Strawberries 5 Free Agents 3
Game Report
October 27, 2008
As the gentle reader will recall, the previous Strawberries' game against a smooth skating squadron of Ramrods was callously unattended by His Gawdawfulness, Sir Gumby, and by Butcher Brophey, Dr. Thud and Shiny Sean. The Executive was less than pleased. An unpleased Executive is an unhappy Executive.
Fortunately, the Killer Strawberries are superbly managed. Management has acquired over the years a veritable gallimaufry of cruel yet effective carrots and sticks, each of which can be tailored to the problem at hand. After last week’s virulent case of I-Just-Won’t-Show-Up-Tonightis, something had to be done. After careful consideration, the Executive chose to have tongue lashings administered to its latest miscreants. Strawbs respond well to tongue lashings. Always have. Makes em want to smoke afterwards. So successful was the punishment, that, for last night’s dustup, there was perfect attendance.
The laggards were certainly present last night but, unfortunately, less than effective. Seems it is difficult to skate with one’s tail shriveled between one’s legs. The important thing, however, was that they learned their lessons. As for the rest of the team, most rebounded relentlessy and magnificently. Freight Train Laronde, fresh from cracking the upper side of the 255 pound barrier, skated about like a rutting Tasmanian Devil, complete with nostril flaring, hoof pounding and in your face forechecking: any more testosterone and his gonads would have exploded. He may even have scored a goal.
Archilles Perron was his same old self, yet moreso. He glided gracefully up and down the right wing, a veritable Toller Cranston. Unfortunately, his shooting was about as good as the former Canadian champion’s. What Archilles needs is a little more INTENSITY.
Warrin’ Peace, despite the troubles he is having at home as a result of his new no smoking/under-10-beer-a-day-regime, played very well, even with Archilles as one of his wingers.
Pyjama Man was a force to be reckoned with, until the start of the first period, when, apprently, he just gave up. But in his favour, it must be said that his hair remained perfect through the whole match, unsullied by unwelcome sweat. He may also have scored a goal or two.
MagBoy was a perfect clone of his hockey hero, the aforementioned Freight Train. He too raced about aimfully, causing havoc here and mayhem there. Pucks were turned over, errant passes forced and cringing made to happen in the corners. He may also have scored a goal but that, of course, is highly unlikely.
The Ice Marshal played as expected: competently and with elan. Various reports have him scoring the winning goal but, as usual, he was too humble to take the credit.
The Vice continued his stalwart toil on defence, trying so hard at times to make up for a disastrous 2007-08 campaign, that he twice gave himself whiplash as he spun around to hook the speedy opponent who had just undressed him. You have to admire his pluck.
Jesse The Leak, only last month promoted to Jesse The Drip, in honour of his much improved puck-stopping skills (or was it a cruel joke mascarading as a bad pun?), was steady between the pipes. He allowed only one sloppy goal which, according to him and his Mom, was not his fault.
With this come from behind victory, the Strawberries are now 2 and 1 on the season and well positioned to defend the title they won in 2006…or was it 1996? In any event, it doesn’t matter. They are defending something and that is all that matters.
The team assembled for the customary debriefing at the Terminal Tavren. Tales of pseudo-lascivious tongue lashings were exaggerated and enjoyed by all. Previous absences were forgiven and peace reigned among the stars of this inscrutable universe.
10 Guinness, 4 Stella, 1 Bass, 2 Blue, 3 Black and Tan and 1 liter of Tasmanina Tongue Twister were consumed.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Survival Mode
Game Report
Ramrod 6 Strawberries 2
October 23, 2008
A heavily depleted Strawbs squad faced a smooth skating bunch of testosterone-infused Luffwaffe recruits in a game where survival was the goal. Why so depleted? Gawdawful Gumby was in Toronto spreading dog manure on government carpets as an act of revenge aimed at a world which daily conspires to underpay and overdemand of him. The Butcher was attending “A Find The Inner Feminine” hands -on seminar at an exclusive spa in the Caledon Hills, accompanied by a mysterious woman believed to bear a striking resemblance to Miss White Go Go Boots' second cousin. Apparently, the Butcher was successful in finding some Inner Feminine…but we only have his uncorroborated word for that.
