The Ice Marshal, The Vice, Freight Train and G.A.W.D. participated in the Annual Walpole Road Hockey Tourney on Boxing Day at the Aloha Baby Compound East on Boxing Day.Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Killer Strawberries Participate in Annual Road Hockey Ball Tourney
The Ice Marshal, The Vice, Freight Train and G.A.W.D. participated in the Annual Walpole Road Hockey Tourney on Boxing Day at the Aloha Baby Compound East on Boxing Day.
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Sir Cumference
Game Report
December 2, 2010
Killer Strawberries 2 Thrashers 4
It was very tight game, with the score 2-2 right up to the final 2 minute mark. It was then that the Thrashers squeezed just over the Strawbs goaline. The Strawbs were forced to pull their goalie and came within microns of tying the match. But the gods of hockey were smiling elsewhere and the Thrashers were able to pot an empty netter to secure the victory. To a man, the Killer Strawberries much enjoyed the encounter, so much so that they have requested of the league Big Foreheads that they be put in the competitive division with CCCP, the Longshafts and the Thrashers once the post-Christmas alignment is completed.
On the evening, the best of the Strawbs was certainly Shiny, who, at long last, has shaken off the terrible lethargy of his autumn “hibernation”. Perhaps it was finding a handleless and battered suitcase outside his front door which snapped him to attention. No matter the cause, the result was sheer coaching genius.
The team’s replacement goalie, Braden Whatshisname, was superb between the pipes and it is hoped that his performance will not cause the Executive to consider putting the Marquis on waivers after Christmas. The Marquis has been absent the last 2 games, having claimed that his employer was requiring him to visit some mineshaft in Atawapisqat. Wethinks that he must have done something quite horrible to deserve such a fate.
The third best contribution on the evening started with the unpolished yet insightful wit of Magboy, a player who fondles puns for pleasure. Having noticed that his buddy, Sir Gawd, has been playing with the enthusiasm of a bored Russian aristocrat on yet another factory tour, Magboy mentioned that the Executive might consider drafting another “Sir” of his acquaintance, a Sir Cumference, whom he complimented as an all round player he had met through his circle of friends. His only problem was that he liked to eat Pi. Unfortunately, the rest of the Strawbs could not resist joining the tasteless punditry thus begun. Someone mentioned that MagBoy was always going off on some crazy tangent, especially when he found himself within a 5 metre radius of another Strawb. The Ice Marshal noted that we might be able to sine Sir Cumference and that he would give him a ring later to see if he would like to play in our loop. Not to be outdone, the Butcher stated that he would cosine Sir Cumference’s contract if necessary. “If you’re going to do that, you’d better take the circuitous route”,volunteered the Vice. From there on, the discussion deteriorated, with Buzz Charm, the third favourite son of the Ice Marshal doing his coop with the team’s management, adding “With your Strawbs'luck, if you signed him, he would die-a-metre from the goal crease”. Mercifully, the rink janitor intervened and kicked everyone out of the building.
The team recovened at the Terminal Tavren to dissect the match and to plan an attack upon the league championship. Puns were shunned and grammatical civility was temporarily restored.
10 Guinness, 3 jugs of Bud, 2 jugs of Stella , 3 jugs of Trad, and 15 pounds of Christmas style chicken wings,served in silver bowls and smothered in Hollandaise sauce, were consumed. It was all delicious because, as everyone knows, there’s no plate like chrome for the Hollandaise.
December 2, 2010
Killer Strawberries 2 Thrashers 4
It was very tight game, with the score 2-2 right up to the final 2 minute mark. It was then that the Thrashers squeezed just over the Strawbs goaline. The Strawbs were forced to pull their goalie and came within microns of tying the match. But the gods of hockey were smiling elsewhere and the Thrashers were able to pot an empty netter to secure the victory. To a man, the Killer Strawberries much enjoyed the encounter, so much so that they have requested of the league Big Foreheads that they be put in the competitive division with CCCP, the Longshafts and the Thrashers once the post-Christmas alignment is completed.
On the evening, the best of the Strawbs was certainly Shiny, who, at long last, has shaken off the terrible lethargy of his autumn “hibernation”. Perhaps it was finding a handleless and battered suitcase outside his front door which snapped him to attention. No matter the cause, the result was sheer coaching genius.
The team’s replacement goalie, Braden Whatshisname, was superb between the pipes and it is hoped that his performance will not cause the Executive to consider putting the Marquis on waivers after Christmas. The Marquis has been absent the last 2 games, having claimed that his employer was requiring him to visit some mineshaft in Atawapisqat. Wethinks that he must have done something quite horrible to deserve such a fate.
