Time Takes A Holiday

Game Report
January 18, 2007


Strawbs 3 Aviation 3


It didn’t start out as a pretty game. With a few of the Strawbs still nursing self-inflicted injuries from the excesses of the night before, a short bench of 8 stalwarts and the nagging worry of all Strawbs present whether the fleet of foot Magnesium Boy would arrive safely from his psychotherapy session in St. Catharines, an inauspicious start was almost guaranteed. After the first 5 minutes, our intrepid squad was looking at the business end of a 2-0 score. But something magical happened. Magnesium Boy suddenly appeared at the rink door, dressed for hockey success. His arrival buoyed the Strawbs’ flagging spirits and, faster than you can say “turn this listing ship around”, the score became 3-2 in our favour. On this evening, it must be said that Wanderin’ Warren Peace played his finest game of the season, dazzling his team mates, the opposition and the uncounted fans with his speed, deft touch and general hockey wizardry. At game’s end, Wanderin’ attributed his performance to ESB, a non-medical term for the postponement of priapetic pleasure.

Jesse The Leak, whose first 5 minutes looked like his head had recently been caught under the wheels of careening 18 wheeler, suudenly became the tender his is paid to be. It is probable that the change in his performance had been due to the encouraging words of the ever diplomatic Gumby who advised The Leak that he was playing like crap and that, if he didn’t want to find certain sensitive portions of his anatomy hanging from the rafters, he had better sharpen up and have his game improve beyond the pre-tyke, d….d embarrassing, cro-magnon, disturbingly “intellectualless” level he had been exhibiting to that point. The Leak read between the lines of Gumby’s subtle exhortation and was solid to game’s end.

Pyjama Man fired a beautiful marker, but management is still very concerned about his frequent misses on breakaways. He has been temporarily reassigned to the Ray Charles Net Recognition Remediation School, an establishment he was sent to last October. He should be back in time for next Thursday’s game, unless the School’s management feels that he has not yet perfected his lessons. He has also been ordered to review Jon John Jean’s excellent video “How To Score With A Really Crappy Shot”.

In a surprise occurrence, the Vice Ice tallied for the second game in a row to raise his lifetime scoring total to 6, using his patented gravity and time defying Flutterball Deluxe. While the VIM is reluctant to reveal the full set of secrets surrounding his shot, he did let out that the goal was actually the result of a surreptitious shot he took in warmup on the Monday previous and that the puck reached the net at the appropriate time last night. We knew he dabbled in magic, but this scares all of us.

The evening did end on 2 rather sad notes. Management learned that earlier in the week Miss White Go-Go Boots, the team’s most fickle fan, had ordered the Butcher to “wash and scrub your flea-infested, bacteria sewer pipe of an equipment collection or you won’t be allowed to keep it anywhere in my house.” Other things were also said but cannot be reported.

Now, all of us know(s) that the said equipment, although vintage and lovely to look at, does commonly carry some rather nasty odours and still to be discovered carcinogens. It has not been unusual to see the Butcher remove from his cup holder or inner shin pad a former adversary’s stray spleen, superfluous foreskin, spare eyelid or useless prostate gland. And while the Butcher does occasionally shake out his equipment to lighten the load of items which inevitably remain glued or hooked to straps or pocket edges, those pieces which are not shaken out tend to putrefact in situ. The smell is something rank enough to seriously injure the pulmonary systems of both terrestrial and aquatic wildlife, here and on other planets. As such, we can understand where Miss White Go-Go Boots is coming from. Yet, as all gentle folk know, it’s not always what you say but how you say it that can turn honest criticism into a self-esteem sucking rant. Miss White Go-Go Boots certainly crossed the line on this one, prompting a sobbing and clearly shattered Butcher to blubber, in the presence of too many team mates. “It was like time took a holiday and I was 4 years old again. I love her dearly but I have been wounded to the core.” As if this humiliating tongue lashing were not enough, Miss White Go-Go Boots was spotted after last night’s game canoodling in the Zamboni Room with the Strawb’s most handsome player. We all know who he is and pray that too-timing vixen does not get hurt when inevitably she gets dumped… although it would serve her right for dissin’ her man.

The last sad note is being reported with a very heavy heart. There was no post game debriefing at the Terminal Tavren. In the long, illustrious history of the proud Strawb’s, the only time this kind od debacle happened was in 1986, when Banana Splits, the team’s backup’s backup, lost his wife in a tragic accident. Apparently, Splits got home early (he did not get to dress for the game) only to find his wife in bed with the paperboy. The paperboy panicked and somehow choked Mrs. Splits. Splits called the rink to seek guidance from his team and everyone, to a man, showed up Splits’ place to help him grieve and console the poor paperboy. Perhaps there is a lesson in this for Miss White Go-Go Boots.

0 was consumed post-game, a tragedy of Brobdignagian proportions.