Grampa Takes Junior To The Woodshed

Killer Strawberries 10 Free Agents 3

Game Report

February 12, 2009



Just as the moon and the sun raise all boats with their pull of the tides, so competition raises the level of play in all sports. Hockey is no exception. It is this competitive aspect, coupled with large dollops of comraderie which make the game of hockey , at the professional level as much as at the pickup level on a lightly snow covered side street, such a pleasure to play, no matter the age of the participants.

Speaking of age, it is no secret that the Killer Strawberries are not getting any younger. The team’s average age is somewhere around 47 with a median age of 52. These figures used to be much higher in the days when Moses McLean carelessly patrolled the right side. Mr. McLean (Canadore College student number: XIII) now rests comfortably in his Barcolounger on Decrepit Lane, staring aimlessly out his picture window, reminiscing about the days when he ran with dinosaurs. We almost miss him. With Moses’ forced retirement, Dr. Billy Goat (Thelonius) Thug is saddled with the difficult task of ensuring the team’s median age never drops below 50. So far, the aging, dementia-prone puck handler has carried out this duty efficiently, effectively and with aplomb. The Strawbs have nothing but a deep, abiding respect their senescent teammate. Moreover, they respect their opponents because they realize that competiton tainted with disrecpect is really nothing more than savagery.

The Strawbs' respect for the aged and for opponents is, of course, no accident. Since our first taste of mother’s milk, we have been learning and relearning that respect for our elders and fellow competitors is a cornerstone upon which civilized society is founded. Apparently the content of mother’s milk has changed in the last 20 years. The change of 20 years ago was in evidence last night. With the score 7-3 in favour of the Strawberries, an obviously bottle-suckled Free Agent had the temerity to lay upon the Ice Marshal a vituperative and ugly version of the epithet “Grampa”, as in “Hey Grampa, you suck.” The result: Grampa and his teammates went on to take Junior Bottle-Breath and his ilk out to the woodshed for a final 10-3 whoopin’. Gotta hurt when your Grampa kicks your ass in a young man’s game.

The whoopin’ was a full team effort. The defence was solid. Butcher Brophey attributed the defence corps’ excellent play to Gumby’s pre-mature ejaculation (or is it ejection?) from the game at the 4 minute mark of the opening period for asking the referee if he wouldn’t better enjoy himself having sex elsewhere (or words to that effect). It was said in a very sincere, caring and respectful way. Despite the diplomatic delivery of Gumby’s gentle suggestion, he was forced to hit the showers early and had to watch from the sidelines as his team dismantled its foe. Jesse The Leak was superb, as he repeatedly flustered the Agents, especially on the 3 minute, 2 man-advantage power play they were awarded upon Gumby’s unexpected exit from the game.

With 10 goals, it is obvious the Strawbs were firing on all offensive cylinders. The offence was led by the Ice Marshall himself, who executed a rare triple hat trick: 3 goals, 3 assists and 3 penalties. It should be noted that he did not deserve any of the penalties. He took them all in stride, Zen moments of quiet resignation in the face of an unfair universe. Pyjama Man, unchaperoned by his babysitter, notched 2 goals. No one remembers who scored the other goals. Doesn’t matter cause they weren’t really needed.

After the game, all the Strawberries, save for Warrin’ Peace who had to hightail it home to finish putting away the dishes before his wife/ruler got home from her week-long spa visit, reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to refuel. The memory of Moses McLean was toasted and teammates hugged each other with insults: the perfect ending to an ass-whoopin' evening.

10 Guinness, 6 Stella, 2 Sterling, 3 Keiths, 4 pounds of chicken wings, a plate of ersatz bologna-flavouted perogies and recollections of woodshed justice were consumed.