Pink Sink at Rink

Strawb Juggernaut Rolls On


Game Report
February 22, 2007

Strawbs 7 Rec’n Crew Flamingoes 5


The brash and aimlessly cocky pink Flamingoes came out flying, hellbent on showing an older team that its place in the sun had expired long ago with Tutenkhamen and Herotodus of Alexandria. Boy, were they wrong. The Strawbs, facing unprecedented adversity when its pre-game stash of Geritol and A535 failed to materialize, dug deep and produced a gem of a game, to thwart a hubris taunting throng of pink jerseyed youths, drunk on visions of playoff grandeur.

The Strawbs bent but did not break. They led the whole way, trading goals frequently with a determined Rec’n Crew, whose total bench age (175 years) was dwarfed by that of that of their creaky yet treacherous adversary (516 years). As Aristidis so bodly formulated in 312 BC, “It is not the age of youth which triumpheth in the end but, since time immemorial, it is the youth in age which prevaileth.” Aristidis, despite the unfortunate speech impediment, is still, of course, immaculate in his accuracy.

Pyjama Man, recovering from his recent addadictomy, led the Killer Strawberries’ charge with four goals whose beauty has been unmatched since Helen of Troy was scoring for Trojans. He hit every open spot in the opponent’s net, including one from which the hapless netminder finally retrieved his jockstrap. The VIM and IMW teamed up like they used to do on the frozen surfaces of Lahr and Soest and Zwiebrucken. While shorthanded, the VIM, scrambling for the puck in his own end, spotted the IMW cruising the Flamingoes’ blueline disguised as a faceoff circle, and drilled a beautifully banked pass off the far end boards. The ever alert pseudo faceoff circle remorphed into a scoring threat, scooped the rebounding biscuit and promptly deposited it behind a baffled and less than jovial goaltender.

Butcher Brophey, whose feisty approach to the game had been left at home on a basement shelf for the last 5 matches, finally returned ugly and ornery and was quickly tossed from the tussle for repeated illegal use of a non-surgical instrument in a surgical manner. Rumour has it that Miss White Go Go Boots had been seen stretching in the Zamboni room during the first intermission and that the Butcher, as mooneyed as a lovestruck puppy feeling his first oats, began to deliberately remove the vital organs of several Flamingoes so that he could get tossed and thus personally verify the rumour. This is not what anyone would call “taking one for the team.” It was a selfish move by selfish man for selfish reasons.

The true grit of the unselfish Strawbs was evidenced quite clearly in the last 4 minutes of the game. The Flamingoes were pressing hard. The zebras seemed to want to help the misguided youth by penalizing the Strawbs for infractions which only existed in their febrile little referee minds. For what seemed like an eternity, the penalty box was jammed with a concoction of ripe Strawberries. Some were forced to sit on teammates’ laps or to hang from the rafters, given the limited space available. At one time there was over 250 years of hard earned experience in the Sin Bin. But in the end, it did not matter. The unpenalized Strawbs swirled and swung and dove and roved like whirling dervishes at an ADD revival. Jesse The Leak was magnificent all evening and especially so in the last 4 minutes, stopping shots with his dangling appendix and other assorted misplaced organs. “I wasn’t letting anything get by me,” he declared. “I thrive on adversity and amphetamines. Besides, Buttface, Alaska is the last place I want to be these days, what with the dreaded syphilis on the wax.”

Freight Train was pure hockey locomotion on the left side, Dr. Thug looked at least 4 years younger than his reputed yet unverified 58 years, Archilles made some lovely, unintercepted passes (at the fans), Whoahorney laid in a few jaw-rattlin’ shoulders and Gumby was at his taunting best when the game was on the line. It is believed that his caustic line, “Don’t turn pink on us now,” so confused the opposition that they were still trying to decode the cryptic message well after midnight. Because they are unschooled in offensive Zen, it is not likely this famous koan will ever make sense to them.

