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.