The third best contribution on the evening started with the unpolished yet insightful wit of Magboy, a player who fondles puns for pleasure. Having noticed that his buddy, Sir Gawd, has been playing with the enthusiasm of a bored Russian aristocrat on yet another factory tour, Magboy mentioned that the Executive might consider drafting another “Sir” of his acquaintance, a Sir Cumference, whom he complimented as an all round player he had met through his circle of friends. His only problem was that he liked to eat Pi. Unfortunately, the rest of the Strawbs could not resist joining the tasteless punditry thus begun. Someone mentioned that MagBoy was always going off on some crazy tangent, especially when he found himself within a 5 metre radius of another Strawb. The Ice Marshal noted that we might be able to sine Sir Cumference and that he would give him a ring later to see if he would like to play in our loop. Not to be outdone, the Butcher stated that he would cosine Sir Cumference’s contract if necessary. “If you’re going to do that, you’d better take the circuitous route”,volunteered the Vice. From there on, the discussion deteriorated, with Buzz Charm, the third favourite son of the Ice Marshal doing his coop with the team’s management, adding “With your Strawbs'luck, if you signed him, he would die-a-metre from the goal crease”. Mercifully, the rink janitor intervened and kicked everyone out of the building.
The team recovened at the Terminal Tavren to dissect the match and to plan an attack upon the league championship. Puns were shunned and grammatical civility was temporarily restored.
10 Guinness, 3 jugs of Bud, 2 jugs of Stella , 3 jugs of Trad, and 15 pounds of Christmas style chicken wings,served in silver bowls and smothered in Hollandaise sauce, were consumed. It was all delicious because, as everyone knows, there’s no plate like chrome for the Hollandaise.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
A Senior Moment
Killer Strawberries 4 Those Guys 1
Game Report
November 29, 2010
The Killer Strawberries gave their best imitation of an 80 year old Lothario last evening at Pete Palangio Arenas where they faced a squad of long haired ice skating deer calling themselves Those Guys. It took the Strawbs a very long time to get aroused, but once their interest peaked,they quickly did what they came to do and then proceeded to fall asleep for the rest of the game, sleeping the blissful sleep of a dream fulfilled.
The loquacious Warrin’ Peace returned to the team after a prolonged absence. When asked by the Strawbs’ Attendance Monitor where he had been for the last 3 games he simply uttered the word “uh”, which apparently means “ none of your business” in Ojibway. This was the only excitement he offered on the evening.
The calendar challenged Dr. Thug also returned to the fold and was back to his old self, screaming on the bench every time the Strawbs beat the opposing netminder. He told the team he had missed the last few outings because he had fallen into an upholstery machine and it took him quite a while before he was fully recovered. As well, he delivered some shocking news. Someone somewhere has hired him to teach Microbiology and Bio-infomatics to unsuspecting Korean Nationals in a barn just outside Pickering, commencing January 2011. He has promised to make the weekly commute to the play hockey but, given his driving record, poor eyesight and propensity to fall asleep just after supper, the Executive considers his promise to be an empty one.
Pyjama Man also returned to the squad. He had hurt his coccyx and elbow at a bowling tournament in his girlfriend’s basement and had to undergo emergency surgery. He had his whole left side cut off but he is all right now.
Freight Train 444’s brief stint with the Strawbs, although spectacularly modest, did not include this match, having ended with his appearance on November 25. On this evening he was making his way, via Winnibego, to Florida as part of Phase 2 of his never ending sabbatical. He intends to visit every shopping centre along the way. He will soon learn that once you’ve seen one shopping centre, you’ve seen a mall.
Sir Gawdawful reinforced the appropriateness of his moniker by putting a performance which would have made Cheech and Chong look like overachievers. He gamboled across the frozen surface accompanied by self-generated snippets of the Nutcracker and visions of sugar plums fairies dancing in his head. The team has tried him at defence, offence and it would seem that the best place for him might be elsewhere, until he decides to rejoin the real world. Maybe Freight Train could pick him up a nice piece of Loius Vuitton on his way down south.
The Butcher was up to his old tricks and only got caught twice in his attempts to perform various unauthorized swaps of the internal organs of his opposition. In one particularly beautiful case, he managed to move #7’s spleen to #11’s anal sphincter and damn near wrecked him.
Final score: Killer Strawberries 1 spleen, 2 sphincter and 4 goals (scorers forgotten)
Those Guys 1
After the game, Bootsey MagGirl drove the team to the Terminal Tavren and regaled the Strawbs with stories of strange body rashes, morning sickness and absolutely fascinating accounts of her most recent ultrasounds. The boys were so enthralled, they barely had time to needle each other.
