Mount Olympus Sends a Messenger

Game Report

February 7, 2008

Killer Strawberries 9 Titans 6


Just prior to last night’s match against the Titans, Sir Gawdawful Gumby, recently knighted in a secret ceremony at the Aloha Baby Compound West, held a press conference in the lobby of the beautiful Pete Palangio Arenas, home to the Killer Strawberries and other lesser juggernauts. While the presser was at times long, rambling and seasoned with more than a dash of false humility (not unlike the self-appointed subject of the press conference), its purpose was never in doubt. Sir Gumby made it clear to the gathered throng that, while he was flattered to have been elevated to the ranks of hockey nobility, it was certainly not his intention to sit on his laurels or hardys. To the amazement of all within earshot, he proclaimed that “henceforth, I wish only to be known as Gawd.” “Please just capitalize the G,” he conceded. “I think some people might find full capitals a tad pretentious. That is most assuredly not what I’m all about”. As he left a rather odiferous trail of what he is all about to linger in the air of the lobby, Gawd, using a slight wave of his hand to part the throng, made his way to the team’s dressing room to take his place on the small throne he had earlier erected in his own honour. From the heights of his newfound Olympus, he held forth on what he considered to be the most egregious of the Strawbs’ weaknesses. Because no one was listening anyway, there is no record, oral or otherwise, of the profundities which emanated from Gawd's Stool of Hubris.

Despite the 3 ring circus in which they found themselves performing, The Killer Strawberries played an excellent game, once their fickle goaltender decided for whom he was going to play that evening. Unbeknownst to management, The Leak took it upon himself to promise another team he would play for them at the same time in another venue in order to allow one his friends to tend goal for the Strawbs against the Titans. The only problem with his hare-brained scheme was that his friend had been, earlier in the week, suspended from another league for verbally abusing a zebra. Oddly enough, the besmirched zebra in question was about to referee the Strawbs-Titans game. As the Leak’s replacement placed his first foot upon the ice surface, he was accosted by the aggrieved party and summarily told to leave. Fortunately, the embarassed Leak was still in the arena and, faster than a Vice’s slapshot, got dressed for the game. By the time he made it to his crease, the Strawberries were down 2-0, no thanks to some shoddy goaltending by MagBoy. From then on, the momentum shifted and the squad kept it date with destiny, outscoring the Titans by a score of 9 to 6.

The Strawberries won the match without the services of Butcher Brophey, Dr. Thug, Whoa.Horny and Shiny Sean Brightly. Apparently, the Butcher has had a separated shoulder for the last 7 months and did not realize it until he had to open up his wallet recently to pay for some post game beer, always a painful exercise for him. Dr. Thug continues to nurse the concussion he suffered when he ran into the immovable object we call Freight Train. Whoa.Horny, now on sabbatical from his last sabbatical, was studying Peyote Poppers in some Arizona desert and Shiny Sean had no real excuse beyond a limp claim that he is still hurting mentally and psychically from the playoff loss suffered by the Packers earlier in January.

It should be noted here that Archilles Perron, 30 pounds lighter than he was at the start of the season, continued his torrid scoring streak, adding 4 more goals to his illustrious hockey resume. The Kate Olsen Binge & Vomit Diet seems to be working and has been recommended to some of the other Strawberries who are, ill-advisedly, patterning their physiques on that of Jabba The Hut.

As a result of his impressive showing, Archilles was spared the acid tongue of Gawd after the game. Without so much as a glance into his own mirror, Sir Gawd found time to lambaste anyone who would listen to his tirades. The Vice’s shot was too limp, Freight Train was derailing too often from the tracks of his inattention, Pyjama Man played like he didn’t care if Up were Down or vice versa, MagBoy was too coy with the puck, The Leak didn’t know how to handle rebounds and the Ice Marshall’s hair gel was too stiff. It was almost a certainty that he would have continued in this vein had not the messenger Nemesis arrived unexpectedly from Mount Olympus to stanch the vitriol and open a small can of WhoopAss . Without warning, Sir Gawd found himself sprawled on the floor, wallowing in the remains of his tattered Stool, the capital G of his new self-prescribed moniker firmly ensconced in his nether regions. As he pulled himself from the floor, he did manage enough dignity to say:” Just call me Sir from now on.”

After the game, the team reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to discuss the righteousness of Olympians and the sorry state of its fan base. The Strawberries, save for one humbled Sir, rarely if ever complain about anything. But it must be noted that more than a modicum of disappointment was expressed about the recent lack of fan support. Has anyone seen Miss White Go Go Boots or MagGirl or She Who Must be Obeyed, or Glasgow Glamour or Madame la Chaise Lounge or Pamdaemonium or The Evil Spawn or even the most constant of our hangers-on, the beguiling Samara Desert? Please come back. We miss the adoration.


4 Guinness, 5 Stella, 2 Blue Light, 1 Kilkenny, 3 Black and Tan, 1 God-sized goblet of Ambrosia, and a discarded capital G were consumed.