fought loss were consumed.

A Turkish Pissoir

2011-01-27T11:59:00.003-05:00

Game Report

Killer Strawberries 9 Those Guys 4

January 24, 2011

If the Killer Strawberries have any pretensions to a fourth championship title in 5 years, they will have to dramatically improve their on-ice performance, which of late, has been as inspiring as an unplanned visit to a public Turkish pissoir in the seedier part of Istanbul.

There has certainly been no problem with the team’s off-ice demeaner. They still close down the Terminal Tavren on a regular basis, floss at a professional level and continue to cause women to swoon by using nothing more than a suggestively arched eyebrow. One Strawb has even been nominated for another Nobel Peace prize for his undertakings with orphaned Thai street workers.

Alas, the hockey side of the business has been deteriorating since the loss of the irreplaceable Dr. Thug to the seductive world of academia. Deep in the heart of Scarberia, the beloved goal scoring howler and chick checker is now spending his waking hours initiating unsuspecting foreign students into the dark mysteries of transactional RNA recombination, lipase catalisticism, T-cell zygotes and Scotch imbibation. The Strawbs miss his “Je ne sais quoi”, Je ne sais how” and Je ne sais why”.

The squad has also been adversely affected by the inability of Warrin’ Peace to extricate his fat ass from his fridge-enhanced BarcoLounger now firmly ensconced in the womb of the Garage of Bad Ideas. He has left the team longing for his over-the-top extroversion and pithy philosophical ejaculations.

Still, these are not very good excuses for the Stawbs’ in-game shenanigans since the the schedule resumed just after New Year’s. What was Slickery Mac thinking last night as he taunted a posse of Those Guys alone in his own end by dangling the puck deftly and brazenly among frustrated sticks and wobbly legs, until, exhausted, he lost the biscuit to 3 of them who then took the liberated puck toward the Strawbs’ net and proceeded to pepper the baffled Marquis DeSave with 37 shots. The barrage finally ended when that rarest of breed, the back-checking forward, put a decisive end to the tomfoolery.

Who did the Vice think he was by pinching in at every opportunity? Sure, he was successful in 51.26% of the time, but what of the remaining 76.34% of the time when he played as befuddedly as a neophyte mathematician trying to multiply, unaided by an abacus, three digit Roman numerals converted to base 3.

Moreover, what was with the performance put in by Shiny Shone Less Brightly, a performance which could only be described as “abysmal” since there does not exist a term in the English language capable of moving that pejorative any further down the Scale of Awfulness? ( In the coming months, some time will certainly be spent at Aloha Baby Compound manufacturing a new descriptor for such a level of ineptitude.)

Fortunately, there was one bright spot on defence, if only for the briefest of moments. It was when (it hurts to say) P. Gumbington The Third, disgusted beyond disgust with the play of his team mates, took matters into his own hands with the score at 5-4 in favour of the Strawberries. He glided magisterially into the opposition slot, his voluminous mane flowing like Guy Lafleur’s in a wind of his own making, and proceeded to slam a beautiful feed past a clearly stunned enemy goaler. It was the turning point in a sloppy match, eventually won by the Strawbs 9-4.

Save for Slickery’s too-realistic imitation of a deer caught in the headlights, the Strawbs’ play at forward was banal yet oddly productive. Goals were scored in bunches, but sadly they were scored with all the enthusiasm reserved for shoveling the driveway for the fourth time in 24 hours. And the enthusiasm had a flaccid panache to match.

Oh, and by the way, the goaltending sucked…. sucked like a new Hoover on steroids.

After the match, most of the Killer Strawberries slunk home to lie about the game to their spouses and dogs. The Vice, the Ice and the Gumbatorial Device, did not duck out. Rather they screamed off to the Terminal Tavren to efface any lingering memories of the crappy play of the Others. They were successful.

1 Keith’s Red, II.XIV (base 3) SteamWhistles, 1 glass of water, 2 Hockstaeder Pale Ales and several happily acknowledged come-on winks from an inebriated bridal party were consumed.

The Gift of Hockey

2011-01-23T13:47:00.002-05:00

Game Report

Killer Strawberries Some Free Agents Fewer

January 20, 2011

Last night’s game against the Free Agents marked the 473rd time the Killer Strawberries, a team of incomprehensible nuances, contradictions and chemistry, had taken to the ice as part of the Canadore College Intramural Hockey League: 26 years of glorious losses, improbable victories, smelly dressing rooms and jokes so bad they continue to merit repeating at every possible opportunity. If the Strawbs did not exist, they would have been invented by some 20th century Voltaire.

In one of the most serendipitous bequests emanating from the Great Inscrutable Cosmic Void, the Killer Strawberries were ,from the very beginning, favoured with the Gift of Hockey. The Gift takes many forms, some recurring, some astonishing in their novelty. It is the Gift which pries the Strawbs from the comfort of couches everywhere, at 11in the evening, with the thermometer moaning at 35 below. It’s the highlight of every week.

And how did the Gift manifest itself in game #473? As always, it was in small things. It was in having the dressing room go from virtually empty at 10 minutes to game time to so full by the Zamboni’s last lick of the ice that the Executive had to once more make room for the final straggler on their throne by the door. The lateness of stragglers never goes unremarked or unscathed. “Pyjama Man, you’re late again. Take your time buddy, you’ve still got 30 second to get ready . And by the way, get rid of that erection you shoulda taken care of at home. Maybe the Butcher can help you with it when he finally shows up.”

It manifested itself again, 3 minutes into the match as the aforementioned Bonehead Butcher Brophey finally emerged from the locker room, half dressed, to boyishly press his nose against the glass, temporarily locked out of the play, heartsick that may have missed a shift.

It was in looking down the bench and marveling that a small gulf, a mere 40 years of dubious living, separated the youngest Strawberry from the team’s oldest fossil. It was in being surprised for the 400th time that Gumby, Gawdawful Gumby, bestockinged as usual in his fluorescent pumpkin hosiery, could be so egregiously out of position yet still have the unmitigated gall to point out to his right winger that he was not covering his point man quite to Gawd’s satisfaction.

It was in admiring the sublime beauty of a clearing pass executed by Shiny Shone Brightly as it was meticulously coralled by Shifty Drouin who was streaking as gracefully as Jean Beliveau through the unclogged center ice zone. It was in the whole bench laughing as Achilles, alone with the puck at the side of net, failed to put the biscuit into an opening only slightly less large than Gumby’s ego. But that did not deter Achilles. Soon thereafter, he redeemed himself on an unexpected second chance by threading the puck through the eye of a needle into a startled mesh.

The alchemy continued as MagBoy maniacally chased loose pucks anywhere and everywhere like a besotted retriever puppy gamboling in his first field of pigeons. It was in watching the handsome Ice Marshal as he knifed a well planned Gumby pass into the glass just above the crossbar. It was evident in the grins of his team mates as Slickery Mac, carrying 60 more pounds that he did when first drafted by the Strawbs, calmly called off his attempt to cross the opposition’s blue line, turned gracefully with the puck glued to his stick, quickly reassessed the best route of attack and deftly penetrated an obviously baffled defence.

It was in Mayor Maynot’s screaming down the left wing to catch up with a puck clearly intent on beating him to the icing line, beating the belligerent biscuit to its hoped for destination, and then slipping it, deadeye, into to top shelf. It was in having the unripest of the Strawbs, the Marquis DeSave, contort himself like a Cirque De Soleil understudy in order to successfully thwart, for the sixth time in the game, a 3 on 0 rush by the Free Agents. And finally, it was in the pleasure which accompanies the shaking of one's head as both the Butcher and the Vice (an accomplished arsonist of great repute in Northern Ontario)got called for hooking the same hapless opponent unwise enough to venture within the reach of their respective scalpels: 6 minutes for unauthorized synchronized surgery.

