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Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Strawbs End First Half On Positive Note

Game Report

December 3, 2009

Killer Strawberries 6 Jet Rangers 1 or 2.

Bing! skates 4324 miles and slams in 2. Freight Train 444 just misses hat trick. Vice pulls groin and is asked to leave the rink. Gumby grumbles, tumbles and fumbles. Mumbles heard. Archilles plays D better than regular D. PJM shows up late with a bad haircut but at least showed up, unlike Dr. Thug (performing oral exams somewhere), Whoa.horny (mild cardiac infarction caused by wife's Xmas spending), Warrin'Peace (still attempting procreation on demand). MagBoy whirls, twirls and hurls in penalty box, much to the delight of the fans watching at home. Le Plug blocks the door except for 1 or 2 soft ones... off-ice training recommended. Shiny loses 40 pounds while patrolling the blue line like a Killer Puppy freshly neutered. Still weighs more than IMW at game end. IMW plays so poorly, he asks himself if life is worth it. Doesn't even bother answering his own question. Gumby directs him to his favourite self-snuff out site.

Terminal Tavren: conversation as scintillating as the IMW's game. 3 glasses of water and much ennui consumed..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Mr. Obnoxious Gets Double Whammied

Game Report
November 23, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 Aviation Panthers 0

Last night, the Killer Strawberries, with nary a player missing physically, played host to Mr. Obnoxious and his band of unmerry men at the beautiful Pete Palangio Arenas. Much to the delight of all the fan (1) in attendance, Mr. Obnoxious was handed his butt as the filling in a large helping of humble pie, as the Strawbs cruised to a 6-0 victory over the Aviation Panthers. Except for Mr. O and one other meathead, Mr. Big Meathead, the Panthers are a fun team to play. They frequently tested the Strawbs’ defensive skills and Monsieur Le Plug had to be on his game to record his second shutout of the season.

Whoa.horny Richardson recorded his first goal as a forward and was so delighted with himself that spent the rest of the match doing SFA. Dr. Thug, the ancientest (ie most ancient) and venerable-est (ie most venerable) statesman of the Canadore Intramural Hockey League, continued his torrid scoring pace, notching 2 markers on the evening. Bing! Crossbar was also quite productive and will be allowed, based on his performance in the first half of the season, to attend the upcoming Strawbs’ Christmas Soiree and Stilletto Exhibition in the company of his grandmother, who, oddly enough, is younger than most of the players on the team.

As noted above, Mr. Obnoxious was whammied once on the frozen pond. According to unconfirmed sources, he got whammied again post game. Apparently, he got home a little early, only to find his best friend wearing his favourite housecoat and his wife wanting to leave him. The Strawbs’ condolences go out to his best friend.

After the game, many a Strawb and the team’s leading fan jammed themselves into their usual corner at the Terminal Tavren. It was there that Dr. Thug made 2 startling announcements. The squad was uneasily anticipating some unwanted news about his imminent retirement but, alas, they were mistaken. Dr. Thug, a man who knows more about the minutae of minutae than anyone, ever, let it be known to the team that, henceforth, he will be dedicating himself to cornering the “Cosmic Loose Electron Market.” According to the mad scientist, the universe will soon run out of uncommitted electrons. Most of the negative charges on earth are now bound up in hard drives, wireless conduits and other forms of permanent electron slavery. “I have calculated that they are only 10 11 gadzillion ( a really big number) electrons in the universe, with only a small amount of that within the earth and its gravitational confines” he declared. “Of that small number, most have been corralled to run our electronic devices such as computers, TVs, cameras and remote controlled vibrators. I have figured out how to capture the uncommitted electrons by using my soon-to-be patented ELECTRON AGGLOMERATOR II. As the electron shortage becomes severe, I will offer to sell the charged particles in my control at monopolistic prices. I will be fabulously wealthy and I will live forever.”

As might be expected, the assembled Strawbs were agog with dumbfoundedness. “How will you live forever?” queried one of the stunned listeners. “It has worked so far, hasn’t it?” replied the soon-to-be patent holder. As Dr. Thug left the table briefly to discard some liquid electrons, the conversation turned to his ancientness and to the effects of his having consumed, since the age of twelve, way too many beers out of aluminum cans. Guesses were made as to his true age. None of the guesses were anywhere near the age proclaimed on the stone birth certificate he carries in his tattered wallet.

4 Stella, 6 Guinness, 5 Black and Tan, 1 bass, 2 Bud, 17 Keiths White (none in aluminum cans), a loaf of cheese bread, 2 plates of fries and 1045000 free electrons were consumed.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Monsieur Le Plug Meets The Leak-Both Impressed

Game Report
November 19, 2009
Killer Strawberries 8 ALU Warriors 2

Things did do not look good as the Zamboni was finishing its surface polishing just outside the Strawbs dressing room. Shiny was still in Las Vegas blowing his wife’s mad money on the nickel slots. Dr. Thug was in Ottawa writing the MCAT for Prince Richard. Gawdawful Gumby was chasing shiny pennies with another hockey squad who would have him. Pyjama Man had notified the team at the last match that he would be absent this evening because of a conflicting home visit by CAS. Bing! Crossbar was reported to be doing homework at the Canadore pub in the company of three sirens from his hometown. What was left in the dressing, while of the highest quality, was sadly deficient in numbers.
Fortunately, the Leak, who toils in Sudbury for the Canadian Taliban (ie Revenue and Corrections Canada), made a surprise guest appearance, complete with a set of hockey equipment he had purloined from a peewee team located just down the hall from the Strawbs’ dressing room. But alas and fortunately, just before the puck dropped, Pyjama Man showed up with Bing!, ready to do battle.

The Leak took little time to get himself onto the scoreboard. With all the grace of a wounded deer on dull skates, he swooped in on a loose puck and promptly slammed it into the yawning cage. By thus scoring, he became the all-time Killer Strawberries leader in average goals per game. He coasted on his new found laurels for the rest of the game, refusing to enter his defensive zone as retribution to his old team for having repeatedly done the same to him during his tenure as the Strawbs’ #1, #2 and #3 netminder in seasons past.

Bing! Crossbar, his sperm count at an all time low, showed surprising vigour. He tallied 4 times during the game, with all of the tallies deposited into the appropriate net. “My girlfriends really got me up for the game,” he told the boys in the shower following the game. “Maybe you elder statesmen should try it sometime.” As the Vice rightly pointed out, Bing! is not married.

