Parsimonious Possum

Game Report

October 26, 2006

Fully aware that it had perfected the Possum Strategy in its two previous ice tilts, the Killer Strawberries, master re-inventors and baiters, last night embarked upon its newly minted “Parsimonious Possum Strategy”, whose major aim was to totally shut down the opposition. The club succeeded in spades by triumphing 9-0 over a team with the mysterious moniker Paydro. While no one was quite certain of either the origin or meaning of the moniker, every Strawb was in partial agreement that it was probably an obscure reference to something vague and possibly uncertain about which none of them knew, or cared to know, a damned thing. “Ignorance is bliss” mused Magnesium Boy, bliss’s poster child and chief spokesperson, at least on this planet. When asked what his unexpected ejaculation was supposed to mean, Magnesium Boy said he didn’t really know but it sure made him feel better just to say it and did anyone have a cigarette he could bum.

Philosophy was not Mag Boy’s only contribution on the evening. He also scored 3 memorable goals that no one could recall, bringing his net total for the year to -2. His on-ice exploits earned him the game’s third star, just behind Jesse “The Leak”, who played like he was under the threat of another demotion. The game’s first star was The Vice Ice, Rob “The Torch” Greenfield who, at game time, was known to be skulking about various hot tubs in the Kemptville region. No one could understand the curious choice until it was pointed out that the game would have been much much closer had the hapless ancient mariner actually laced them up for the match.

While the Strawbs play at the rink was exemplary, Freight Train 444 Laronde committed a very rare error at the Terminal Tavren (yes, tavren). Acting on bad information, shaky assumptions and too little sleep, 444, for the first time in Killer Strawberries history, ordered way too much draft, even by his bacchanalian standards. Despite the incredible consumption efforts of the post-game revelers and promiscuous promises to take taxis home, one jug was almost given away by a delirious Dr. Thug before sanity prevailed and the superfluous libation unintentionally (?) spilled onto the carpet. “I thought Gumby was coming” cried the penitent defenceman. Alas, Gumby did not make the post-game trek, preferring instead to get a good night’s rest in the company of freshly delivered reading material cloaked in plain brown paper. Turns out 444 was both right and wrong.

6 jugs, 7 chicken wings, 1 plate of spicy nachos (and a little off-site pornography) were consumed