Pictures from the last few games.
Strawb Pics on Buckwild.ca Gallery
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 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
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R75P86ysDHE
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.
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.
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.
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