The team was quite astonished to see Pyjama Man make an appearance. He advised the Strawbs after the match that the meeting with CAS had gone well and that, to celebrate his sliding off the hook for now, he had duct-taped his children to chairs in front of the TV while he sped away to play hockey. “They love the Princess Bride,” he said. “And I gave them snacks too!”

While the Killer Strawberries were worthy winners on the night, Whoa.Horny Richardson’s contribution was positively Scroogian, Stoogian and stinky. Like the Vice in the previous match, he too chose to ignore the laws of physics and basic atom hockey. With all the willful blindness of a bored eunuch in a fat pasha’s harem, he attempted a floater pass through 5 Warriors positioned like a brick wall in front of the Strawbs' net. Needless to say (but it will be said anyway), the puck barely made half of the journey Whoa.Horny had intended for it and was quickly slid past a startled Monsieur Le Plug. To that point, Le Plug had stood on his head, stymieing wave after wave of the speedy Warrior offence, which offence seemed to cast some kind of spell on the Strawbs’ langorous defence. Le Plug faced more 2 and 3 man breakways than The Leak ever did when Butcher Brophey was around to delimb any player stupid enough to get with the reach of his scalpel, er hockey stick.

The game ended in a score of 8-2. The Strawbs then re-convened at the Terminal Tavren to go over the positives and negatives on the evening. The Leak’s scoring prowess was feted, Le Plug’s patience admired, Crossbar’s youth rued with green-eyed jealousy, Pyjama Man’s resourcefulness remarked upon in cosmic terms, and Whoa.Horny’s mental lapse recalled with all the fondness of a first year college encounter with a stubborn venereal disease.

2 jugs of water, 2 Bass, 2 Keiths, 2 Guinness, 2 Stella, 2 Canadian and many Leakian memories of defensive miscues were consumed.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Strawbs’ Zoloftian Defence Fails To Trigger A Loss

Game Report
November 12, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 BodyCzechs 3

It almost appeared to be done on purpose. In last night’s match against the BodyCzechs, the Killer Strawberries managed to pull out a victory despite the defence’s somnabulent performance. Even the fans could be heard grumbling vociferously throughout the game, displeased that their sometimes-cherished defenders treated the puck as if it were infected with a new mutation of H1N1.

On one particularly galling play, Sir Gumby, with 4 opponents circling in the 3 feet between himself and a disoriented Vice Ice Marshal, decided to attempt a nifty little cross ice pass to his partner. To his utter amazement, the pass was picked off and the 4 BodyCzechs proceeded, unimpeded, to barrel down upon an astonished and disgruntled Monsieur Le Plug. The BodyCzechs did not managed to score on the play as the Plug kicked out shot after shot for the whole 3 minutes he was left alone to fend for himself. After the original errant pass from Gumby, Gumby and his defence partner had decided to go the bench for a well deserved rest while the forwards, MagBoy, Crossbar, and Dr. Thug, did the same. Those on the bench failed to notice the poor line change and continued playing out their bridge hands, much to Monsieur Le Plug’s chagrin. It was learned by management after the game, that Archilles Perron had spiked the water bottles with his stash of Zoloft in an effort to spark team unity. “I thought we could use a little more mellow” he was quoted as saying in the post game presser. Nice idea….bad execution.

Pyjama Man, armed with a new left-handed stick he found in his neighbour’s back yard during his evening tom-catting, was not a factor in the game. He had played better in the previous game when, having broken his favourite stick “Rosebud”, he was forced to use a janitor’s broom.

Freight Train Laronde, celebrating his 51th birthday and sober for the first time since the acquisition of his newly minted PhD on November 12, showed up to the game without his jock. A collection was taken in the dressing room. Since there was not enough collected to get him bus fare to his house and back, he took the donations upstairs and purchased the only athletic supporter available, a PeeWee NutGuard 2X. The equipment, though a little large, was adequate for the purpose and Laronde made it through the game physically unscathed.

Fortunately, the forwards played well enough to ensure the 6-3 victory. Feeling magnanimous, they invited the defence and goalie to join them at the Terminal Tavren following the game. The 2 fans, Bootsey MagGirl and Loan Jones tagged along, in the hope that one of the team’s gentlemen would buy them a drink. Good thing they had brought their own money. At the watering hole Dr. Thug, upon learning that there was a Biology graduate from Waterloo on the premises, promptly sought him out and, for 3 hours, waxed eloquent on vector movements, Amirase and Mutase, and on H1N1 variants, H2N2, H2N3 and H2So4. The grad left exhausted and severely chastised for his ignorance.
4 Stella, 2 Appletinis, 1 glass of water, 5 Guinness, 4 Bass, 2.5 Keith’s, 1 Kilkenny, 1 large fry, 2 pounds of chicken wings and tales of Zoloftian insouciance were consumed.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Newton’s Laws Doubted and Flouted. Vice Pays The Price.

Strawbs Still Win.

Strawbs 5 Aviation Panthers 1

Game Report

November 12, 2009

With Whoa.horny busy brewing nitro in his basement lab without the knowledge or consent of his much younger wife, Christmas Carol, with Shiny blowing his kids’ RESPs in Las Vegas, with Warrin’ Peace self-pulled from the lineup to answer an ovulation window of opportunity and with Freight Train nursing an early evening hangover caused by the recent granting to him of a PhD or its ilk, the Strawbs found themselves shorthanded on the evening.

Archilles Perron was pressed into emergency service on defence, and, armoured with a perfect Zoloftian insouciance, led the team in defence. It was as if he had, all these years, been misplaced as a forward. He filled the many gaping pores left by his defence mates and was instrumental in keeping the opposition’s tallying to a single marker. That marker was the only blot a game well played by Monsieur Le Plug. The strange thing was the shot which crossed the goal line was no harder that anything Gumby or the Vice could launch with the best tail wind.
Speaking of the Vice, it should be noted that the Executive is beginning to wonder more worrifully about his on ice judgment. On one play, he was the last man back in precarious possession of the puck. An Aviation Panther, stumbling about on bob skates, approached him in a wobbly manner. The Vice seemed to be under the impression that he could easily flip the puck through the attacker’s chest, and, to everyone’s amazement proceeded to attempt the ill-advised manoeuvre. As the puck bounced off the opponent’s chest and landed in perfect position for the wobbler to head in alone on goal, the Vice looked positively perplexed at the unfairness of the universe. It won’t be his last encounter with bad judgment, the laws of physics and a cruel world.

