Thursday, December 20, 2007
Friday, December 07, 2007
Barnburner
Strawbs 4 Blades of Steel 4
Game Report
December 3, 2007
The Strawbs started out the game slowly which, in fact, is how they usually play the whole game. Archilles Perron set the tone early with his elegant listless swoops, his devil-may-care forechecking and a plethora of lethargic and aimless passes he had dreamed up in the off-season while langourously sunning himself naked in his own backyard. The Blades, intent on teaching old dogs new tricks, quickly shot out to a 3-1 lead and began celebrating their good luck and superior talent long before the first period had ended. Unfortunately for them, it turned for them out to be a bad case of celebratus interruptus.
During the terribly short break between periods, the Ice Marshall swiftly sized up the situation. Butcher Brophey had to be stopped. In the first period, he picked up 2 (and I know this will sound redundant) boneheaded penalties for holding and, surprise!, holding. Dr. Thug was chugging along on one lung, having coughed up the other in the dressing room just before game time. MagBoy was in an ornery mood, having been forced by the gorgeous MagGirl to iron and starch all her lacy underthings before he was allowed to play. His truculent mood translated into a series of 3 minute siestas in the sin bin, bosom companion to the resident Butcher. What were MagBoy’s sins? Bad wrestling and unscheduled knee surgery on an unsuspecting opponent.
In the face on these seemingly intractable problems and deleterious behaviours, the Ice Marshall promoted Whoahorny to centre, relegated a battered and forlorn Rob The Torch to defence, partially benched the Butcher and sent MagBoy home to finish his ironing. What a masterful stroke of hockey engineering. The Strawbs pounced on the unsuspecting Blades and took a 4-3 lead with less than 10 minutes remaining. The play moved back and forth, an on-ice poem stuffed with grace and lyricism.The Leak and his counterpart at the other end of the rink exhibited stellar work. One on one battles were fought with grit and determination. The titanic struggle continued until an unsupervised Butcher, miffed at his benching, snuck onto the ice to replace a dog-tired Shiny Shone Brightly. Within nanoseconds, he lay one of his errant mitts upon a charging Blade and was called for …… HOLDING. At this point, there were but 33 seconds left in the game. The Blades pulled their tender and had 6 skaters on the ice versus 4 for the Strawbs. The Ice Marshall took the faceoff, pulled the puck to a spot between his legs and knelt on the frozen biscuit in an effort to run down the clock. The opposing meathead centre took offense to this stategy and started cross-checking the IM across the skull. An incensed Gumby, guardian angel to all his teammates, physically advised the meathead of the inappropriateness of his actions and both he and the meathead were escorted to the penalty box. Because the penalties were off-setting, the man advantage for the Blades was now 6 men to 3, with 30 seconds remaining. Despite the Strawbs’ valiant efforts, the Blades somehow managed to tuck one in behind a sprawling Leak. Game tied 4-4. Game ended 4-4.
Now 4-4 is a good score for one reason only. It has become tradition that upon such a score, Freight Train becomes responsible for buying a whole lot of beer at the Terminal Tavren (yes, tavren). This is as a result of a poor decision on his part over 2 years ago. We won’t go into details. Let’s just say he is still rueing his musing.
So off to the drinking hole went the team (minus the banished Butcher), suffused with contentedness at having made a noteworthy comeback and delirious with the thought that the beer would be free, Freight Train having once again been hoist on his own petard.
Shoulders were slapped, bums pinched (by Samara Desert and the well-subattired MagGirl). Freight Train’s unintended generosity was toasted and those absent were slagged. And, as usual, peace reigned in an unpredictable universe.
4 jugs of Keiths, 4 Guinness, 2 Budlight, 1 Stella, 2 pounds of chicken wings and the warm afterglow of a barnburner were consumed.