There were certainly more manifestations of the Gift, too many really to be enumerated here. Suffice it to say that the wonder continued well into the night as it followed the team to its post game perch at the Terminal Tavren. Compliments were, as is customary, sheathed in derogatory clothing and a whole lotta forgiveness was bestowed upon the undeserving: another typical Strawberry outing.

6 SteamWhistles, 8 Lake of Bays offerings, 1 draft, 1 Guinness, 4 Rickerds Red, 7 pounds of chicken wings and more than deserved of the limitless Gift were consumed.

Turkey Brain

2011-01-14T11:17:00.003-05:00

Game Report

Thrashers 5 Killer Strawberries 2

January 13, 2011

Thank Allah that the Christmas Break did not last a scintilla juris longer. The Strawbs, battling what can only be adequately described as an epidemic of Turkey Brain TM, got schooled by a band of hyperkinetic teenagers in a one-sided battle last evening at the (almost) mould-free Pete Palangio Arenas. Final score: Thrashers 5, Killer Strawberries 2.

While the arena may have been mould-free, some of the Strawbs certainly were not. Shiny Shone Brightly had rust growing on his mould. He claimed his skates were too loose, owing to the fact that his new skate tightener was still learning the ropes. The Ice Marshal, considered the most handsome man on the team in a recent poll of B list movie starlets, played like an elderly sloth emerging from a happy-ending massage transacted in a high-class opium den. He blamed his lackluster performance on the shortness of his hockey stick which Gawdawful Gumby has been describing as a hatchet handle with no ambition. Never one to be short on useless advice, Gawd suggested to the weary team icon, saint and boulevardier, that perhaps when he cuts down his next tripod-like device, he might want to first put on his skates, stand on a chair, measure the stick to his chin and add 2 inches. “Keep your mind off my stick” was the Ice Marshal’s terse reply.

Also mouldy and turkey-brained, was the Butcher, fresh from a debilitating sojourn with the sabbaticaled Freight Train 444 at the Aloha Baby Compound West in Oahu. When he left on his excursion, the Butcher was a svelte 185 pounds of pulsating manhood. In the hands of his travelling companions, the most dangerous of whom was Freight Train, he obviously succumbed to every available vice, temptation and donut within a forty mile radius of the Compound and returned to his beloved team a corpulent gallimaufry of unintended consequences. Not pretty…not pretty at all.

Quite a few of the Strawbs must have taken in Elvis Stoyko’s “Thunder On Ice “show over the holidays. Unfortunately, it was not Elvis they decided to emulate, but rather the chorus of nine year girls who skated in public for the first time to the strains of “Feelings”, that excellent up-tempo rock tune made famous by Barry Manilow or Perry Como or maybe it was Frosty The Snowman…who knows. Among the imitating chorus were Archilles Perron, who played The Jilted Butterfly, Slickery Mac, who played the Butterfly’s handmaid, MagBoy, who played The Overdosing Valium Boy, and The Vice, who played himself.

On the plus side, newly called-up Shifty Drouin added some spark to the team and has been instructed to stay by the phone in case the Executive asks him to come out to the next game, perhaps to even play in that game. The real star of the game, it hurts to say, was the Marquis DeSave. The Marquis spent his Christmas hiatus snowbathing on the beaches of Nunavut and counting the number of feral dogs eaten by polar bears. “ It was lot cheaper than Cancun and not nearly as crowded” mumbled he through lips so frostbitten that he has been asked by the makers of Botox to be their 2011 poster boy. Fortunately the whole misadventure did no slow him down between the pipes, and but for his heroics, the score could easily have been 2-1 for the Strawbs.

After the game, most team members scampered off to the Terminal Tavren to top themselves back up with turkey substitutes and libations with a high caloric value. MagBoy announced that the team’s new beer, to be unveiled at a later date, is almost ready for sampling. Cries of “Hale Fellow Well Met, Jolly Good Fellow and You Da Man joyously rang through the entire watering hole, thereby obliterating any feelings of mouldiness that may have followed the team to its post ice-combat haunt.

2 Guinness, a pant load of Lake of Bays India Pale Ale, an ill-advised Grasshopper, 2 Bud, 5 pounds of chicken wings in lemon pepper sauce and the wet dreams of budding brew masters were consumed.

Strawberry pictures from Aloha Compound

2011-01-12T23:22:00.001-05:00

Successful completion of 10,023 ft. Volcano run, in record 54:57 minutes. (Big Hawaii in background)

"Aloha Compound training exercises, jog up 10,023 feet to the top of the dry Haleakala volcano, just to build a thirst."

"Secret never seen before photos inside Aloha Compound"

"Three Strawberries after a night on the town. The two jerseyed Strawberries are reminiscing with the naked Strawberry in jail on how successful the re-hydryation exercises the night before went."

"Old Strawberry put out to pasture"

"Discreet pictures of the Olsen twins teaching core building exercises for Strawberries. They send their love to the Ice Marshall."

"Two Strawberries, higher than normal"

" Aloha Compound wet training area, to develop the core muscles."

"Warm Strawb travelers

Visit Aloha compound

Dehydration cured"

Killer Strawberry Blonde Ale

2011-01-10T09:35:00.000-05:00

Preparing to brew Killer Strawberry Blonde Ale

http://www.burnthelmets.ca/2011/01/off-season-training-beer.html

Killer Strawberries Participate in Annual Road Hockey Ball Tourney

2010-12-28T10:27:00.002-05:00

The Ice Marshal, The Vice, Freight Train and G.A.W.D. participated in the Annual Walpole Road Hockey Tourney on Boxing Day at the Aloha Baby Compound East on Boxing Day.

Sir Cumference

2010-12-07T11:25:00.003-05:00

Game Report

December 2, 2010

Killer Strawberries 2 Thrashers 4

It was very tight game, with the score 2-2 right up to the final 2 minute mark. It was then that the Thrashers squeezed just over the Strawbs goaline. The Strawbs were forced to pull their goalie and came within microns of tying the match. But the gods of hockey were smiling elsewhere and the Thrashers were able to pot an empty netter to secure the victory. To a man, the Killer Strawberries much enjoyed the encounter, so much so that they have requested of the league Big Foreheads that they be put in the competitive division with CCCP, the Longshafts and the Thrashers once the post-Christmas alignment is completed.

On the evening, the best of the Strawbs was certainly Shiny, who, at long last, has shaken off the terrible lethargy of his autumn “hibernation”. Perhaps it was finding a handleless and battered suitcase outside his front door which snapped him to attention. No matter the cause, the result was sheer coaching genius.

The team’s replacement goalie, Braden Whatshisname, was superb between the pipes and it is hoped that his performance will not cause the Executive to consider putting the Marquis on waivers after Christmas. The Marquis has been absent the last 2 games, having claimed that his employer was requiring him to visit some mineshaft in Atawapisqat. Wethinks that he must have done something quite horrible to deserve such a fate.

The third best contribution on the evening started with the unpolished yet insightful wit of Magboy, a player who fondles puns for pleasure. Having noticed that his buddy, Sir Gawd, has been playing with the enthusiasm of a bored Russian aristocrat on yet another factory tour, Magboy mentioned that the Executive might consider drafting another “Sir” of his acquaintance, a Sir Cumference, whom he complimented as an all round player he had met through his circle of friends. His only problem was that he liked to eat Pi. Unfortunately, the rest of the Strawbs could not resist joining the tasteless punditry thus begun. Someone mentioned that MagBoy was always going off on some crazy tangent, especially when he found himself within a 5 metre radius of another Strawb. The Ice Marshal noted that we might be able to sine Sir Cumference and that he would give him a ring later to see if he would like to play in our loop. Not to be outdone, the Butcher stated that he would cosine Sir Cumference’s contract if necessary. “If you’re going to do that, you’d better take the circuitous route”,volunteered the Vice. From there on, the discussion deteriorated, with Buzz Charm, the third favourite son of the Ice Marshal doing his coop with the team’s management, adding “With your Strawbs'luck, if you signed him, he would die-a-metre from the goal crease”. Mercifully, the rink janitor intervened and kicked everyone out of the building.