It would appear that year’s of Strawbs’ coaching has finally sunk in for MagBoy. He played an excellent game. He corralled his unbridled enthusiasm, showed restraint in difficult situations and by and large stayed in the areas for which he was responsible. And that was at home at supper. He displayed similar behavior on ice.
Dr. Thug continued in his vocal leadership role by scaring the BeeJeezus out of the opposition’s netminder with his ear piecing “YAAAAAAAA!” every time the Strawbs scored. You cannot get better cheerleading.

The Strawbs continued to break attendance records. Loans Jones showed up to play with her Blackberry in the stands as her current boyfriend, the never early Pyjama man toiled expertly on ice. With Ms. Jones in attendance, it marked the third straight game that the Killer Strawberries were lavished with fan attention.
After the game, the fan and her Strawberrian entourage re-assembled at the Terminal Tavren to toast victory and the elevation of Freight train Laronde to the lofty heights of PiledHighandDeeperdom.

6 Stella, 4 Guinness, 2 Bass, 3 Kilkenny, 2 Keith’s White, 2 jugs(of water), 2 baskets on low cal fries and some lessons on the laws of physics were consumed.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Whoa.horny Saddles Up

Killer Strawberries 6 Free Agents 1
Game Report
November 9, 2009

After an absence of 1 year and 4 games, Whoa.horny Richardson, Pembroke’s Boy Wonder Of The Year in 1923, finally found the time to partially saddle up for the Killer Strawberries in their match last evening against a quick but somewhat disorganized Free Agent squad. The phrase “partially saddle up” is a propos, given that the creaky defenceman showed up to the game with everything he needed to weave his magic, except for his gloves, helmet, jock and skate laces. The lack of a helmet is understandable. As a youth, he played helmetless and has the neuron damage to prove it. But forgetting a jock: wow!

Whoa.horny managed somehow to muster up a minimal amount of equipment in time to start the match. The Strawbs couldn’t tell what was rustier…the skates Whoa.horny put away wet in 2008 or his game. For the first period, he wobbled about like Gumby at his 50th birthday party. His stick slipped frequently from his hands, he tripped over every painted surface on the ice and he applied so much nitro to his chest between shifts that we were sure the arena was going to explode. By Gawd, it was sure good to have him back.

Warrin’ Peace keep his career high 3 game scoring streak alive with some vivacious and deft work. Freight Train potted 2 markers. It should be noted here that he will be missing the next game, as he will be playing defence elsewhere. He will be in Toronto trying to explain to his doctoral thesis. His thesis sounds fascinating, a must read for insomniacs and masochists alike: “The Cross-Cultural Ramifications of Sub-Lingual Computer-Mediated Education in Non-Aligned JK Classes: A Retrospective Analysis”. Can’t wait for the paperback version.

Pyjama Man, fighting the flu, the cops and Revenue Canada, played a magnificent game using a stick designed for someone 3 feet taller, right handed and a lot smarter. He still managed to outscore the goalie, the defence corps and a forward whose name will not be mentioned because it would embarrass Dr. Thug.

Nevertheless, the Strawbs put in a strong performance and were worthy of victory. After the game, which started at 11pm, the players assembled for a tail gate party in the parking lot of the Pete Palangio Arenas. Some cold beer was rummaged from who knows where and the boys spent quite a bit of time going over the match and other events which had occurred since the last encounter. Bing! Crossbar was slagged for missing his second game in a row because he could not get a note from his Mom to stay up past midnight. Gumby was effusively praised for his well thought out proposals for the new Strawbs’ jersey. Everyone was in agreement that adding a shoulder pocket for smokes, inhalers, nitro and other paraphernalia was a stroke of brilliance. The Vice informed the assembled that his enamoratta, the redoubtable Madame LaChaise, aka The Field Marsha, will, in June next year, be receiving an Honourary Degree from Aloha Baby University. The odds in Vegas against anyone associated with the Killer Strawberries ever getting honoured for anything have been so prohibitive that extra zeros have had to be ordered from some alternate universes to complete the posted odds. Congratulations Field Marsha and screw you for raising the bar on us.

6 cold, cold Harp, 4 Coors Lite, 12 big Busch and some warm reflected glow of lifetime achievement were consumed.

Monday, November 09, 2009

Dr. Thug Infects Teammates-Leads Strawbs To Victory

Killer Strawberries 8 Aviation Panthers 2
Game Report
November 5, 2009

After having fought off H1N1, bronchitis, syphilis and halitosis over the past 6 weeks, Dr. Thug returned triumphantly to lead his beloved Strawbs to an 8-2 victory over a penalty prone squadron of Aviation Panthers. Although he looked, at times, a little wobbly and short of breath, he managed to complete most of his 5 minute shifts and may even have scored a goal or two. His return inspired his teammates to turn it up a notch and was personally responsible for getting Warrin’ Peace to continue the only torrid scoring pace of his less than illustrious career.
Pyjama Man was also back in the lineup and, despite being stopped by the cops on the way to the match, got suited up in time to make an appearance by the mid mark of the first period. Although clearly not at his best, he still led the team in scoring. As a bonus, he surreptitiously passed on the H1N1 bug to Mr. Obnoxious, the Aviation defenceman so thoroughly despised by the Strawbs that they have his picture on the bull’s eye of the dartboard in the Garage of Bad Ideas.
The Plug, or as he is known to his adoring Francophone fans, Le Plug, played exceedingly well in his fourth game of the day. Just before the Strawbs’ game, he had just completed his third match in a one day tournament hosted by Canadore College. T o take a little pressure off his shoulders, the Executive moved Freight Train Laronde back to D to help cover up the team’s evident weakness on the blue line. The move obviously worked, as the D limited the opposition to a mere 4 breakaways on the night.
Absences continue to plague the squad. Whoahorny Richardson has yet to suit up, citing “personal mental issues” as his lame excuse. Bing! Crossbar was also nowhere to be seen. It is doubtful that it was homework that got in his way.
Following the game, the ream reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to unlax and to probe the pressing issues of the day. Much time was spent speculating on the quantity of plastic embedded in Pamela Anderson as well as soon less important topics. Dr. Thug’s and PJM’s return were duly toasted, Butcher Brophey duly roasted, compliments exchanged and vituperative epithets aimed at Mr. Obnoxious were launched.
6 Guinness, 7 Keiths, 2 Kilkenny, 4 Bass, 3 pounds of chicken wings (double deep fried) and second hand H1N1 antigens were consumed.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

Warrin Gets Scorin’

Game report
November 2, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 Body Czechs 1

After 6 months of self-imposed hibernation in the sweat lodge on the edge of Aloha Baby Compound from April to September, 2009 followed by 3 games of free floating, mindless wandering about the frozen pond at Pete Palangio Arenas, Warrin’ Peace finally showed up in grand style for a match against the cancelled Czechs. Playing on one of his offwings, he combined flawlessly with a gritty Magboy and a speedy Bing! Crossbar to score 3 first period beauties using the new half-slapper/changeup/knuckler shot he developed earlier this week in his Garage of Bad Ideas. It was about time as management was wondering whether his Hawaiian lethargy was a long term problem to be cured by a stint with the team’s farm team’s farm team, the Butthole Bottom Feeders. It is hoped Mr. Peace will continue his torrid pace. Apparently and fortunately for the team, certain favours he receives at home are dependent upon his future on-ice production.