4 jugs of swill, 8 pounds of chicken wings and some very colourful descriptions of toilet bowl contents were consumed.
Game Report
November 29, 2010
The Killer Strawberries gave their best imitation of an 80 year old Lothario last evening at Pete Palangio Arenas where they faced a squad of long haired ice skating deer calling themselves Those Guys. It took the Strawbs a very long time to get aroused, but once their interest peaked,they quickly did what they came to do and then proceeded to fall asleep for the rest of the game, sleeping the blissful sleep of a dream fulfilled.
The loquacious Warrin’ Peace returned to the team after a prolonged absence. When asked by the Strawbs’ Attendance Monitor where he had been for the last 3 games he simply uttered the word “uh”, which apparently means “ none of your business” in Ojibway. This was the only excitement he offered on the evening.
The calendar challenged Dr. Thug also returned to the fold and was back to his old self, screaming on the bench every time the Strawbs beat the opposing netminder. He told the team he had missed the last few outings because he had fallen into an upholstery machine and it took him quite a while before he was fully recovered. As well, he delivered some shocking news. Someone somewhere has hired him to teach Microbiology and Bio-infomatics to unsuspecting Korean Nationals in a barn just outside Pickering, commencing January 2011. He has promised to make the weekly commute to the play hockey but, given his driving record, poor eyesight and propensity to fall asleep just after supper, the Executive considers his promise to be an empty one.
Pyjama Man also returned to the squad. He had hurt his coccyx and elbow at a bowling tournament in his girlfriend’s basement and had to undergo emergency surgery. He had his whole left side cut off but he is all right now.
Freight Train 444’s brief stint with the Strawbs, although spectacularly modest, did not include this match, having ended with his appearance on November 25. On this evening he was making his way, via Winnibego, to Florida as part of Phase 2 of his never ending sabbatical. He intends to visit every shopping centre along the way. He will soon learn that once you’ve seen one shopping centre, you’ve seen a mall.
Sir Gawdawful reinforced the appropriateness of his moniker by putting a performance which would have made Cheech and Chong look like overachievers. He gamboled across the frozen surface accompanied by self-generated snippets of the Nutcracker and visions of sugar plums fairies dancing in his head. The team has tried him at defence, offence and it would seem that the best place for him might be elsewhere, until he decides to rejoin the real world. Maybe Freight Train could pick him up a nice piece of Loius Vuitton on his way down south.
The Butcher was up to his old tricks and only got caught twice in his attempts to perform various unauthorized swaps of the internal organs of his opposition. In one particularly beautiful case, he managed to move #7’s spleen to #11’s anal sphincter and damn near wrecked him.
Final score: Killer Strawberries 1 spleen, 2 sphincter and 4 goals (scorers forgotten)
Those Guys 1
After the game, Bootsey MagGirl drove the team to the Terminal Tavren and regaled the Strawbs with stories of strange body rashes, morning sickness and absolutely fascinating accounts of her most recent ultrasounds. The boys were so enthralled, they barely had time to needle each other.
4 jugs of swill, 8 pounds of chicken wings and some very colourful descriptions of toilet bowl contents were consumed.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Dull As Dishwater
Killer Strawberries 11 ALU Warriors Quite A Bit Fewer
Game Report
November 25, 2010
As November 25 dully dragged its way through its final hour of tedium, the Killer Strawberries mercilessly pounded an understaffed ALU team with all the enthusiasm of a bored Emperor at a routine slaughter of Christians and other unfortunates. As a contagion of stifled yawns infected the Strawbs’ bench in waves of unbridled ennui, the seconds langourously erased themselves from the arena clock, in the vain hope of never ever being reset again. The Zamboni driver went home early, leaving well before the game ended and asking that the last person kindly locks the doors on his way out. The pinball machines in the lobby pulled their own plugs from the sockets. The ice started to melt just so that it wouldn’t have to support one more half-hearted effort at aimless propulsion.
Mayor Maynot broke out of his torpor long enough to pot 6 goals so meaningless that the scorekeeper refused to add them to the scoreboard. Sir Gawdawful Gumby was lost in his land of warm milk and cookies, soft blankets and naps as he serenaded himself to sleep with the whisper of his blades against the dying ice. The Marquis DeSave couldn’t be bothered to take a warmup, preferring to remain supine in the dressing room until the last possible moment. During the whole of the match, his catching glove did not rise above his waist, nor did his knees bend in any perceptible fashion: MagBoy could have done better, but just couldn’t bring himself to try.