The team recovened at the Terminal Tavren to dissect the match and to plan an attack upon the league championship. Puns were shunned and grammatical civility was temporarily restored.

10 Guinness, 3 jugs of Bud, 2 jugs of Stella , 3 jugs of Trad, and 15 pounds of Christmas style chicken wings,served in silver bowls and smothered in Hollandaise sauce, were consumed. It was all delicious because, as everyone knows, there’s no plate like chrome for the Hollandaise.

A Senior Moment

2010-12-02T11:02:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 4 Those Guys 1

Game Report

November 29, 2010

The Killer Strawberries gave their best imitation of an 80 year old Lothario last evening at Pete Palangio Arenas where they faced a squad of long haired ice skating deer calling themselves Those Guys. It took the Strawbs a very long time to get aroused, but once their interest peaked,they quickly did what they came to do and then proceeded to fall asleep for the rest of the game, sleeping the blissful sleep of a dream fulfilled.

The loquacious Warrin’ Peace returned to the team after a prolonged absence. When asked by the Strawbs’ Attendance Monitor where he had been for the last 3 games he simply uttered the word “uh”, which apparently means “ none of your business” in Ojibway. This was the only excitement he offered on the evening.

The calendar challenged Dr. Thug also returned to the fold and was back to his old self, screaming on the bench every time the Strawbs beat the opposing netminder. He told the team he had missed the last few outings because he had fallen into an upholstery machine and it took him quite a while before he was fully recovered. As well, he delivered some shocking news. Someone somewhere has hired him to teach Microbiology and Bio-infomatics to unsuspecting Korean Nationals in a barn just outside Pickering, commencing January 2011. He has promised to make the weekly commute to the play hockey but, given his driving record, poor eyesight and propensity to fall asleep just after supper, the Executive considers his promise to be an empty one.

Pyjama Man also returned to the squad. He had hurt his coccyx and elbow at a bowling tournament in his girlfriend’s basement and had to undergo emergency surgery. He had his whole left side cut off but he is all right now.

Freight Train 444’s brief stint with the Strawbs, although spectacularly modest, did not include this match, having ended with his appearance on November 25. On this evening he was making his way, via Winnibego, to Florida as part of Phase 2 of his never ending sabbatical. He intends to visit every shopping centre along the way. He will soon learn that once you’ve seen one shopping centre, you’ve seen a mall.

Sir Gawdawful reinforced the appropriateness of his moniker by putting a performance which would have made Cheech and Chong look like overachievers. He gamboled across the frozen surface accompanied by self-generated snippets of the Nutcracker and visions of sugar plums fairies dancing in his head. The team has tried him at defence, offence and it would seem that the best place for him might be elsewhere, until he decides to rejoin the real world. Maybe Freight Train could pick him up a nice piece of Loius Vuitton on his way down south.

The Butcher was up to his old tricks and only got caught twice in his attempts to perform various unauthorized swaps of the internal organs of his opposition. In one particularly beautiful case, he managed to move #7’s spleen to #11’s anal sphincter and damn near wrecked him.

Final score: Killer Strawberries 1 spleen, 2 sphincter and 4 goals (scorers forgotten)
Those Guys 1

After the game, Bootsey MagGirl drove the team to the Terminal Tavren and regaled the Strawbs with stories of strange body rashes, morning sickness and absolutely fascinating accounts of her most recent ultrasounds. The boys were so enthralled, they barely had time to needle each other.

4 jugs of swill, 8 pounds of chicken wings and some very colourful descriptions of toilet bowl contents were consumed.

Dull As Dishwater

2010-11-29T12:03:00.001-05:00

Killer Strawberries 11 ALU Warriors Quite A Bit Fewer

Game Report

November 25, 2010

As November 25 dully dragged its way through its final hour of tedium, the Killer Strawberries mercilessly pounded an understaffed ALU team with all the enthusiasm of a bored Emperor at a routine slaughter of Christians and other unfortunates. As a contagion of stifled yawns infected the Strawbs’ bench in waves of unbridled ennui, the seconds langourously erased themselves from the arena clock, in the vain hope of never ever being reset again. The Zamboni driver went home early, leaving well before the game ended and asking that the last person kindly locks the doors on his way out. The pinball machines in the lobby pulled their own plugs from the sockets. The ice started to melt just so that it wouldn’t have to support one more half-hearted effort at aimless propulsion.
Mayor Maynot broke out of his torpor long enough to pot 6 goals so meaningless that the scorekeeper refused to add them to the scoreboard. Sir Gawdawful Gumby was lost in his land of warm milk and cookies, soft blankets and naps as he serenaded himself to sleep with the whisper of his blades against the dying ice. The Marquis DeSave couldn’t be bothered to take a warmup, preferring to remain supine in the dressing room until the last possible moment. During the whole of the match, his catching glove did not rise above his waist, nor did his knees bend in any perceptible fashion: MagBoy could have done better, but just couldn’t bring himself to try.
Newton theorized that every action results in an equal and opposite reaction. In last night’s game, the Laws of Entropy were temporarily suspended for lack of sufficient action to cause a reaction. Even the Laws of the Universe were anesthetized. All in all the game was so dull, that……….zzzzzzzzzzzz.

2010-11-25T14:23:00.001-05:00

A open message to the Strawbs from the late Fred Shero:

Take the shortest route to the puck and arrive in ill humour!

Shorthanded

2010-11-24T13:19:00.001-05:00

Killer Strawberries 3 Turbo Beavers 1

Game report

November 22, 2010

With Dr. Phelonius Thug incapacitated by a terrible, terrible case of the sniffles, with Warrin’ Peace grounded for not properly vacuuming his man cave, and with Pyjama Man unable to play because of some sudden syphilitic recrudescence, the Killer Strawberries still managed to defeat a determined Turbo Beaver squad by a score of 3-1.

Once again, Freight Train 444, still recuperating from his latest grueling 10 week vacation, joined the team, and, despite the extra 34 pounds of winter insulation stretching the skin of his midriff to the point of bursting, played a fine game on defence. He was called upon frequently to cover up the aggressive play of his D mates, the Packer-besotted Shiny Shone Brightly, the penalty-addicted Butcher and the senescent Vice.

Up front, the forwards almost achieved hockey respectability, except for Slickery Mac, who, while the Butcher rested his sorry ass in the Sin Bib, scored 2 shorthanded markers in a span of 57.232 seconds (approx.). Of course, the Butcher attributed it all to the motivation he gifted to the team by selflessly taking a penalty with the score 1-0 in the opposition’s favour.

Mr. Mayor Maynot, who ,without consulting the Monicker Committee , changed his nickname to Yo-Yo, completed the scoring late in the last period, the recipient of a brilliant 2 on 1 saucer pass from the IMW, a saucer pass so sublime in its execution that a small bronze statue will be erected in the arena lobby next week in the wily veteran’s honour. “ I really don’t need another statue” commented the humble team leader. “I wish the erections would stop.”

In goal, the Marquis DeSave put in another stellar outing. On one occasion, the Vice delivered a perfect no-look pass onto the waiting stick of a streaking opponent. The Marquis coolly followed the 405 attempted feints and dekes, and finally stopped the clearly frustrated attacker by jamming his pad neatly against the far post….just another great play in a typical Strawbs’ victory.

After the game, the New Terminal Tavren was invaded by the victors. Good plays were recounted in terms which made the originals seem ordinary and glaring mistakes were sloughed off as bad luck. Backs were slapped and the tight-jeaned torsos of the service staff were admired.

5 Keiths, 7 Steamwhisltles, 4 Buds, 13 pounds of chicken wings and some stories of glorious shorthanded goals past were consumed.