Bing! Crossbar was also a force to be reckoned with on the night. His passing has been coming along nicely to complement his fast paced game. He appears to be another in a fine series of excellent draft picks by the astute Executive and he may someday acend to the lofty heights of the first line.

Shiny Sean was pressed into forward servive for the evening. Since he was already familiar with every inch of the opposition’s zone, including the office area directly behind the othe team's net, he was a natural in the new, albeit temporary,position. With team orders to reduce from his diet the vast numbers of double bacon cheeseburgers smothered in Extra Fat Mayonnaise he voraciously consumes daily , he might be able to turn his offensive game up a notch and thus be allowed again someday to center the swift Archilles and incredibly handsome Ice Marshal with whom he skated effectively last night.

The defence (Freight Train, the Vice and Gawdawful Gumby at his near gawdafullest) was rather a disappointment but that was to be expected given their advanced ages, surly attitudes and less than optimal off-ice lifestyles. A little more effort could have prevented the Czech’s only goal with 14 seconds remaining in the game, resulting the loss of a shutout for the Plug, who otherwise played very well behind a squishy D.

It should be noted that fan attendance was at a season high of 2, with Bootsey MagGirl and the Field Marsha offering encouragement to their team and well placed barbs aimed at the refereeing abomination known as His DeVuononess.
Post game most of the players and all the fans adjourned to the Terminal Tavren (yes, Tavren) for some game analysis and well deserved sarsaparillas. Shiny unveiled his unauthorized design for a the new team jersey that looked busier than Miss White Go Go Boots at a Shriners convention. Many changes were proposed and summarily dismissed by Mr. Shiny.

2 appletinis (one with too much ice in it for the picky Bootsey who looked resplendent in her red squirrel fur vest complete with dry cleaning tag from 1999), 6 Bass, 2 Keiths White, 6 Guinness, 5 Stella, 1 Gatorade, 1 Bud and some dubious design advice were consumed.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Eau De Colon

Game report

October 29, 2009

ALU 3 Killer Strawberries 1

There was not enough perfume in France to disguise the malodorous effort put forth by the Strawberries in last night’s matchup with the swift skating ALU Warriors. Every Strawbs’ colon, except for that of the Plug, contributed to the stink.

The Plug played exceedingly well, stopping the Warriors on 99% of the 100 two on ones and three on ones which resulted from the over-eager defence’s desire to score a goal and thus impress the team’s executive’s masseuse and psychotherapist prominently perched in the Strawbs’ corporate box located just above the Zamboni room. “Look at me, look at me, Svetlana, I am a goal scorer” the Vice, Gumby and Shiny seemed to scream with each ill-advised foray into the opposition’s end. It was so bad that, on the last desperation faceoff in the ALU end, with 5 seconds left on the clock, both defencemen abandoned the blueline, lined up with the wingers in front of the net and could be found at the buzzer, tangled together in the mesh behind the Warriors’ net. Eau de colon indeed. The only player in position on the final play was Freight Train Laronde (pressed into a defensive role in the waning minutes of the last period), who was busy picking up the water bottles and loose pucks on the Strawbs’ bench. His actions turned out to be the evening’s biggest contribution by a defenceman.

Up front, things were a little better but not by more than the width of a wet dream. Warrin Peace appeared lost on the frozen surface as the day’s percosets lost their potency. Bing! Crossbar, a raw recruit from AA novice hockey out of Zit, Switzerland, ragged the puck so long in the opposition’s end, the Strawbs were able to execute 3 line changes before he tired himself out and dropped into a lump onto the faceoff circle just to the right of the Warriors’ goalie, who, during Crossbar’s exhibition of fanciful futility, managed to smoke a carton of contraband cigarettes, two cigarettes at a time.

Archilles Perron, playing on his wrong wing no matter on which side he lined up, displayed a lethargy unmatched in most retirement homes. Magboy pranced about, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Freight Train’s biggest contribution on the evening has already been mentioned. He appeared to be distracted by his inability to choose an appropriate title for his doctoral thesis on the role of pencil colour upon heuristic student performance in grade 3 music class…wethinks “Bullshit” would do nicely.

Even the Ice Marshal contributed to the odiferous on-ice offerings. The morning’s massage and psychotherapy session, while it certainly helped him to deal temporarily with the demons of a difficult yet productive youth, left him as ineffective as the Vice at an out of town hockey tournament. Still, Svetlana would understand.

At the post game debriefing, the mood turned more jovial. The assembled Strawbs, in accordance with custom, put the whole thing into context. As MagBoy put it so well, “It is through the bitterness of loss that the sweetness of the beer is released”…or some such other tripe as is his wont to dispense.

4 Stella, 2 Keiths Stout, 1 Bass, 3 Rickards White, 2 pounds of overcooked chicken wings and more than a modicum of sweetness were consumed.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Jet Rangers Shot Down By Surging Strawberries