Dr. Thug skipped the game to drive to Ottawa to help his son, Richard the First, complete a late Physics assignment, which both of them ended up failing anyway. Shiny Sean was also a no show, having been told by the house mistress that he couldn’t go out to play until all the vaccuming was done at home. As everyone knows, Shiny was once frightened as a child by a door to door Kirby vaccuum salesman who attempted to introduce Shiny to a secondary use of this amazing appliance. Consequently, instead of carrying out the domestic order, he hid in his closet at home until his wife left for work the next day. His status for the next game is unknown.
But back to the game. To those intrepid Strawbs who braved the strafing by the erswhile Luftwaffe, the hockey world salutes you. Yes, you were tired. Yes, you were demoralized and yes, you all finished more weak-kneed that a double-duty hooker at a Shriners’ convention. Yet, you persisted to the bitter end.
After the match, the customary trip was taken to the Terminal Tavren, where knees were rubbed and rubber shrapnel removed from bruised egos. We had survived.
4 Guinness, 2 Stella, 4 Bud Light and a little A535 were consumed.
Ramrod 6 Strawberries 2
October 23, 2008
A heavily depleted Strawbs squad faced a smooth skating bunch of testosterone-infused Luffwaffe recruits in a game where survival was the goal. Why so depleted? Gawdawful Gumby was in Toronto spreading dog manure on government carpets as an act of revenge aimed at a world which daily conspires to underpay and overdemand of him. The Butcher was attending “A Find The Inner Feminine” hands -on seminar at an exclusive spa in the Caledon Hills, accompanied by a mysterious woman believed to bear a striking resemblance to Miss White Go Go Boots' second cousin. Apparently, the Butcher was successful in finding some Inner Feminine…but we only have his uncorroborated word for that.
Dr. Thug skipped the game to drive to Ottawa to help his son, Richard the First, complete a late Physics assignment, which both of them ended up failing anyway. Shiny Sean was also a no show, having been told by the house mistress that he couldn’t go out to play until all the vaccuming was done at home. As everyone knows, Shiny was once frightened as a child by a door to door Kirby vaccuum salesman who attempted to introduce Shiny to a secondary use of this amazing appliance. Consequently, instead of carrying out the domestic order, he hid in his closet at home until his wife left for work the next day. His status for the next game is unknown.
But back to the game. To those intrepid Strawbs who braved the strafing by the erswhile Luftwaffe, the hockey world salutes you. Yes, you were tired. Yes, you were demoralized and yes, you all finished more weak-kneed that a double-duty hooker at a Shriners’ convention. Yet, you persisted to the bitter end.
After the match, the customary trip was taken to the Terminal Tavren, where knees were rubbed and rubber shrapnel removed from bruised egos. We had survived.
4 Guinness, 2 Stella, 4 Bud Light and a little A535 were consumed.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Strawbs Shine In Pre-Season Action
Game Report
Killer Strawberries 14 F-Word 3
October 16, 2008
Still smarting from last year’s end-of-season brain cramp, this year’s version of the Killer Strawberries came out swinging. Led by a rejuvenated Dr. Thug (rejuvenated in the sense of “no longer pissed before every game”), the squad laid a beating on its feckless foe reminiscent of the second Ali/Frasier slugfest.
It must be admitted that the team iced on Thursday was probably the strongest it has been in a long time. There was no Whoa!horny Richardson to regularly cough up the puck in his own end, Whoa!horny having retired on the advice of his psychotherapist and current wife. There was no Vice, the Vice claiming some woman, not his wife, advised him not to play until at least this week. It is believed to the be first time since his grade 8 graduation that the Dictator By The Lake has taken advice from anyone except one of his other split personalities. There was no Gawdawful Gumby, His Officiousness having decided that he was needed and/or more wanted elsewhere. One of these and/or’s was true. The other was a gross oversestimation of his desirability. Apparently, Sir Gumby will be a farce to be reckoned with this season.
All other Strawberries performed at or above expectation. They played with aplomb, dedication and panache. To further prove their commitment to a team that only has their best interests at heart, the night’s players assembled dutifully at the Terminal Tavren to recount the evening’s heroics, to officially pad their first game statistics and to gleefully cast aspersions upon those less dedicated than they. The Vice came in for some particularly vicious shots, not so much for his whimping out on ice (he “coached” rather than dressed), but moreso for his pusillanimous high-tailing it home immediately following his dubious coaching debut. Expressions like “Scotch swillin’ nambypamby” and “fraidy cat’ were bandied with great gusto and heartily guffawed upon.