While The Cats Were Away

2010-11-22T12:35:00.001-05:00

While The Cat Was Away
Killer Strawberries 1 Those Guys 40
Game report
November 18, 2010

On Thursday last, the Executive had to make an unexpected trip to the Moon Cafe at the Playboy Mansion in Los Angeles to receive, along with Valdy, several important humanitarian awards from Hugh and his bevy of beautiful babelicious babes. The party lasted for 4 days and the Executive returned to North Bay exhausted but happy. Happy until they learned that in their absence, the Strawbs were utterly hopeless in the game against Those Guys on the very night they were being feted. Despite being bolstered by the return of Gawdawful Gumby, who had been vacationing high in the Rockies and by Freight Train 444, who had just completed his 3rd circumnavigation of the world in this last year alone, the squad stunk. The goalie stunk. The defence stunk and the forwards stunk. The fans also stunk. Even their stinkiness stunk.

Why is it that when the leadership is away, the team takes a vacation to Stinkidom? Just asking.

Nothing was consumed but odiferous olfaction.

Strawbs Out of Uniform

2010-11-20T14:05:00.002-05:00

The Killer Strawberries Do Valdy

2010-11-19T00:07:00.004-05:00

The Ice Marshal and The Vice entertain Valdy at the Aloha Baby Compound Moon Cafe.

Spanked

2010-11-12T11:28:00.001-05:00

Game Report

November 11, 2010

CCCP 8 Killer Strawberries 2

The Strawbs knew before the game that they would get spanked by CCCP, most of whose players toil for the Canadore Varsity team. Sometimes, you need a good spanking, although not quite as often MagBoy likes one.

The CCCP players are young, swift, talented and mild mannered…oh, yeah, did I mention young? Nevertheless, the Strawbs held in for the first period, with the score 2-1 in favour of the speedsters. The poor Marquis DeSave must have felt like a burger at a Rottweiler convention, what with the relentless biting attacks upon him. Eventually, the assaults took their toll and CCCP put a further 6 markers behind him before the final buzzed was mercifully buzzed. Shiny thought that one period would have been enough for us to mount a comeback..but realistically I don’t think any of the Strawbs could have mounted anything, let alone a comeback.

At the other end of the ice, the Strawbs produced quite a few excellent scoring opportunities, with Pyjama Man and the Ice Marshal assuring the team was not shutout. TheIMW l played like Teeter Kennedy, or rather, played like Teeter Kennedy would have played had he been alive today at the ripe old age of 105. To say that his skills have deteriorated would be like saying Mama Cass has put on a little weight…. a small understatement.

It did not help the team’s cause that Warrin’ Peace, Pyjama Man and the recently lauded Butcher showed up late for the game. Warrin’ had an excuse…he can’t tell time. Pyjama Man had to tuck in his daughters (and girlfriend, the lovely Loans Jones) before screeching to the rink. But the Butcher? His excuse: impaired cognitive judgment caused for overheated brain circuits. Mind you, that’s his normal state. He should have stayed home and flossed. Observant readers will recall that His Bropheyness was recently demoted to Buttface and returned from the ordeal on Monday last. His Monday performance was publicly lauded. Seems he doesn’t do too well when praised. Well, he won’t be praised again, the puerile wad of tardy Sheitzhiemerwurst.

Despite the beating, the Strawbs were jovial after the match and several of them (and the lovely Loans Jones) met up for some post game imbibing at the New Terminal Tavren, home of Fat Boy chicken wings, named after an unnamed Strawb who is less than lean and wears #3.

2 jugs of Keith’s Dark (yuk!), 2 jugs of Stella, 2 Bud Light, 2.5 hubs of chicken wings and some bawdy tales of memorable spankings were consumed.

Triumphant Return

2010-11-09T12:28:00.001-05:00

Game Report

November 8, 2010

Strawbs 8 Longshafts 5

Sometimes as a Killer Strawberry all you’ve got left is handsome. And sometimes that handsome is simply not enough. Just ask the Butcher who spent the past weekend laundering other mens’ intimates. Perhaps it was a little harsh of the Executive to send him to Alaska for rehabilitation. Fortunately, the Executive, while cruel when necessary, is always fair. And the Butcher certainly benefited from the cruel/fair treatment recently meted out to him.

In last night’s tussle with the very speedy Longshafts, the good Doctor was on top of his game. He performed a series of unforgettable, fully legal muggings on every corner of the ice. He was ornery. He was belligerent. He was motivated. He was so sneaky and effective that, by game’s end, he had an amazing secret collection of Longshaft organs tucked away inside his equipment, organs the Longshafters did not even know they were missing. Welcome back Butcher…we missed ya.

The match started out well for the opposition. By the end of the first period they were ahead 2-0. It took a full team defence to keep the score so low. Special kudos to the D and to the Marquis, all of whom struggled valiantly to keep the rubber outside the cage. Despite the slim margin, the Longshafts were so confident they were about to crush the Strawbs that they kept hooting constantly, and when they did score, their celebratory rituals were overdone, bordering on taunts.

Alas, their ejaculations were premature. Dr. Thug quickly popped in 2 goals early in the second period, lovely markers he continued to describe in terms which became more unbelievable which each quaff of Guinness at the post game soiree. The Stawbs then took a 3-2 lead, as Slickery, Warrin’ Peace and Mayor Maynot combined to shove a stiletto up the Longshafts’ (insert missing body part here)…… From then on, the game seesawed back and forth, as Slickery exacted revenge on his opposition on four more occasions, for an incredible total of 5 goals in the game. Pyjama man added the coup de grace with 16 seconds left. Final score Strawbs 8 Longshafts 5.

In the dressing room at the end of the game, the Butcher was officially welcomed back with a gift of Gentleman Jack, a fine Tennessee Bourbon presented to him in a makeshift suitcase on the occasion of his 56th birthday. Although no gentleman on the ice this glorious evening, the Butcher’s sharing of the loot was a welcome magnanimous gesture.

After the match, most Strawbs slogged home exhausted. The others, thumbing their noses at the lateness of the hour, reassembled at the New Terminal Tavren to celebrate a well earned victory and to toast the return of the dirtiest SOB in the league.

2 Grasshoppers, 3 Guinness, 3 Keiths, 2 pounds of chicken wings and the warm inner glow of some illegally ingested Gentleman Jack were consumed.

Get A Grip

2010-11-08T11:46:00.003-05:00

Butcher Bombs Badly. Buttface Beckons

Killer Strawberries 7 Free Agents 2

Game Report

November 4, 2010

It was something the Executive had been worried about for more than a year. As aficionados of all Things Killer Strawberry know, Dr. Butcher Brophey took a sabbatical from his beloved team in 2009-2010, in order to spread to the world his vast knowledge of the topic “Innovating Innovationary Innovation Techniques Innovatively: An Innovator’s Perspective” . His educational victims included some of the unwashed masses of Europe and a few fascinated Bedouins seeking to expand their markets for camel dung.

The good Doctor lectured to great acclaim at The Milan Academy of Blind Donkey Raisers, held open air brainstorming session with the self-flagellating Sisters of Perpetual Suffering and Bleeding in Padua, and, in an unprecedented audience with the Pope, instructed His Most Holy Bigness on the idea of using Catholic confession as a source of Church revenue. He even met up in Giza with his buddy, the also-sabbaticalled Freight Train 444, who, together, turned 3 of the pyramids into to thriving Tim Horton’s Falafel franchises.

But let’s get back to the worrisome part. For any true hockey player, a year spent away from the frozen pond is an awful lot like diving naked into a humming beehive. It’s eventually gonna hurt a lot and for a long time afterward. For a player of the Butcher’s caliber and mental capacity, the result was sure to be especially bad. Turns out the Executive had much to fear.

At the start of the season, the Butcher was eased back into the lineup by placing him on the wing opposite the Ice Marshal. It was much like Edmonton’s experiment of placing the stone-handed Dave Semenko on a line with Gretzky… a gift really. But noooooooo!. The move was a disaster. Brophey was not only underwhelming, he was below sub-underwhelming. His performance, combined with a sullenness so infantile that his sulky lower lip had to be popped with a safety pin, forced the Executive to retreat from its strategy of slow integration and to put the said sulky sulker back among the blueline pigeons for game 2 of the season.