Game report

October 22, 2009

Killer Strawberries 3 Jet Rangers 1

As I write this report quite early on Friday morning shortly after the Strawbs’ victory last night, I am struck by a very penetrating question posed to me by Svetlana as she alternately strokes, kneads and drills into my screaming hamstring. Svetlana is no ordinary, run of the mill masseuse. She recently escaped from the former Soviet Union where she was the chief masseuse and team psychotherapist for the Red Army hockey team. She has set up in North Bay where she has restricted her practice to elite athletes and handsome hockey players. If you are, as is the Ice Marshal, qualified under both rubrics, you are indeed a lucky man.
As she teased another spasm of blissful delight from my aching musculature, she asked: “Monsieur Hice Marechal, hiz eet a plaisir playing wis de Killer Fruits?” Still intoxicated by her lilting, French infused voice and the hypnotic rhythm of her able fingertips, I replied: “Ma Cherie, less talk, more pain please.”
Still her probing question haunted me right up to the time of this writing. Certainly, there is a pleasure in beating a band of testosterone fueled hooligans such as the Jet Rangers, especially when they attempt to taunt you at the opening face off with juvenile quips along the lines of “Didn’t you coach my Grampa?” or “Keep your head up old man” or “Didn’t you play on the same line as Moses McLean when he was in peewee?”. Obviously, this rationale would be insufficient. In reality, the true pleasure lies in executing the crisp pass, ringing one off the crossbar, recovering the rebound and burying it in the mesh just above the glass; it is watching Freight Train Laronde get derailed by the tiny edge of paint on the blueline causing him to take a header on a breakaway. It is laughing as Archilles Perron, a once proud man, throws up in the opposition’s faceoff circle while the puck is being passed around in his own end. It is watching Warrin Peace swoop aimlessly about the frozen surface, scrawling indecipherable runes into the virgin ice, oblivious to time and space. But most of all, the pleasure is most intense as the scabs of on ice errors are delicately picked at, post game, by the merciless wits in the dressing room.
I will certainly give my considered answer to Svetlana at our next encounter which will inevitably follow our match this Thursday. As a trained psychologist, I am sure that upon reflection, she will have some interesting insights into what or more precisely, who, is giving me such a big pain in the gluteus maximus. Even if she does not, my gluteus will nevertheless be in good hands.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Strawbs Bounce Bad Czechs

Game Report

Strawbs 9 BodyCzechs 3

October 19, 2009

Boulstered by the absence of penalty pig Butcher Brophey, who is in Portugal studying the mating habits of his ovine cousins, the Killer Strawberries sent a 9-3 NSF (not sufficient firepower) warning to a fine but still inexperienced BodyCzechs squad.

The Strawbs scored early and often and were solidly backed up by Rich “The Plug” Delorme who has replaced the once irreplaceable Jesse The Leak, at one time referred to as the Martin Brodeur of the Canadore Intramural League (by his mother and girlfriend). Mr. Leak is spending his hockey retirement putting tax evaders behind bars and knitting tuques for wayward cats. On more than one occasion the Plug was left to fend for himself as the Strawbs’ defence carried out its plan to test him early and often by allowing frequent breakaway situations to develop. The Plug performed admirably and, being the good rookie he is, did not curse his porous defence except in French an under his breath.

Another Strawb also made his debut on the evening. Chris Crossey, hereinafter and forever to be referred to as Bing! Crossbar, put in an inspired performance: inspired by Gumby’s threat to ask for his return to the Butthole Bottom Feeders if he failed to meet the incredibly low standards of the team. Although he did not score (or maybe he did, who knows), he managed to ring a couple off the iron with his quick snapper, thus securing his place on the squad until further notice.

Gumby, fresh from his Battle of The Blades appearance at the old Maple Leaf Gardens, was a little frustrated because there were no referees to harangue. He did, however, draw attention to himself on one occasion when one of the picks on his new blades got stuck on the blueline, resulting in one of the finest pirouettes ever executed by a Killer Strawberry. The Executive advised him post game to use his old skates which surely must have most of the mistakes squeezed out of them by now.

At the end of the game, The Vice was presented with a bottle of 55 year old Scotch, which Scotch was born in the same year as he was. It was obvious that the Scotch had aged much better than the Vice was a lot smoother and far less cranky.

The team, or most of it, then repaired to the Terminal Tavren to continue the evaluation of the squad’s talent, old and new. It was concluded that, with the new additions and the absence of the Butcher, there was a good chance of repeating as league champs. It was good to start the year on a high note.

2 Keiths Stout, 3 Guinness, 3 Stella, 4 regular Keiths, 2 dozen chicken wings and some tall tales of figure skating exploits at the Carlton Cash Box were consumed.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Licensed to Thrill

The season gets underway tonight @ 10PM and the Strawbs are licensed to thrill.

Wednesday, September 02, 2009

Shinney Drops a Bird

If you are viewing this post from the Ontario government network you will not be able to see the video.

Strawbs Golf Tourney 2009 Pictures

Hello Strawbs, Strawbetts and fans.
Here are are a few pictures from the golf Tournament.

Don't forget to click on some Google Ads.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

The Garage of Bad Ideas May 23, 2009

A Bad Idea that turned out pretty good, actually.

You don't want to know where this Bad Idea is going.

Sampling the Garage of Bad Ideas vibes.

Hmmmm ... Bad Ideas fermenting.

The Garage of Bad Ideas May 23, 2009

More Bad Ideas brewing.

The Butcher tries to remember a Bad Idea.

Gumby explains a Bad Idea about BBQ-ing.

A perfect example of a Bad Idea gone awry.

The final legacy to the Garage of Bad Ideas.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Killer Strawberries 2009 Dubious Achievement Awards Night

Pajama Man ready to be grilled.

Slickery and his fan.

Archilles and Warrin' before the slagging.

Dr. Thug steals himself.

Killer Strawberries 2009 Dubious Achievement Awards Night

Strawbs and fans milling about the Compound.

The Ice Marshall and the Leak.

Still dripping.

Freight Train gets his.

The Butcher on the hot seat.

Killer Strawberries 2009 Dubious Achievement Awards Night

Ice Marshall and Gumby make out.

The Drip

The Butchers

The Ice Marshall slags Warrin' Peace.

Shiney Sean Brightly is humbled.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

The Leak Leads Strawbs To Championship Victory

Geriatric Juggernaut Rules

Killer Strawberries 3 Redstripes 1

Game Report

March 16, 2009

Last night, a standing room only crowd of Killer Strawberry puck bunnies, wives, girlfriends, mistresses, family pets and few unsavoury hangers-on witnessed an on-ice exhibition of cunning old man hockey at its finest, as the Strawbs neutered its ill-mannered opponent with surgical precision on route to a decisive 3 to1 victory and a second championship in 3 years.

It was not easy. The obstreperous little bastards put up a fine fight, fuelled by disdain for their elders and a childlike vexation which too frequently manifested itself in the face of adversity. They are still young. They will learn. Maybe not. Who cares. We creamed the little mofos.