Certainly, part of last night’s victory had to be attributable to the tremendous turnout for Fan Appreciation Night. Once again, the Strawbs were cheered on by a standing room only crowd of 2 adoring and vocal fans (the turtle-skirt wearing Samara Desert, current main squeeze of the incomparable Warrin’ Peace and the shy, retiring Mag Girl, the brains and boss behind the emerging MagGirlBoy Empire). We do not count Miss White Go Go Boots as a fan for the purposes of this game only. She did not emerge from the Zamboni Room until the team and its fans had reassembled at the Terminal Tavren. All we know is that Palangio Arenas has the only Zamboni with a back seat and that Miss WGGB likes to drive from the back seat. She arrived late, without explanation or remorse, to the team’s watering hole by way of a black stretch limousine, clutching a dozen white roses, a near empty flask of Johnny Walker Red and grin that would make the Cheshire Cat blush.

Upon her arrival, Fan Appreciation Night got into full swing. The team’s 3 fans were feted with rare blood-red tulips and a box of limited edition, thigh slimming Cherry Blossoms. A poem, written in their honour by squad’s Poet Laureate For Life, Rhymin’ Simon Hymen, was read by the IMW. Sometime soon it will be published, but suffice it to say that, upon the reading’s conclusion, there was not a dry eye or piece of unsullied lingerie to be found within hearing distance.

2 Kilkenny, 10 Steamwhistle, 4 Guinness, 6 Bud, 2 Bud Light, 1.5 Stella Artois, a glass ofwhite wine, 3 pounds of chicken wings and some dregs of Johnny Walker Red were consumed.

Team Photo

Here are your 2006-2007 Killer Strawberries resplendent in their white victory jerseys. Once again - Almost Undefeated in 2007!

Steamroller Steams On

Game Report
February 19, 2007


Strawbs 9 Team Up 1


After spotting a dogged Team Up a single goal in the first five minutes, the indomitable Killer Strawberries went on to strangle their opposition with a defence so stingy that many fans fled the arena for fear of being squeezed senseless themselves. Jesse The Leak was not busy on the evening but came up big on a couple of occasions. In one memorable situation, Gawdawful Gumby, mistaking himself for a rushing defenceman, deftly moved the puck out of his own corner, spun toward the front of his own net and promptly performed a flawless nosedive about 3 feet in the slot. The puck, finding itself temporarily uncaressed, veered smoothly to a stunned but happy opponent who, in turn, drilled a shot at a flabbergasted Leak. Fortunately, the save was made and Gumby was left with but a small trace of humble pie upon his baffled countenance. He did not endeavour to repeat the move again during the game.

The Vice Ice was less subtle in his only bonehead move of the evening, sliding a perfect pass onto the stick of hungry Team Upper who was cruising the high slot, his bright orange jersey ablaze in anticipation. Again the Leak was equal to the faux pas and saved the VIM’s butt once more.

At the other end of the rink, Gumby, the VIM, Whoahorny and the Butcher were peerless in their offensiveness. It was virtually impossible to sneak the puck past these intrepid blueliners. They used every part of their battered bodies, stick shafts of both kinds, skate blades, and decorative sock tassels to keep the biscuit bouncing inside the enemy’s zone. Combined with the relentless forechecking and hockey legerdemain of the rabid forwards, poor Team Up just could not keep up. The opposition netminder saw more rubber than Xaviera Hollander on a Dutch holiday weekend and managed to stop quite a few sure goals. To his credit, he never gave up in the face of the never-ending onslaught and managed somehow to hold the Strawbs to a mere 9 goals on the evening. As is wont on a team imbued with a steely resolve to win at all costs, the Strawbs’scoring was evenly distributed. Both lines were humming, a veritable Swiss clockwork of precision and reliability.

The fan base continued its strong showing of support, with Mag Girl and Samara Desert swooning post-game, deliriously in love with their men in white, all 12 of them. They had to be escorted home following the team picture, their knees too weak to support the burden of their requited admiration. Notable by her absence was Miss White Go-Go Boots. Rumour has it that she is miffed by the sudden swelling of the team’s fan base. She is reluctant to share any of the swelling but management expects she will come around. Once smitten, twice bitten.