In his defence, it must be noted that the Butcher was less awful at his old position than anticipated. For the next couple of matches, he struggled mightily to bring his game up to its previous level of mediocrity. Unfortunately, hecould not even hurdle that low bar.

In last night’s game, a fresh nadir of Bropheyesque ineptitude was reached. While his teammates performed magnificently in the 7-2 victory over the Turbo squad, the Butcher was abysmal. The breaking point was reached when, in the early moments of the final period, he carelessly tossed a fat, lazy, ill-timed pass right up the middle onto the surprised stick of Turbo’s best player. As the Strawbs’ bench gasped in disbelief, that best player moved in alone on the Marquis, mesmerized him with dazzling feats of legerdemain and casually popped the biscuit into the net.

Mercifully, the game came to an end, and, after the customary shaking of hands, the Killer Strawberries retired to their dressing room for the first round of ribbing and witty repartee. None of the gentlemen on the team mentioned the gaffe for what seemed to be an eternity. The elephant in the room remained unacknowledged until the moment a meek Butcher asked “Ice Marshal, I feel really bad about tonight. What do you recommend?” “A suitcase oughta come in handy” he tersely volunteered.

For the upcoming weekend, Dr. Bonehead Butcher Brophey will be hand laundering jock straps for the Strawbs’ farm team, the Nasty Cupcakes, as well as getting some valuable ice time with farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottom Feeders, a team so awful, that Miss White Go Go Boots, whose concept of morality defies imitation, still refuses to entertain any member of that sorry organization.

Post game, most of the boys and Cuddles McMillan resurfaced at the New Terminal Tavren to quaff some wet stuff and to wish the Butcher well on his short rehabilitation stint.

A free 120 ounce pitcher of Bud, 2 not-so-free Grasshoppers, 10 Steamwhisltles, 3 Keiths Dark, 4 Bud Light, 1 Stella , 17 pounds of chicken wings a little Louis Vuitton Whine were consumed.

Turbo Powered Tailspin

2010-11-03T14:26:00.001-04:00

Strawbs 7 Turbo Powered 2

Game report

November 1, 2010

If one were to somehow quantify the remarkableness of a single dog fart as it contributed to the overall air quality at a canine chilifest, then divided that number by the number of times Sir Gumby has been on time for any outing, ever, you would exceed the remarkableness of last night’s game by a factor of 7 factorial plus 5 to the power of a googleplex.

Not only did nothing happen in the first matchup since last year’s final game between the Strawbs and their erstwhile arch-enemies the Turbo Powered Sphincters (known then as the Aviation Aholes), nothing happened anywhere else in the universe for the 2 days following. The game was a black hole of black holes.

Perhaps, the above description is a little hyperbolic. The Marquis DeSave did put his face in front of some rubber. The Butcher was less of a threat on defence than he would have been on offence. Pyjama Man did utter a couple of vituperative epithets at the bozo who butt-ended him on a faceoff. Archilles Perron continued to patrol the blueline with all the enthusiasm of Lindsay Lohan at an AA reunion. Shiny may have scored a goal or perhaps thought he had. The IMW should have continued his pre-game nap elsewhere. The Vice skated like a 90 year old over-concussed Dr. Thug on Prozak spritzers. Slickery was absent by his very presence. Mayor Maynot, the team’s newest rookie and Astroglide provisioner, was so underwhelming that the referees asked that his name be removed from the scoresheet at game’s end.

The one bright moment (assuming we round up the moment to the nearest scintilla of brightness) came a the end of the match, when MagBoy, in full Guy Lafleur-like flight, descended alone upon the opposing goaltender intent on ramming the puck through the poor fellow with all the momentum he could muster at his top speed of 13 knots per hour. As he was readying to unleash his shot/bodycheck, a stick was thrown from the stands by his mistress, the unalloyed MagGirl. A penalty shot was called. MagBoy doffed his helmet, adjusted his boys, slicked back his hair and once more attacked the Turbo’s goaler. CRRRRACK! The puck found its way to the back of the net and thus was MagBoy assured some physical comfort later in the evening.

Post game, the lads headed off to their new watering hole, the New terminal Tavren, with a very excited MagGirl in tow. Black holes and tailspins of both varieties were discussed, created, admired and imagined.
Cheap beer (totaling more than 36 litres), several gross of chicken wings and a cup of aphrodisiacal cocoa (for MagGirl) were consumed.

Strawbs Go A Little Rough on Beavers

2010-10-29T10:35:00.002-04:00

Killer Strawberries 5 Turbo Beavers 1

Game Report

October 28, 2010

For the first time this year, the Killer Strawberries iced a full complement plus Gumby as it faced a squad of meatheads, otherwise known as the Turbo Beavers. They were more like Turbo Cleavers, given these dolts’ propensity for spearing, butt-ending and cross checking. Somehow they managed to have only 2 of their players ejected for being egregious monuments to fatuity.

The Strawbs started off slowly . For significant moments early on, they were handcuffed in their own zone and had to rely on the stellar play of the Marquis DeSave, who had to handle more rubber than a Bourbon Street hooker on the first night of Mardi Gras. Normally, a Strawb would welcome a little light handcuffing but things are different at the rink. Somehow the Strawbs shook off the shackles of ineptitude and finished period one strongly.

The first period ended in a 1-1 draw. It was in the second that the team awoke. Led by a rejuvenated Shiny Shone Brightly, the squad quickly began to light up the board and did not look back. Well, almost all did not look back. There was Sir Gawdawful Gumby living down to his moniker. Apparently, a short shift for him consists in floating inside the opponents’ blueline, no matter the location of the puck anywhere on the ice surface, and waiting for 2 and one half minutes to elapse before sauntering back to his bench for a well earned earful. Apparently his sustained fit of pique at being commandeered into an offensive role has got management talking about returning him to his preferred perch on defence….or to Buttface, Alaska, home of the team’s farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottom Feeders.
The final score was 5 to 1 Strawbs. They now get to play the Turbo Beavers’ dumber cousins, the Turbo Powered Aholes next Monday. Lovely.

Post game, the squad shuttled off to the Loose Moose, a local watering hole named after one of the current Strawb’s former girlfriends. It will become the New Terminal Tavren, the team having abandoned the old Terminal Tavren, whose new ownership refuses to subsidize any of the Strawbs’ multifarious vices. So long and thanks for all the fish (and nips).

2 Stella, 2 Guinness, 2 Keith’s Dark, 5 Kokanee, 3 Blue Light, one pound of chicken wings and the sweet taste of re-subsidization were consumed.

Almost Undefeated Again

2010-10-27T09:53:00.001-04:00

Game Report

Killer Strawberries 2 Sunnyvale Chargers 3

October 25, 2010

It didn’t take long the Strawbs to toss off the unbearable weight of an undefeated season. Last night, they calmly surrendered a small victory to an excellent Charger squad but not without a fight.
The Marquis DeSave was once more superb between the pipes as he repeatedly erased the potential damaging effects of poor defensive zone play by both the forwards and the somnabulent D.

The offence, in the absence of Slickery Mac who was having his nails done by a temptress of dubious morals, roared back from a 2 goal deficit to tie the game. But like a drunken teenager at his first orgy, there was nothing left in the tank by the end of the outing. Final score: 3-2 for the bad guys.

On a positive note, the Strawbs inked a two way contract with a new player whose age, when added the the pool of all Strawbs’ages, drops the average lifespan of the team by 2.4 years. The new player, who will be monikered at a later date, got off to a rocky start by entering the dressing room before the game and brazenly attempting to sit in the hallowed space between the Vice and the IMW. For a scintilla juris, he basked in the glow of sweet senescence before being rudely relegated to a more appropriate perch near the toilet. Another such faux pas is not expected soon.

After the game, the hardier Killer Strawberries (those with a drinking problem), shuttled off the Terminal Tavren in search of cheap libation. The new owner was not present to dispense with any largesse and, consequently, the attendees were forced to pay full price for their watery sustenance. A new, more cash friendly establishment is being sought with great urgency.