Game Report
December 3, 2007
The Strawbs started out the game slowly which, in fact, is how they usually play the whole game. Archilles Perron set the tone early with his elegant listless swoops, his devil-may-care forechecking and a plethora of lethargic and aimless passes he had dreamed up in the off-season while langourously sunning himself naked in his own backyard. The Blades, intent on teaching old dogs new tricks, quickly shot out to a 3-1 lead and began celebrating their good luck and superior talent long before the first period had ended. Unfortunately for them, it turned for them out to be a bad case of celebratus interruptus.
During the terribly short break between periods, the Ice Marshall swiftly sized up the situation. Butcher Brophey had to be stopped. In the first period, he picked up 2 (and I know this will sound redundant) boneheaded penalties for holding and, surprise!, holding. Dr. Thug was chugging along on one lung, having coughed up the other in the dressing room just before game time. MagBoy was in an ornery mood, having been forced by the gorgeous MagGirl to iron and starch all her lacy underthings before he was allowed to play. His truculent mood translated into a series of 3 minute siestas in the sin bin, bosom companion to the resident Butcher. What were MagBoy’s sins? Bad wrestling and unscheduled knee surgery on an unsuspecting opponent.
In the face on these seemingly intractable problems and deleterious behaviours, the Ice Marshall promoted Whoahorny to centre, relegated a battered and forlorn Rob The Torch to defence, partially benched the Butcher and sent MagBoy home to finish his ironing. What a masterful stroke of hockey engineering. The Strawbs pounced on the unsuspecting Blades and took a 4-3 lead with less than 10 minutes remaining. The play moved back and forth, an on-ice poem stuffed with grace and lyricism.The Leak and his counterpart at the other end of the rink exhibited stellar work. One on one battles were fought with grit and determination. The titanic struggle continued until an unsupervised Butcher, miffed at his benching, snuck onto the ice to replace a dog-tired Shiny Shone Brightly. Within nanoseconds, he lay one of his errant mitts upon a charging Blade and was called for …… HOLDING. At this point, there were but 33 seconds left in the game. The Blades pulled their tender and had 6 skaters on the ice versus 4 for the Strawbs. The Ice Marshall took the faceoff, pulled the puck to a spot between his legs and knelt on the frozen biscuit in an effort to run down the clock. The opposing meathead centre took offense to this stategy and started cross-checking the IM across the skull. An incensed Gumby, guardian angel to all his teammates, physically advised the meathead of the inappropriateness of his actions and both he and the meathead were escorted to the penalty box. Because the penalties were off-setting, the man advantage for the Blades was now 6 men to 3, with 30 seconds remaining. Despite the Strawbs’ valiant efforts, the Blades somehow managed to tuck one in behind a sprawling Leak. Game tied 4-4. Game ended 4-4.
Now 4-4 is a good score for one reason only. It has become tradition that upon such a score, Freight Train becomes responsible for buying a whole lot of beer at the Terminal Tavren (yes, tavren). This is as a result of a poor decision on his part over 2 years ago. We won’t go into details. Let’s just say he is still rueing his musing.
So off to the drinking hole went the team (minus the banished Butcher), suffused with contentedness at having made a noteworthy comeback and delirious with the thought that the beer would be free, Freight Train having once again been hoist on his own petard.
Shoulders were slapped, bums pinched (by Samara Desert and the well-subattired MagGirl). Freight Train’s unintended generosity was toasted and those absent were slagged. And, as usual, peace reigned in an unpredictable universe.
4 jugs of Keiths, 4 Guinness, 2 Budlight, 1 Stella, 2 pounds of chicken wings and the warm afterglow of a barnburner were consumed.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
See, Over There ...
The Butcher points out to the IM where he thinks the new practice facility for the Strawbs should go.The IM had different thoughts.
IM: That's Siberia over there.
BB: Ya. I know.
IM: That's where you'll be practising next if you don't stop killing us with your stupid penalties.
BB: What stupid penalties?
IM: Are your bags packed?
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