Newton theorized that every action results in an equal and opposite reaction. In last night’s game, the Laws of Entropy were temporarily suspended for lack of sufficient action to cause a reaction. Even the Laws of the Universe were anesthetized. All in all the game was so dull, that……….zzzzzzzzzzzz.
Game Report
November 25, 2010
As November 25 dully dragged its way through its final hour of tedium, the Killer Strawberries mercilessly pounded an understaffed ALU team with all the enthusiasm of a bored Emperor at a routine slaughter of Christians and other unfortunates. As a contagion of stifled yawns infected the Strawbs’ bench in waves of unbridled ennui, the seconds langourously erased themselves from the arena clock, in the vain hope of never ever being reset again. The Zamboni driver went home early, leaving well before the game ended and asking that the last person kindly locks the doors on his way out. The pinball machines in the lobby pulled their own plugs from the sockets. The ice started to melt just so that it wouldn’t have to support one more half-hearted effort at aimless propulsion.
Mayor Maynot broke out of his torpor long enough to pot 6 goals so meaningless that the scorekeeper refused to add them to the scoreboard. Sir Gawdawful Gumby was lost in his land of warm milk and cookies, soft blankets and naps as he serenaded himself to sleep with the whisper of his blades against the dying ice. The Marquis DeSave couldn’t be bothered to take a warmup, preferring to remain supine in the dressing room until the last possible moment. During the whole of the match, his catching glove did not rise above his waist, nor did his knees bend in any perceptible fashion: MagBoy could have done better, but just couldn’t bring himself to try.
Newton theorized that every action results in an equal and opposite reaction. In last night’s game, the Laws of Entropy were temporarily suspended for lack of sufficient action to cause a reaction. Even the Laws of the Universe were anesthetized. All in all the game was so dull, that……….zzzzzzzzzzzz.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Shorthanded
Killer Strawberries 3 Turbo Beavers 1
Game report
November 22, 2010
With Dr. Phelonius Thug incapacitated by a terrible, terrible case of the sniffles, with Warrin’ Peace grounded for not properly vacuuming his man cave, and with Pyjama Man unable to play because of some sudden syphilitic recrudescence, the Killer Strawberries still managed to defeat a determined Turbo Beaver squad by a score of 3-1.
Once again, Freight Train 444, still recuperating from his latest grueling 10 week vacation, joined the team, and, despite the extra 34 pounds of winter insulation stretching the skin of his midriff to the point of bursting, played a fine game on defence. He was called upon frequently to cover up the aggressive play of his D mates, the Packer-besotted Shiny Shone Brightly, the penalty-addicted Butcher and the senescent Vice.
Up front, the forwards almost achieved hockey respectability, except for Slickery Mac, who, while the Butcher rested his sorry ass in the Sin Bib, scored 2 shorthanded markers in a span of 57.232 seconds (approx.). Of course, the Butcher attributed it all to the motivation he gifted to the team by selflessly taking a penalty with the score 1-0 in the opposition’s favour.
Mr. Mayor Maynot, who ,without consulting the Monicker Committee , changed his nickname to Yo-Yo, completed the scoring late in the last period, the recipient of a brilliant 2 on 1 saucer pass from the IMW, a saucer pass so sublime in its execution that a small bronze statue will be erected in the arena lobby next week in the wily veteran’s honour. “ I really don’t need another statue” commented the humble team leader. “I wish the erections would stop.”
In goal, the Marquis DeSave put in another stellar outing. On one occasion, the Vice delivered a perfect no-look pass onto the waiting stick of a streaking opponent. The Marquis coolly followed the 405 attempted feints and dekes, and finally stopped the clearly frustrated attacker by jamming his pad neatly against the far post….just another great play in a typical Strawbs’ victory.
After the game, the New Terminal Tavren was invaded by the victors. Good plays were recounted in terms which made the originals seem ordinary and glaring mistakes were sloughed off as bad luck. Backs were slapped and the tight-jeaned torsos of the service staff were admired.
5 Keiths, 7 Steamwhisltles, 4 Buds, 13 pounds of chicken wings and some stories of glorious shorthanded goals past were consumed.
Game report
November 22, 2010
With Dr. Phelonius Thug incapacitated by a terrible, terrible case of the sniffles, with Warrin’ Peace grounded for not properly vacuuming his man cave, and with Pyjama Man unable to play because of some sudden syphilitic recrudescence, the Killer Strawberries still managed to defeat a determined Turbo Beaver squad by a score of 3-1.