It was a fitting ending to a glorious Strawbs’ mini-era. For the last 5 years, Jesse The Leak has been tending the pipes for his favourite team ever, amassing an amazing 75-10-5 record over the stretch, despite or perhaps as a result of his numerous reconditioning stints with the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottomfeeders of Buttface, Alaska. Last night’s championship sudden death final was The Leak’s perfectly rendered swan song with his beloved hockey team. And boy did he show up to play. Barely 10 seconds into the game he was called upon to bar the door, and bar the door he did all night long. The petulant Redstripes squad could not solve him. He used his pads, the butt of his stick, the tips of his skates, the top of his helmet, a small dollop of luck and all else at his disposal to constantly foist their scoring attempts. He was certainly the game’s first star. His number, whatever it is, will be retired in a lavish ceremony later this summer at the Killer Strawberry headquarters and playland: the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu, Hawaii. He may even be invited to attend the ceremony, as long as he promises to behave, take no photos and sign the usual gag orders.

The Leak had plenty of backup on the evening. Everyone contributed a verse, except, of course, for Shiny Sean Brightly who was busily sunning his sausage in Fort Homodale, Florida. Shiny, we saved you some victory Scotch…NOT!

The defence was magnificent. Wave after wave of Redstripes was expertly manoeuvred into the corners where they were summarily relieved of the puck. Like an expert circus manager,Freight Train Laronde, pressed into a defensive role with Shiny’s unfortunate unauthorized abdication, used his extra long stick to repeatedly steer his opponents into nowhereland. The Vice, a veritable octopus of impudent impedence, clutched, grabbed and discumbobulated anything and everything that threatened to score. The Butcher must have had a big fight with his mistress because even his team mates were scared of the black temper he brought to the arena. You’ve got to admire a guy who, with only enough money in his pocket to either get his skates or his stick sharpened, opted to tune up his stick. To his credit, he did return the two beating hearts and the one spleen he managed to remove from his opponents’ bodies during the most heated parts of the game action. And like a true professional, he escaped unscathed except for that boneheaded penalty he took with 2 minutes remaining.

P. Gumbington Pettigrew, a zealous advocate of pre-game sex, with or without a partner, was solid on the blueline. His best play was coolly tucking the puck under a sprawling Leak, late in the game, as the puck was slowly trickling across the goal line.

Up front, it was all out effort all the time. Warrin’Peace, strung out on the patch, scored the game’s first goal, a snapshot that he ripped over the goalie’s left shoulder into a space smaller than that occupied by the Butcher’s brain. Dr. Thug tallied the second marker for the Strawbs, a soft hands goal that caused women’s hearts everywhere to beat just a little faster. MagPie, the team’s pepperpot and self-proclaimed wit (he is only half right on the latter point), delivered the coup de grace, the team’s third goal late in the third period, sealing the victory for the Strawbs. Archilles Perron, still recuperating from a vacuum attachment injury to his lower body, skated like he was 40 again. Slickery Mac was at his tricky slickest, ragging the puck like Eddie Shack during penalty kills, weaving expertly through oncoming traffic and making excellent choices on every part of the ice surface. Pyjama Boy, with his enamoratta looking on in full swoon, played a fine brand of feisty hockey, never losing his cool, always an offensive threat.

And let’s not forget the contribution of the Ice Marshal. He had duties both as player and coach. He juggled lines, worked penalty kill pairings, directed traffic in and out of the penalty box and still managed to create havoc when havoc was needed. “I just wanted to contribute in any way I could, what with my broken foot, severed aorta and post nasal drip. The trick is to never give up. I attribute my never-give-uppedness to the excellent upbringing I had at The Broda, the orphanage I grew up in, just across the street from the Carlton Cashbox. You can learn a lot from good nuns in such a fine place, especially from the older ones who take a liking to you, if you know what I mean. Thank you Sisters of Perpetual Suffering, and mostly you, Sister Vava Voom. ”

After the game, the Strawbs dressing room was a veritable zoo, with Scotch flowing, butts being towel whipped, hairs mussed and general anarchy reigning supreme. The festivities carried over to the Terminal Tavren, where the Teeter Kennedy Room was commandeered by the victors and their rabid fans. The party continued into the wee hours, with the lies growing more unbelievable, the insults more hug-like and the patrons more pissed. The Leak’s imminent departure was dutifully rued, the fans thanked and then thanked again. Teammates were toasted and roasted. Backs were slapped and funny handshakes exchanged. All in all, it was sublime.

407 Stella, 2 Appletinis, 354 Bass, 5692 and a half Guinness, 321 pounds of chicken wings, 1 celery stick and the sweet elixir of success were consumed

Killer Strawberries 2008-2009 Champions

Here is the complete team, including Sean who was in Florida last night - photoshop is a great tool.

Seal the Deal Goal

Monday, March 16, 2009

Championship Up For Grabs

Pre-game report
March 16, 2009

Well, it has finally come down to the nitty gritty. Tonight, in the confines of the beautiful Pete Palangio Arenas, the Killer Strawberries hope to put the finishing touches on a difficult season by winning their 2nd Canadore Ice Hockey Intramural Championship in 3 years.
The team is ready and has been ready since day 1 of the season. Except for Shiny Sean, who is attending The PeeWee Herman Wrestling and Clown School in Orlando, Florida, it is expected all Strawbs will be suited up tonight to slay the obstreperous little bastards who toil for the EVIL Redstripes.
The slick playmaking and opportunistic Shiny will be greatly missed and the Strawbs will have to turn it up a notch in order to reach their season-long goal. Fortunately, over the last couple of weeks, every Killer Strawberry has been energetically engaged in improving one or more aspects of their games. P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third has limited his beer consumption to 6 pints per day and has not had a French fry or an impure thought since March 11. The Vice has been parking his car at the top of his driveway each day for a month and walks both ways, up and down, carrying small boulders and cases of empties to improve his stamina. Freight Train Laronde has cut out his daily afternoon nap to empty the dishwasher and thus flex his already oversized supraspinitises. Archilles Perron has taken to vaccuuming and has shovelled all the snow off his front lawn. Dr. Thug has been living in a anti-barimetric bubble to speed his physical and mental recovery. Warrin’ Peace now walks the full 5 minutes to Tim Horton’s everyday, twice a day, smoking only on the return leg. Pyjama Man has been living in the back seat of his car, avoiding the relentless come-hither overtures of his girlfriend, the seductive Loans Jones, which overtures have, in the past, hindered his on-ice production. MagBoy, in the last month, has climbed Mount Kilimanjaro, crossed the Gobi Desert on his bicycle and circumnavigated Antarctica in a converted bathtub. The Ice Marshall has been conserving his energy at the Aloha Baby Compound, passing his time playing nude badmington and Twister with the locals. Slickery Mac has been busily making himself a new pair of skates, using the deer hide, bone and sinew he culled by hand from a carcass he found lying abandoned in MagBoy’s living room. Dr. Bonehead Butcher Brophey has undergone extensive counselling and was graduated, Magna Cum Gaga, from the world famous Miss White Go Go Boots Wife School, in Emasculation City, Ohio. He is expected to be as mad as hell and not gonna take it anymore. Jesse The Leak has spent the last 8 days, psyching himself up with the aid of herbal teas and crumpets at the small tea parties he has been holding in his parents' basement with all his bobblehead action figures. This will be the Leak’s last game with the Strawbs. The squad fully expects him to stand on his head.