The bitter dregs of a long-time drinking relationship gone sour were consumed with melancholy.

Same As it Ever Was

2010-10-22T11:29:00.002-04:00

Game Report
October 21, 2010
Killer Strawberries 6 Shortshafts 5

It has been an ironclad rule of the Killer Strawberries’ recruiting braintrust that championships are won from the goal crease out. Over the years, the Strawbs have managed to trick quite a few puck stoppers into being their last line of defence…some might say their only line of defence. Fans will surely remember the exploits of many of them: Dangerous Dan who turned his goalie stick into a baseball bat; Screaming Roy Cocksbreath who loved to whack across the calves any D stupid enough to befoul his crease; 6P Popp, a narcissistic man who watched himself make saves by following his reflection in the glass surrounding the ice surface; Jesse The Leak, an accounting student with many goaltending debits to his credit and Monsieur Le Plug, who managed to finish a championship season while sporting a whopping GPA of .07.

Last night, the Strawbs introduced to their adoring fanbase their 2010-2011 coup de recruitment, the Mark E. DeSave, whose idea of outrage is to utter the word s“Friggin’ Fishbits” under his breath. To distinguish himself from all the other goalies in the league, Mister DeSave has painted his pads a shocking shade of yellow bordering on offensive. Nonetheless, he was stellar between the pipes last night, turning aside the 423 shots peppered at him by a clearly frustrated opposition. He has been asked to continue his tryout with the team this upcoming Monday. A final decision on his Strawberry fate will be forthcoming from the Aloha Baby Compound headquarters immediately following the next game.

The braintrust also tinkered with the non-goalie portion of its roster. Archilles Perron, fresh from a debauched romp in Sin City with the sabbaticalizing Freight Train Laronde, was moved to defence. At least this part of the tinkering worked. To make room for Archilles, Dr. Butcher Brophey, who hopes this year to be elevated to Meat Surgeon Brophey, was placed on a forward juggernaut with the returning Slickery Mac and the handsome yet humble Ice Marshal Walpole. One more performance of this ilk by the Butcher and he will be a monikered Meathead. So ineffective was he on both sides of the centre line and on both sides of the ice that his enamoratta, the infamous Miss White Go Go Boots, surrendered her affections for the evening to a 14 year old be-zitted Zamboni driver rather than be seen canoodling with a limp wristed Lothario.

With the game tied at 5-5, (thanks to some dandy markers by Slickery (2), Pyjama Man (1) and somebody else (1), and a seeing eye knuckleball by the Alzheimeresque Dr. Thug) four Strawbs decided to abandon their defensive zone to 5 Shortshafts and one Vice Ice. (make that 6 shortshafts). Somehow the Vice managed to whiff the puck out of the zone and have it land, gift-like, at the feet of four Strawberries lying patiently in wait on the opposition’s blueline. Into the Shortshaft zone they creeped, manhandling the puck like it was a leaky bag of necrotic pus. Slickery spotted Shiny alone in front of the net and slid him the puck deftly. With 6.3 seconds remaining, Shiny coolly deposited the biscuit into the biscuit jar. Strawbs 6 Shortshafts 5.

Now normally with 6.3 seconds remaining, victory is but a small effort away. And that’s just what Slickery, the Vice, Shiny, Warrin’ Peace and the Butcher put in as they let 2 Shortshafts steal the faceoff and march down the ice to pepper the Mark E. with 7 more shots before the buzzer was mercifully sounded. As Gawd so rightly noted “Same as it ever was.”

Post game, the thirstier Strawbs reconvened at the Terminal Tavren, where the 2 for 1 deal on drinks has been jettisioned with nary a final hurrah. The team is now looking for a new watering hole and is accepting tenders until noon next Thursday.

4 overpriced Guinness, 2 overpriced Bud Light, 1 overpriced Bass, 3 well-named Poisoned Monkeys, 2 overpriced Blue, and 3 pounds of chicken wings were consumed.

Killer Strawberries on Tour 2010 - Las Vegas

2010-10-22T08:03:00.003-04:00

Giving some pointers to Jack and Tiger.

Archillies and Freight Train pose with Jessica at the Aloha Baby Compound Las Vegas site.

More shenanigans at Aloha Baby Compound Las Vegas.

Archillies and Freight Train, all set for some well deserved R&R at the Aloha Baby Compound Las Vegas.

Killer Strawberries Golf August 6, 2010

2010-08-07T10:48:00.002-04:00

Off to a good start!

Lori wins Big.

Magnausium in Plaid.

The Plaid Shorts Team.

Most of the Strawbs, Strawbs bone to seed and their fans after the Awards at the Legion.

Practice Round

2010-07-21T09:38:00.002-04:00

Some of the Killer Strawberries, Freight Train Laronde, Butcher Brophey, the Ice Marshall and The Vice, were out on the links yesterday getting in a practice round before August's annual Strawberries golf event. Also on board, on loan from the Lahr Reunion Team, was Batawa import Fists Hore.

Killer Strawberries on Tour, Again

2010-07-13T07:51:00.002-04:00

The Killer Strawberries "Summer Tour 2010" took them to the French River for 4 days. Freight Train shows the "colours" prior to a hearty breakfast and another day of river fun.

2009-2010 Champion Team of Final Game

2010-03-18T09:21:00.002-04:00

Here is the Strawbs team that won the final game to clinch Championship #3 in 4 years.

Championship Victory!

2010-03-17T11:21:00.004-04:00

Killer Strawberries 5 Aviation Iceholes 1

Game Report

March 15, 2010

All the stops in the Strawbs’ juggernaut were slammed to wide open this past Monday evening as the Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club directed its shinny machine to the ice pads of victory. Every talisman, good luck charm and voodoo incantation was used to ensure that the handsomest intramural squad in the history of intramural squads, a team so creaky its members must tie each others’ skates, copped its third College Championship in the last 4 years. The greatest relief was bidding adieu to the detested Aviation Iceholes, a team so loathed by the kitten-loving, dog-petting, tree-hugging Killer Strawberries that even the mention of this opponent is highly discouraged in polite company throughout the hockey cosmos.

It was not an easy path to intramural glory. A third of the Strawbs’ team was MIA on the evening, leaving the heavy lifting to be done by a valiant few who toiled ceaselessly to grab the Crown under adverse conditions. Absent was Freight Train Laronde who was overseas, introducing his pal, Butcher Brophey, to the seedier carnal exchanges of exotic Cairo. He did, however, send an email to the Strawbs, prior to the match, a “Pyramid Power” photo of himself and the Butcher, scandalously outfitted in purple loincloths while mounting camels at the foot of the largest pyramid they could find.

Also missing was Worn-E who was taking a well-deserved sabbatical in Orlando, Florida, where he was engaged in the study of “The Heuristic Educational Implications of Hedonistic Pursuits In Sub-Tropical Climes”. Sounds like a big rum infused piss-up to this writer.

Warrin’ Peace could not make it because his wife, the gorgeous Samara Dessert, had commanded him to remove all the Strawbs’ graffiti scratched into the walls of the Garage of Bad Ideas at an earlier soiree which had gotten out of hand.

Poor Dr. Thug was virtually immobilized by a post-anterior laceration of his medio-lateral cruciate, an injury he sustained while mysteriously attempting to remove his underwear on a slippery strip club floor somewhere near Delhi, Ontario. Even though he could not play, His Thuggery did show up to the arena to take over the coaching reins previously wielded by Paunch Imlach whose bail could not be posted by game time. Dr. Thug attributed the Strawbs’ triumph to the lucky knee brace he had lent to the Ice Marshall and to his expert manipulation of Gumby’s old Shanky, an ancient five iron which has been wielded successfully at all 3 Strawbs’ championship games in the last 4 years. As he is wont to do, the good Doctor downplayed the contribution of all the hockey acumen he has acquired over his last 80 years of self-concussing on frozen ponds and burlesque stages around the world.