At the post game wrapup, Doctor Butcher Brophey gave a stunning lecture entitled “The Trouble With World Financial Markets, The Underlying Causes and Suggested Remedies: An Off-Handed Rumination.” By the time he had finished, the drinking hole was abandoned and the rest of the Strawbs home in bed, dreaming dreams of glory to come.
4 Bud, 6 Kilkenny, 2 Black and Tan, 3 Stella, 4 Guinness, a jug of water, 2 pounds of of wings and some startling macroeconomic claptrap were consumed.
Killer Strawberries 14 F-Word 3
October 16, 2008
Still smarting from last year’s end-of-season brain cramp, this year’s version of the Killer Strawberries came out swinging. Led by a rejuvenated Dr. Thug (rejuvenated in the sense of “no longer pissed before every game”), the squad laid a beating on its feckless foe reminiscent of the second Ali/Frasier slugfest.
It must be admitted that the team iced on Thursday was probably the strongest it has been in a long time. There was no Whoa!horny Richardson to regularly cough up the puck in his own end, Whoa!horny having retired on the advice of his psychotherapist and current wife. There was no Vice, the Vice claiming some woman, not his wife, advised him not to play until at least this week. It is believed to the be first time since his grade 8 graduation that the Dictator By The Lake has taken advice from anyone except one of his other split personalities. There was no Gawdawful Gumby, His Officiousness having decided that he was needed and/or more wanted elsewhere. One of these and/or’s was true. The other was a gross oversestimation of his desirability. Apparently, Sir Gumby will be a farce to be reckoned with this season.
All other Strawberries performed at or above expectation. They played with aplomb, dedication and panache. To further prove their commitment to a team that only has their best interests at heart, the night’s players assembled dutifully at the Terminal Tavren to recount the evening’s heroics, to officially pad their first game statistics and to gleefully cast aspersions upon those less dedicated than they. The Vice came in for some particularly vicious shots, not so much for his whimping out on ice (he “coached” rather than dressed), but moreso for his pusillanimous high-tailing it home immediately following his dubious coaching debut. Expressions like “Scotch swillin’ nambypamby” and “fraidy cat’ were bandied with great gusto and heartily guffawed upon.
At the post game wrapup, Doctor Butcher Brophey gave a stunning lecture entitled “The Trouble With World Financial Markets, The Underlying Causes and Suggested Remedies: An Off-Handed Rumination.” By the time he had finished, the drinking hole was abandoned and the rest of the Strawbs home in bed, dreaming dreams of glory to come.
4 Bud, 6 Kilkenny, 2 Black and Tan, 3 Stella, 4 Guinness, a jug of water, 2 pounds of of wings and some startling macroeconomic claptrap were consumed.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
SIGN UP FOR THE 2008-2009 SEASON
Hi Strawbs.
Just got notice this morning that the cost to play this year is $160. Money needs to be paid by the end of the day. Nice surprise!
Please let me know:
If you will be playing this year
Whether you will be coming in to sign up today or whether you want me to sign you up
What your phone number is.
If you want me to sign you up and pay, I’d like you to drop off a cheque to me tonight or tomorrow night, payable to me.
Attached is a Code of Ethics which you are supposed to read and agree to. I’ll sign this on your behalf if you are having me sign you up.
If I haven’t heard from you by 12:30, I’ll sign you up.
Please advise soonest.
Email at bob.walpole@canadorec.on.ca
IMW
Just got notice this morning that the cost to play this year is $160. Money needs to be paid by the end of the day. Nice surprise!
Please let me know:
If you will be playing this year
Whether you will be coming in to sign up today or whether you want me to sign you up
What your phone number is.
If you want me to sign you up and pay, I’d like you to drop off a cheque to me tonight or tomorrow night, payable to me.
Attached is a Code of Ethics which you are supposed to read and agree to. I’ll sign this on your behalf if you are having me sign you up.
If I haven’t heard from you by 12:30, I’ll sign you up.
Please advise soonest.
Email at bob.walpole@canadorec.on.ca
IMW
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