At the Terminal Tavren, most Strawberries assembled for a post-game jam. The compliments flowed freely and a heartfelt bonhomie pervaded the proceedings. The defensive faux pas (2) were magnanimously forgiven and magically turned into strengths by an observant Dr. Thug who noted that the faux pas were like inoculations. They sting for a short time but they make you stronger in the end, unless, of course, they kill you. The Ice Marshall was a little more sanguine. “ I love these guys, even if they sometimes play like crap.”

2 Coronas, 6 Guinness, 2 Kilkenny, 3 Steamwhistle, 1 Harp, 6 unidentified libations, 12 chicken wings, a plate of fat-free perogies and some liberal forgiveness were consumed.

Steamroller

Game Report
February 12, 2007

Strawbs 13 Aviators 0


In front of a standing room only crowd of 2 rabid fans, the Strawb juggernaut continued its winning ways last evening, stomping all over a demoralized squadron of whiplashed Aviators. Jesse The Leak set the tone early with a superb glove save in the first minute, once again showing why he is the team’s number one netminder. For the rest of the evening, he stymied the opposition with timely stoppages, some of them spectacular.Rumours were rampant that he will be signed to a long term contract, good through February, 2007.

The Strawberries squad was rewarded frequently for its recent adoption of blitzkrieg hockey, rolling over its lines and defence pairings in rapid fire fashion. Freight Train 444 potted 3 on the evening, 2 of them deliberately. Pyjama Man, feeling that his team scoring crown could be at risk, also elevated his game and netted 3 himself. It was lovely to see him return to form, after too long a hiatus attempting to imitate his hero, Tie Domi.

Magnesium Boy, under the watchful eye of his leash controller, the incomparable and unopinionated Magnesium Girl, found the twine once or twice, thus completing his Valentine’s gift to his enamorata. We hear his reward will come on March 21, 2007, which is S & BJ Day, the male equivalent of Valentine’s Day.

Warrin’ Peace claimed to have added two markers of his own until it was pointed out to him that goals scored during warmup only count as half. It did not seem to matter much to his personal fan, Samara Desert, who missed all his goals while embroiled in a heated discussion with Magnesium Girl on the thigh slimming merits of low fat yogurt.

Others also contributed to the goal total directly. Still others were content to play a disciplined game of strong forechecking, backchecking, tape to tape passing, front of the net clearing and tie ups, and highly effective defensive rushing, as exemplified by that new found scoring machine, Whoahorny Richardson. Whaohorny attributes his resurgence to the healing powers of prune juice and A535, a balm he splatters upon his ravaged body so liberally, he has been asked to change in another dressing room. “It smells like Cassellholme in here!” ejaculated one unidentified wit.

Many of the players and both fans repaired to the Terminal Tavren to discuss the parallels between Schopenhauer’s theory of Will To Power and the team’s recent return to barn burner hockey. Somewhere along the line, the discussion got sidetracked and Warrin’ Peace was abruptly notified by his leash administrator that he was to be married on June 30th of this year. The ever helpful Gumby inquired of the stunned Warrin’ whether he was aware of the upcoming event. The diplomatic Warrin’ mumbled something about “the tyranny of a dictatorship”, pecked his fan on the cheek and excused himself with haste. We are not sure where he went for the following 10 minutes, but we suspect it may have been to change his underwear.

4 Guinness, 3 Corona with lime, 1 glass of white wine from the Bonfield region, 1 Blue, 3 Bud, 2.5 Stella, 2 Steam Whistle, 5.5 Kilkenny, 3 lbs of chicken wings, 1 supersized bowl of lowcal perogies with bacon and sour cream and some unexpected, bowel-disturbin’ bonding-for-life news were consumed.

Pond Hockey

A few Strawbs were on the outdoor rink on the weekend sharpening their skills prior to the last regular season game of the year.