On the ice, the Killer Strawberries executed to near perfection the game plan concocted by Gawdawful Gumby on his pre-game trip to the loo. “I want you guys to score early and often,” he barked to anyone who would listen. “And I will personally attend to any of you so-called hockey players if you don’t.” Frightened by the intensity of the Gawd’s oral delivery, the Strawbs did exactly as ordered. Bing Crossbah, the starting centre, moved the opening draw back to Archilles Perron who quickly spooned it back to the streaking Bing. Bing squeezed through the startled defence and slammed a missile just inside the right post. It took 7 seconds. Gumby thought it should have been done quicker but was still mildly pleased with the effort. Then Bing bonged again, scoring another beauty before the clock had ticked off 2 minutes. “Playing with the Ice Marshal opened up the ice for me all night long,” Bing burbled to reporters at the post game presser. "IMW may have a well deserved reputation as a smooth skating right winger, but more importantly he seems to magically draw opponents to his side of the rink. I almost felt alone out there with the space I had to work with.”

As for the Ice Marshal, he had his best game in 2 years, despite playing with a knee so wounded it had to be fused together with metal rods,titanium crosspieces and the prayers of his mother. Twice he harnessed blistering shots launched by the defence, manipulated them expertly in heavy traffic and neatly flipped them into tiny holes left by the Iceholes’ bewildered goaltender.

Pyjama Man was at the peak of feistiness and delivered an excellent performance for his long-suffering girlfriend, Loans Jones, who was watching him swooningly from the stands. MagBoy could barely be contained. He frustrated the opposition repeatedly with his supersonic speed, mettlesome play and halitosis. On more than one occasion, he expertly goaded an Icehole into taking a stupid penalty, which error in judgment usually resulted in a Strawbs’ goal.

The defence was magnificent. Shiny Sean Brightly was all over the ice, blocking shots, breaking up potential breakaways and sliding into scoring position with all the aplomb of a stealth missile. His two trips to the sin bin were well deserved and strategically useful in making the Iceholes pay for the liberties they were attempting to take with the corporal well-being of his Strawberrian team mates. P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third also showed up to play, assisting on a least two markers, hustling when he ought to have hustled and shutting down the most dangerous of the Aviators. Archilles played way above his head. He was most adept at keeping the puck in the opposition’s end under trying circumstances, which adeptitude resulted in the third Strawbs’ tally. Serious consideration will be given to moving him full time to a point position next year.

And what can be said about the Vice that has not already been said. He must be the most frustrating guy to play against in the universe. Over the years, he has perfected the barely detectable elbow hook, the borderline defensive interference manoeuvre, the step on the opponent’s stick trick and so many other quasi-illegal moves that a hockey instructional video featuring his obstructionist magic is being proposed by more than one NHL organization.

As the last line of defence, Monsieur Le Plug rose to the occasion. He must have appeared like a Titan in oversized goalie apparel to the clearly baffled shooters on the other team. He was a veritable black hole between the pipes, sucking up any and all energy the opposition directed to his attention. He is definitely a lock on the Killer Strawberries' goalie of the year for 2009-2010. He reminds the Executive of a young Jesse The Leak, who now toils anonymously for Revenue Canada in some soul-sucking cubicle in Sudbury.

After the game, the team and its fans (2) reconvened at the terminal Tavren to slug back champagne, to clink glasses ad nauseum and to lavishly compliment each other on a fabulous season. Emails were sent out to the non-contributors, songs were sung and once again a calm soothing glow of victory well-earned permeated the air.

16 Jeroboams of Champagne, 2 Appletinis (Bootsey MagGirl's favourite), 47 Ibuprofen, 1 Ode To Shanky and lots of happy smiles were consumed

Pyramid Power

2010-03-15T10:04:00.001-04:00

Strawbs vacation in Egypt rather than play in finals. At least the "colours" are being shown world wide.

Iceholes Paunched Into Submission

2010-03-09T18:41:00.002-05:00

Game Report

March 4, 2010

Killer Strawberries 7 Aviation Iceholes 2

Last night was the first game in a 2 out 3 series between the ancient Killer Strawberries and their despised rivals, the Aviation Iceholes . The Pete Palangio Arena was rocking hours before game time as fans from as far away as across the street streamed into the ice palace to take in the evening’s entertainment. Both the candy bar machine and the pop dispenser were sold out before the drop of the puck. Or maybe they were just broken but it can be said with certainty that the Vice lost at least 4 loonies looking to grab a quick nutritious dinner before he had to lace them up.

Once again, the Killer Strawberries were lead by coach Paunch Imlach who had been parachuted in to replace the bench stylings of the inimitable Ice Marshal Walpole. The IMW was still recuperating at the Aloha Baby Compound under the very close care of Candy and Mandy Delicious, dedicated professionals in the caring industry. Coach Paunch, using a complicated admixture of voodoo, a five iron, a German drinking hat and bluster, whipped the Strawbs into a frenzy just as they were to step on the ice. The adrenalin was running so high, mothers were asked to remove their daughters from the arena lest something crazy happen.

The Strawbs bolted from the gate. After giving up the first goal, they never looked back. The Iceholes spent more time on their heels than a Baltimore street walker on St. Patrick’s Day. MagBoy was, in his own estimation, “magnificent”, potting 3 goals, roughin’ it up in every zone and even making well timed trips to the Sin Bin. Bing skated like an 18 year old jacked up on Bennies and contributed excellent offensive and defensive play. Dr. Thug scored the ugliest goal of his career by laying on his back, flailing at the puck with his arms and legs and stick and ears. How the puck went in is still a mystery, but its crossing of the goal line was accompanied was the most joyfyl "YEAAAAAAA" in the history of hockey. Dr. Thug followed the referee all the way to timekeeper's box to ensure that there was no confusion as the identity of the artist who produced the goal.

Somebodies else scored the other markers. Those somebodies else included neither Freight Train nor Worn-E, nor Archilles, nor Gumby, nor Shiny, nor Warrin’ Peace whose continued absences from important playoff games has earned him a one way ticket to Butthole, Alaska to toil for the Butthole Bottom Feeders, the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team.

On the defensive side of the ledger, the blueliners' play was okay, if by okay you mean not below shitty.

After the match, the squad reassembled at the Terminal Tavren. They called the IMW to let him know that he was still loved and sorely missed, even in victory. The IMW then emailed all the Strawbs pictures of him recuperating with double Delicious martinis. Here’s hoping he can make it back for game 2.

4 Stella, 5 Guinness, 7 Keiths, 3.1914 rounds of cider, some Pi, 3 birthday Scotches provided by the Cairo bound Freight Train and some fine recollections of Icehole butt-kickin’ were consumed.

Rebound

2010-03-04T13:29:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 2 B*****ds 1 (SO)

Game Report

March 3, 2010

Last night, the Killer Strawberries showed once again what they can do when their backs are against the wall, when there is no tomorrow, when it’s do or die and when they run out of clichés. Facing elimination against the swift skating B****ds, they came to play and play they did.

It should be noted at the outset that Mr. Adversity was stalking the arena right up til game time. Warrin’ Peace was a no show, having entered a witless protection program somewhere on Manitoulin Island. The redoubtable Ice Marshall, who in a match earlier in the week against the detested Aviation Iceholes had sacrificed his fragile body for the good of the team, was unable to dress, being confined to bedrest at the Aloha Baby Compound under the excellent medical and other care of twin nurse sisters Candy and Mandy Delicious. “It’s been a hard ho to row” (or something to that effect) stated the IMW in his pre-game conference call to the team. “I’ll be back soon to do whatever I can to ensure our third championship in 4 years.”

Taking over bench duties, just fresh from his 14th stint at the Betty Ford, Paunch Imlach exhorted and excoriated his new squad to higher efforts. The team responded like Shiny to the dinner bell. Worn-E had his best game of the season, riffing magical musical numbers of hockey elegance, and left etched into the ice surface scrawlings worthy of any French Impressionist. Not once did he clamour for his nitro, which was securely ensconced in the inside mickey pocket of Paunch’s favourite smoking jacket.

