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.