Anyone planning to attend the match tonight at 9pm is advised to show up early to ensure themselves of a good seat. Officials with The Office of Great Sporting Events Worldwide is predicted a Standing Room Only Crowd of over 5 fans. Rumours have been flying that She Who Must be Obeyed, the very fortunate life consort (so far) of Ice Marshall Walpole, will be showing up for the very first time in 21 years to one of her beau’s Canadore hockey league games. “I’ve put this day off for as long I could” stated the soto-voce beauty. “I know my man is virile and I always fear for his opponents. I was sure that one of these days he would be charged at the rink for being so brutally handsome and manly and hurting his lesser opponents. He has been talking of retirement lately and this may be the last time I can ever see him weave his on-ice magic. I just have to go.

The Strawbs promise their fans a real barn burner. They are, to a man, committed to victory.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Grampas Ganch Gang of Grumpy Gen-Whiners

Game Report

March 9, 2009

Killer Strawberries 7 Redstripes 4

Gawd knows it must be hard to lose to a bunch of geriatric go-getters judiciously seasoned with just the right amount of youth. Just ask the Redstripes, who, despite their excellent trash talk, hormone-fuelled bravado and general sulkiness, were unable to subdue a squad of Killer Strawberries hell-bent on capturing their second crown in 3 years.

The game started out on a difficult note. P. Gumbington Pettigrew the Third, a man of immense self-professed talent and an ego to match, was told he would not be allowed to play because he had neglected to pay off a $20 fine incurred 3 matches previous. It took several shady attempts at truthiness and a last minute intervention by the Pope to get him permission to play. But play he did, leading his team in on-ice treachery, the proffering of dubious advice and endless heartfelt exhortation to anyone who would listen to his incoherent rants.

The team was further handicapped on the evening. Dr. Felonious Thug, unplugged and reeling from a homemade concoction of codeine, morphine and grape Kool-Aid, donned his best Punch Imlach fedora and took over bench duties. He was unable to play on the evening, having once again injured himself in a non-hockey mishap. Apparently, after the last game, he severed a tendon in his right thumb while attempting to operate a TV remote without teenage supervision.

Warrin’ Peace was, for the twentieth time this season, noticeably absent. According to his first and current wife, the gorgeous (pregnant?)Samarra Dessert, Warrin’ could not make the game owing to some prior commitment with his sports psychiatrist, or sports hairstylist or some other sports related human.

None of this, however, was able to knock the Strawbs off the mission they had set for themselves after a devastating playoff loss in March 2008: regain the coveted Canadore Intramural Hockey “D” Cup. To this end, The Killer Strawberries scored often and early in the match, much to the chagrin of the whiny little Redstripes who truly believed they deserved to beat a pile of wizened veterans who were so ripe they still remember firsthand when the Montreal Maroons ruled the hockey world. Magboy led the team in enthusiasm and gusto. This whirling dervish bedeviled the opposition with his energy and flying limbs and actually scored on one of his many breakways/penalty shots.

Freight Train Laronde ratcheted up his game to 1961 levels. He tallied two beauties and even succeeded in making the Ice Marshal look respectable. Shiny Sean was a stalwart, moving between offence and defence with the fluidity, grace and repertoire of a Kama Sutra master.

Not all went smoothly however. The Strawbs were forced to overcome a 7 minute mid-game spurt of brainfartitis, when, leading 4-0, they managed to let the Redstripes re-enter the game. The opposition somehow managed to make the score 4-3 before the Strawbs were pounded back to reality by the quick scores and relentless juvenile Redstripe taunting (the words Grampa, old man, old timer, ancient piece of dog feces etc. were being tossed around like midgets in a dwarf bowling contest). From that point on, the juggernaut, reawakened and angry, kicked it up a notch. The Killer Strawberries revved up their engines, slammed the petal to the metal and grinded their way into passing gear, leaving their rivals grasping for any straw to slow the juggernaut down: all to no avail. Final score: Killer Strawberries 7 Redstripes 4.

The Strawbs now await the victor in Thursday night’s game between the Free Agents and the Redstripes to see who will play them in the Championship. The final is already sold out, and the broadcast blackout has not been lifted. It will be a barn burner.

Following the match, all able minded Strawbs and the 10 others who played, met up at the Terminal Tavren to bulk up and to plot strategy. It can be reported that they succeeded beautifully in one of those endeavours.

4 Stella, 7 Guinness, 3 Black and Tan 2 Blue, 3 Sterling, 5 Steamwhistle, 4 pounds of seasoned wings, a low-fat poutine and some Oil of Juggernaut were consumed.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Fans Turn Out In Droves To First Playoff Match

Strawberries 3 Free Agents 1

Game Report

February 27

Extra seating had to be brought in last night to accommodate the pumped up Jaegermeister/Lysol fuelled throng of fans which showed up to cheer on their beloved squad of Strawberry delights. The noise was so great that the Killler Strawberries could barely think, not that anyone watching would have known the difference in cogitation levels between this game and any other Strawbs’ game for that matter. Led by award winning videographer and recently “fiftied” Gawdawful Gumby Scorcese, the fans chanted, stomped and clapped their squad to a 3-1 victory over a very determined and ornery bunch of Free Agents. For his work on the evening, Gawd has been invited to spend an afternoon this summer at the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu, Hawaii so that he can record, on tape for posterity, some selected Executive wisdomisms. He will also be allowed to clean out the stables with the Olsen twin of his choice.

The game itself was a ragged affair. Of the 40 minutes of playing time, various members of the Killer Strawberries were asked to spend a total of 18 minutes and thirty six seconds in the company of the scorekeeper, a reformed pederast from Kingston Pen. On 3 occasions the Strawberries had to kill off a 5 on 3 disadvantage. It did so with aplomb, grit and lotsa luck.