The Vice, haggard and worn from out from monitoring the progress of his youngest daughter’s first encounter with childbirth (it was girl, Emmy Liz, born March 3, 2010 at 2:12am, wearing a hockey helmet and very tiny bob skates), put his hockey sagacity and his blazing slowness on display. With the game tied at 1-1 and with under 2 minutes left to go in the very tight match, the Vice found himself on the ass end of a 2 on 0. Realizing he would not catch the streaking B****d puck handler, he concentrated his efforts on the trailing player. The streaking B****d made a great move but was stymied by the sharp Monsieur LePlug as the poor B****d slammed his sorry self into the end boards. As the puck lay tantalizingly close to the goal line, unattended and screaming for attention, the Vice expertly lifted the straggler’s stick before the stunned fellow could deposit the biscuit into the slightly open cage: disaster averted and score still tied.

The Vice's defence partners, Shiny and P. Gumbington Pettigrew III, were superb: Shiny was truly stellar with his frequent offensive forays and defensive legerdemain. Gumby’s recollection of his performance had him self-rated at an 11 out 10. He actually played at a 9 out of 10 level, the only flaw in his game being his relentless attempts to get Coach Paunch to deliver his nearly useless missives to the forwards on the bench. Fortunately, those forwards have always been wise enough to discount Gumbo’s advice by 50% and then to ignore what is left.

On offence, MagBoy was a human buzzsaw and were it not for his Vice-like dedication to inaccuracy, could have a potted an easy couple. Archilles contributed the first marker of the game, a beauty now on video display in the Smutsonian Institute, housed in his basement crawlspace. Freight Train fought off his African jet lag just in time to suffer from hands colder than a bishop’s embrace. Still, he had an excellent passing game. Dr. Thug, self-medicated and as content as a kitten in a mouse-infested yarn factory, skated as if mired in quicksand, yet still managed to contribute offensively (or so he claimed after the game to his adoring audience of minus 1).

Pyjama Man and Bing Crossbah were solid, with Bing being double teamed most of the night. In the shootout, Pymama Man took the first Strawbs’ penalty shot and flung a mean backhander high into the B****d’s cage. Crossbah, although reluctant to take the second shot, did not disappoint. He faked left, then right, then left again, called his grandma on his cell for advice, kicked the puck up to his forehand, twirled about and launched a low drive into the net. Joy erupted on the Strawbs’ side of the rink, the B***ds having missed their second attempt, once again shut down by the Man, Monsieur LePlug.

With the victory, the Killer Strawberries begin a best 2 out of 3 series against their favourite team to hate: the Aviation Iceholes. It promises to be ugly.

Post game (12:15am EST), the exhausted Strawbs were in no shape to scurry off to the Terminal Tavren. Alternate means of celebration were found.

xx ---, yyy ----, -z2+2x+4 ---------, a pound of licorice and visions of a glorious destiny were consumed.

Strawbs Look Adversity In The Face

2010-03-02T10:27:00.001-05:00

Game report

March 1, 2010

Killer Strawberries 2 Aviation Panthers 3 (SO)

Last evening, without Warrin’ Peace (hangnail injury) in the lineup, the Killer Strawberries were defeated by this year’s arch enema, the Aviation Panthers, a good team with a couple of meatheads who think spearing and slashing are spiritual acts.

The Panthers scored early and took a 2-0 lead into the final 7 minutes of the game. Both sides had a few good chances, with the Strawbs ringing the biscuit off the post on 3 occasions in the last period. With its “never give up” attitude, the squad fought back valiantly to tie the score at 2-2 and almost notched the victory with a goal mouth scramble as time expired.

Overtime consisted of a sudden death shootout, meaning each team would send one player to take a penalty-type shot simultaneously at opposite ends of the rink. Bing Crossbah shot first (and last) for the Strawbs, wiring a good shot off the side of the goalie, narrowly missing pay dirt. The Panthers were more fortunate, with a beautiful deke move resulting in the winning goal.

Next game is this Wednesday, with the winner advancing to the finals against last night’s foes. The Killer Strawberries will be pumped and looking for a rematch with the despised Panther Iceholes.

Following the match, the Strawbs scampered off to the Terminal Tavren to lick their wounds and to plot next game strategy. They plan to put back the FU in hockey fun.

0 Stella (and 0 Big Rock Cider, its uninspired replacement at the Terminal Tavren), 2 Black and Tan, 1 Bud Light, 3 Keiths, 2 Guinness, 4 Bass, 3 pounds of emu wings and some mental scarring were consumed.

March of The Strawberries

2010-02-24T11:10:00.003-05:00

Game Report

February 22, 2010

Killer Strawberries 6 Free Agents 1

The playoffs started on this Monday evening, with the Killer Strawberries itching to commence their drive for a third championship in four years. The first obstacle would be the Free Agents, a team that recently tied the Strawbs 6-6 in a hard fought match which featured mental mistakes galore by its glue sniffin’ D.

By game time, the effects of volatile substances may have been cleansed from the defence’s bulbous corporate entity, but something else must have replaced the expunged noxious substances. It is true the number of breakaways allowed fell a little below a baker’s dozen. Yet still, questions remain concerning the commitment to excellence by the squad’s blueliners. Shiny Sean Brightly had just returned on game day morning from some Bacchanalian Blitzkrieg involving the seedier parts of Las Vegas and it was evident that he had unwisely partaken of some overzealous onanistic operations from which he had yet to recover. Hangover? Oh yeah.

While it was not immediately determinable what the hell was effecting his backend teammates, the consequences of their Bropheyesque lifestyles were, at times, shocking. On more than one occasion, both on-ice defencemen could be found behind the other team’s goal line, exchanging witty repartee and vituperative epithets with the back of the goalie’s head. There is a time and a place for cunning linguists and this was not one of them.

To be fair, the forwards, though workmanlike overall, had their share of underachievers. The spelling challenged Pyjama Man, who likes to call himself "Pajama Man", appeared to have had his brains temporarily removed by licentious activities perpetrated on the beaches of Cancun the week before. Dr. Thug continued to suffer from Concussion #4356, a small injury he had sustained at a family reunion on February 12. Apparently he had called an old cousin with whom he had never gotten along a “desiccated old bat with all the charm of a fully wintered dung-slopped barn floor.” Fortunately, it was only the blunt end of a handy axe that he took to the skull before hitting the ground, stunned and unremorseful. He was still exhibiting both those lingering states well into the last period of last night's match.

On the plus side, Monsieur Le Plug was superb, stopping every breakway bestowed upon him by a negligent defence. Bing Crossbah netted two beauties as did the aforesaid Pyjama Man, who had 2 errant clearing passes slide off his equipment into the opposition’s net. MagBoy and somebody else got the other markers.

Post game, the jubilant Strawberries reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to plot the next game’s strategy and to catch the finals of the Olympic Ice Dance competition. With a running commentary from Bootsey MagGirl, the boys were regaled with a Gold medal for Canada and some colourful additions to their vocabularies. They also learned what the term “twizzles”, “fuzzles” and “one more triple Appletini pleesh” meant. The ice dancing performance and its accompanying commentary were so lasciviously explicit that some of the boys had to rush off the men’s room to blush.

4 triple Appletini’s, 4.5 Guinness, 2 Stella, 2 Keith’s White, 4 Bud, 3 Blue, 7 Black and Tan, 4 pounds of chicken wings and many fine new words were consumed.

Nothing Happened

2010-02-16T10:16:00.002-05:00

Killer Strawberries 6 Jet Rangers 1

Game Report

February 11, 2010

It was a game as forgettable as Gumby's pre-1982 love life (or was that pre-2009?). The team did not even bother to go to the Terminal Tavren after the match. Overall, the evening would have been better spent watching Celine Dion do her nails, hungover, toothless and unshowered.

Only an unhealthy dose of ennui was consumed.