Thursday Night Practice

Since only 1/4 of the Killer Strawberries heeded the call to practice on the lake on Thursday night, a quorum not being achieved, the few participating Strawbs were left with but one alternative: do some perfunctory rink inspection and then settle for a spa night which included a steam bath and hot tub. Unfortunately the Olson twins weren't available for post-spa massages.

Hockey As It Was Meant To Be Played

Game Report
February 5, 2007


Strawbs 2 Blades of Steel 2


Some games should never have been played. Other games can be so good, the euphoric afterglow remains long after a winning last second goal has been called off. Last Monday’s game, most assuredly, fell within the latter category.

While the Strawbs have put forward some decent efforts over the course of this season, Monday’s tilt was by far the embodiment of the team’s best effort all year. The lesser line of Dr. Thug, Magnesium Boy and Pyjama Man, fearing demotion along with Jesse The Leak to the Nasty Cupcakes, the team’s farm team’s farm team, ramped up its game to Gargantuan Level II. On one memorable play, Pyjama Man, clad only in one shinpad and a loose athletic support, after scrapping his way through four defenders hellbent on getting him ready for his upcoming conversion to Judaism, swooped down the right side and spooned the loveliest pass to a charging Dr. Thug so hyped up on the scent of an imminent goal that 3 foot icicles of pure spittle desire hung from his lopsided cage. He looked and smelled like a demented Sasquatch. Following a small feint to the left, Dr. Thug dealt a deft backhand pass to a patient and well positioned Magnesium Boy, who, digging deep into his subconcious, managed to marshall all the forces of his primaeval nature and drilled a shot splendidly into the bossom of the waiting net. It was a goal so beautiful that the gods of hockey, firmly esconced in their perches high above Doublerink Arenas, were heard to weep in quiet appreciation.

The top line of handsome Archilles Perron, Wanderin’ Warrin’ Peace and the dastardly Ice Marshall, having set the game’s tone earlier with meta-Herculean play, was not to be outdone. The top line did not score on the evening. That job was selflessly left to others. But the centre and his wingers were not without their chances, hard won chances, close chances, where one on one battles for the puck were the equivalent of trench warfare. It was a night, when not only was a worthy opponent to be met head-on, but where the Fates themselves conspired to test the mettle of our dauntless heroes to see if they had the brass they so often claimed. With fierce determination and perspicacious tenacity, Archilles and Co. swirled and darted, poke-checked with finesse, dove for loose pucks and put their bodies at risk to create artful, unforeseen opportunities and to thwart an equally determined opposition. And their perseverance was mirrored in the play of a defence which came to play and to play hard. Freight Train controlled his territory with the precision of Rommel, Whoahorny alternated seamlessly between offence and defence: so much so, that he was almost penalized for being too many men on the ice, all of his own. The Vice Ice continued to use professional level treachery and cunning to compensate for a body and mind wracked with injury and suffering. Gawdawful Gumby will never be called Gawdawful again after turning in a peformance only his adoring mother could have imagined.

Between the pipes, the Leak was stellar as he imitated Stretch Armstrong, Roger Crozier and Mr. Rogers, all rolled into one. It was a beautiful day in his neighbourhood, where only hockey-god-assisted goals could ever hope to find the twine. One goal only escaped The Leak’s certain grasp, the other having been awarded by a zebra blind to the rules of hockey.

Many of the players did not attend the post game festivities because they had left their souls on the ice. Too exhausted to rejoice, they repaired humbly to their abodes, warmed by the fires of their manifested desires.

No reliable post game consumption report is available. The attendees were too tired to count.

This just in - Three trooper Strawbs did feel the need to continue the post game deliberations at the usual terminal tavren. 2 Stellas and 2 Keiths were consumed and 4 chickens were spared.

After playing to a contested 2-2 tie last night, many of the Strawbs were comparing themselves to the Leafs' Tomas Kaberle.

Full Moon Fulmination

Game Report
February 1, 2007

Strawbs 6 Team Up 0


The Moon was in the Seventh House and Jupiter aligned with Mars or something like that. And that Moon had to be a full one, cause strange occurrences occurred last night at the Strawbs’ downing of Team Up.