It may have been a sign that the team, like a forgotten container of yogurt in an abandoned fridge, has been around the league well beyond its best before date. Near the end of the game, an exhausted Dr. Felonious Thug was attempting to corral a loose puck in front of the Strawbs' bench. With Dr. Thug’s back exposed, a Free Agent thought it would be good fun to slam him face first into the top of the boards. Felonious collapsed like a cheap suitcase. When he finally came to, he demanded of one of the Zebra’s to explain why no penalty was called on the play. The Zebra’s response: “Write another letter to the league”. It is true that the Executive has used pen and paper to excoriate the league's big foreheads for their lax supervision and repeatedly poor choice of certain bumbling officials. Officials can make or break a game. Officials need to be good. The league needs to use good officials.

All any team ever expects from officiators is a modicum of competence and accountability. Too often, neither is received. The Zebra’s response last night indicated, among other things, a total lack of impartiality bordering on retribution. Mr. Zebra, hockey is not a one way street. We make mistakes and we pay by way of goals against or by time spent in the sin bin. Your mistakes, when egregious enough, need to be pointed out to those who pay your stipends. We suck it up most of the time and so should you.

When they weren’t killing penalties, the Strawbs played very well on offence. The team was led by the torrid Slickery Mac who tallied twice, the second on a beauty featured later that evening on Sportsline or whatever Gumby’s new videography show is called. The third goal, which sealed the victory was lovely as well. Shiny Sean, who was born without kneecaps in a New Orleans brothel, picked up a feed just inside the Free Agent blueline and lobbed a gorgeous saucer pass to a waiting MagBoy who one timed the puck into the upper recesses on the net, much to the satisfaction of his enamorata, the beautiful MagGirl who was in attendance. She is said to have swooned.

The defence, strengthened by the continued absence of the Butcher and Gawdawful Gumby, was stellar. Warrin’ Peace, shanghai’d into a defenceman’s role, stepped up his game and proved himself admirably in the unaccustomed position. Freight Train also played back and used his size, reach and halitosis to great effect. The Vice, hampered by home cooking and memories of a recent bloodless yet life changing palace coup at the Compound For Minor Vice, hooked, tripped and grabbed his way, Brophey-style, to the game’s fifth star. His new old boss, Madame LaChaise, also in attendance, did not swoon but is said to have moderately approved of his play.

The Leak was solid in net. He had to be, given the amount of time the Strawbs spent short-handed. This will be the Leak’s last season, having accepted a position this April with Revenue Canada, College and University Professor Audit Division. The team will certainly miss his dexterity, urbanity, compassion and ability to overlook his teammates’ shortcomings, both on the rink and during tax filing season. Did we mention he was handsome to boot?

After the match, the team and its rabid fans, including some chick named Terry or Sherry or Bloody Mary or something like that, reconvened at its favoured den of iniquity, the down at the heels Terminal Tavren to celebrate the hard won victory. Zebras were calumniated, Canadore Hockey Central aspersed, fans’ love reciprocated, and gritty play recounted with glee.

18 Stella, 2 Appletinis with the little red umbrellas, 2 Sterling, 15 Keiths, 3 Steamwhistle, 2 pounds of Italian perogies ,4 pounds of chicken wings and some bitter recollections of penalties left uncalled were consumed.


Game Report

Killer Strawberries 5 Jetfires 1

February 21, 2009-02-28

Note: The writer would like to apologize to all regular followers of the infamous Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen's Club for the late filing of this game report. He has been in Kiev negotiating a new gas treaty between Russia and the Ukraine, which treaty is needed to ensure that the 200 million people in Europe do not freeze this winter. The negotiations were intense and the agreement was not concluded until 9 hours before the start of the first playoff game. The writer had to dash to the Strawbs' private Gulfstream which was waiting to transport him to Jack Garland Airport in North Bay so that he could play for his beloved team. He also had to slough off the effects of the 807 vodka toasts he was forced to consume at the treaty ratification ceremony which ended but minutes before his flight. He was also forced to forego the highly anticipated company of Olga and Tatiana who eagerly await his return to Kiev so that they may resume their discussions of the roles of women in Turginev and Tolstoy.)

It was a move which caught a severely shorthanded Killer Strawberries squad by surprise. Apparently, the sloping foreheads at Canadore Intramural Hockey Central allowed the Spitfires to amalgamate overnight with the Jet Rangers to form a new Jetfires team replete with sloping foreheads of its own. Not only that, but by some form of indecipherable alchemy, the new combination was awarded the same amount of season points as the Strawbs, turning last night’s game into a battle for first place and its concommitant bye in the first round of the playoffs. The alchemic additions, deletions and other mathematical legerdemain involved, among other things, involved not counting one of the Strawbs’ victories during regular league play. One can only hope that none of the officials involved ever works as a dispensing pharmacist or other profession where numbers, numerals, decimal points and exponents are used in life threatening situations.

The Strawbs, however, were undaunted. Well, at least the 7 skaters and 1 goalie who bothered showed up to the game were. The circumstances were so dire that Canada’s team was forced to use the Ice Marshal on defence, a position he hasn’t played since priests used to say mass in Latin with their backs and fat asses turned to the congregation.

Our 8 intrepids played excellently against its 14 gung ho opponents, scoring 5 times while allowing only 1 goal against. The Leak was superb between the pipes and will be allowed to start the next game (barring of course a blockbuster trade at the deadline).

The victory propelled the Strawbs into undisputed first place. They are itching for the playoffs to start so that they can claim the ultimate prize in all of hockeydom: the right to brag about past exploits for a whole year.

Post game, the few Strawbs who toiled against the Jetfires, save for Archilles Perron who had to go home to brush his teeth and finish dusting his wife’s toilet paper roll collection, reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to toast victory and slag those other Strawbs who did not contribute on the evening. The only absentee with a good excuse was P. Gumbington Pettigrew the Third, who was serving game 1 of his recent suspension, a suspension which resulted from his having used the inflammatory phrase “c’mon ref” in his questioning of a dubious call in last week’s game. And, despite the suspension, he came to the arena to support his colleagues, the sign of a gentleman, team player and desperate bachelor with nothing better to do at 11pm on a Thursday night.

4 Stella, 2 Sterling, 3 Guinness, 2 Keiths, 2 Blue and the satisfaction of a gutsy first place finish were consumed.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Sad Event

It's pretty sad that the "poet" lordiette of the Killer Strawberries can't post a write up to the last regular season game, also a fan appreciation night, where the Strawbs clinched 1st place in the division. Even more sad, is that this non-posting continues on the day of the first game of the playoffs. What is happening?

Sunday, February 22, 2009

See Mike, I do catch fish

This fish was a sleeper. He didn't start fighting until I told him his next best friend was basil.

Still no decent pikerel yet.