With game time set for 9pm and the clock ticking 8:45, Butcher Brophey was already roosting and preening on his perch near Dr. Thug, complaining about the frozen state of his equipment. He found it incomprehensible that there was ice on his jock after having left it out in -24 degree weather for 3 days. This man teaches our kids and is soon to be conferred a PHD from some backwater in England. We despair.

Also in attendance was WhoaHorney Richardson who was making his third appearance of the year. The only reason the team knew who he was, was because he still had on his WhoaHorney Richardson, Management Trainee, Passionate Kisses badge, securely fastened to his wife beater.

The team left the dressing room, 12 strong and actually warmed up before the match. After a slow start, the Strawbs started to turn it up a few notches. Mag Boy scored then disappeared for the rest of the night. Archilles Perron, who had drunk a quart of bat blood at supper to boost his energy and libido, was a force to be reckoned with, scoring 2 or 3 goals, thus upping his year’s total to 2 or 3. “It’s amazing what you can do when you’re on a line with veterans like the Ice Marshall and Pyjama Man. And hitting the net seems to work too. I’m re-energized for the rest of the season” said Archilles in a post game interview with the bathroom mirror.

The Vice Ice, friend of orphans everywhere, launched another amazing shot toward the opponent’s net. The shot travelled 4.65metres in less than 6 seconds, reached a height of 4.65 metres, reversed course and fell precipitously to whack the shot taker in the nuts. As the Vice Ice lay writhing in unexpected self-inflicted pain, the rest of the squad scooted over to watch the shot on video replay. The team has been contacted by Hockey Night in Canada which plans to highlight the amazing feat on Coach’s Corner this Saturday night during the Leafs/Senators game. As luck would have it, the Vice Ice will be at the game and will attempt a re-enactment at centre ice in the first intermission. We can only hope that the mike does not pick up what is expected to be an inappropriate choice of swear words.

Another sign the moon was in full bloom was the demeanor of Gumby Pettigrew. As all loyal fans know, Gumby’s life philosophy is one of “in your face laissez faire, whatever, kiss my butt I’m Irish.” Well, last evening, he played contra-philosophically , hustling left and right, rushing, retreating, swooping, soaring and slapshotting with precision. And that was just in the warmup. He continued his “eat my shorts,you gravy sucking pigs” play well into the first 3 minutes of the game. Then, like a spectacular evanescence, he reverted to type, called the referee a “stupid dumb orphan hating idiot” and was summarily dismissed from the game.

Freight Train 444 surprised the team by his unexpected appearance: unexpected because it was his mother’s 80th birthday. “It was only her 80th, for gawd’s sakes. It’s not like it was an important birthday, like my 50th which is coming up. She’ll get over it. She wasn’t crying that hard when I called her just before the game.” This is the kind of grit that makes the Strawbs the redoubtable team it is. We’d rather eat our young than listen to their whining. We’re so tough we take shots at our own nuts, just for fun. Well, some of us do.

Jesse The Leak recorded a rare shutout, after playing most the game with his eyes closed. With 30 seconds left in the game, it was lucky he wasn’t looking, because those defensive stalwarts, WhoaHorney and Freight Train 444 were pinching inside Team Up’s blue line, looking for glory, while 3 opposition players, positioned strategically at the Strawbs’ blue line, screamed helplessly for the puck. The puck never arrived and the shutout was preserved.

Post game celebrations started early, as Gumby’s birthday Scotch was popped open and passed around. Gumby gave a short, tear jerking speech about the value of team mates and good Scotch and his health was toasted. Most of the squad, including Wanderin’ Warren Peace, whose leash has been extended ½ hour by his personal trainer, the irresistible Samara Desert, re-convened at the Terminal Tavren, where Dr. Thug, enthralled said Warren for over 2 hours with the history of zygotes and inter-species copulation. “All I did was ask him what he did for a living” said the Wanderer. “ My head hurts now. Can I go home?”

6 Kilkenny, 2 Bud, 23 Steam Whistle and a lot of scientific hot air were consumed.