Once again, Freight Train 444, still recuperating from his latest grueling 10 week vacation, joined the team, and, despite the extra 34 pounds of winter insulation stretching the skin of his midriff to the point of bursting, played a fine game on defence. He was called upon frequently to cover up the aggressive play of his D mates, the Packer-besotted Shiny Shone Brightly, the penalty-addicted Butcher and the senescent Vice.
Up front, the forwards almost achieved hockey respectability, except for Slickery Mac, who, while the Butcher rested his sorry ass in the Sin Bib, scored 2 shorthanded markers in a span of 57.232 seconds (approx.). Of course, the Butcher attributed it all to the motivation he gifted to the team by selflessly taking a penalty with the score 1-0 in the opposition’s favour.
Mr. Mayor Maynot, who ,without consulting the Monicker Committee , changed his nickname to Yo-Yo, completed the scoring late in the last period, the recipient of a brilliant 2 on 1 saucer pass from the IMW, a saucer pass so sublime in its execution that a small bronze statue will be erected in the arena lobby next week in the wily veteran’s honour. “ I really don’t need another statue” commented the humble team leader. “I wish the erections would stop.”
In goal, the Marquis DeSave put in another stellar outing. On one occasion, the Vice delivered a perfect no-look pass onto the waiting stick of a streaking opponent. The Marquis coolly followed the 405 attempted feints and dekes, and finally stopped the clearly frustrated attacker by jamming his pad neatly against the far post….just another great play in a typical Strawbs’ victory.
After the game, the New Terminal Tavren was invaded by the victors. Good plays were recounted in terms which made the originals seem ordinary and glaring mistakes were sloughed off as bad luck. Backs were slapped and the tight-jeaned torsos of the service staff were admired.
5 Keiths, 7 Steamwhisltles, 4 Buds, 13 pounds of chicken wings and some stories of glorious shorthanded goals past were consumed.
Monday, November 22, 2010
While The Cats Were Away
While The Cat Was Away
Killer Strawberries 1 Those Guys 40
Game report
November 18, 2010
On Thursday last, the Executive had to make an unexpected trip to the Moon Cafe at the Playboy Mansion in Los Angeles to receive, along with Valdy, several important humanitarian awards from Hugh and his bevy of beautiful babelicious babes. The party lasted for 4 days and the Executive returned to North Bay exhausted but happy. Happy until they learned that in their absence, the Strawbs were utterly hopeless in the game against Those Guys on the very night they were being feted. Despite being bolstered by the return of Gawdawful Gumby, who had been vacationing high in the Rockies and by Freight Train 444, who had just completed his 3rd circumnavigation of the world in this last year alone, the squad stunk. The goalie stunk. The defence stunk and the forwards stunk. The fans also stunk. Even their stinkiness stunk.
Why is it that when the leadership is away, the team takes a vacation to Stinkidom? Just asking.
Nothing was consumed but odiferous olfaction.
Killer Strawberries 1 Those Guys 40
Game report
November 18, 2010
On Thursday last, the Executive had to make an unexpected trip to the Moon Cafe at the Playboy Mansion in Los Angeles to receive, along with Valdy, several important humanitarian awards from Hugh and his bevy of beautiful babelicious babes. The party lasted for 4 days and the Executive returned to North Bay exhausted but happy. Happy until they learned that in their absence, the Strawbs were utterly hopeless in the game against Those Guys on the very night they were being feted. Despite being bolstered by the return of Gawdawful Gumby, who had been vacationing high in the Rockies and by Freight Train 444, who had just completed his 3rd circumnavigation of the world in this last year alone, the squad stunk. The goalie stunk. The defence stunk and the forwards stunk. The fans also stunk. Even their stinkiness stunk.
Why is it that when the leadership is away, the team takes a vacation to Stinkidom? Just asking.
Nothing was consumed but odiferous olfaction.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
The Killer Strawberries Do Valdy
The Ice Marshal and The Vice entertain Valdy at the Aloha Baby Compound Moon Cafe.Friday, November 12, 2010
Spanked
Game Report
November 11, 2010
CCCP 8 Killer Strawberries 2
The Strawbs knew before the game that they would get spanked by CCCP, most of whose players toil for the Canadore Varsity team. Sometimes, you need a good spanking, although not quite as often MagBoy likes one.
The CCCP players are young, swift, talented and mild mannered…oh, yeah, did I mention young? Nevertheless, the Strawbs held in for the first period, with the score 2-1 in favour of the speedsters. The poor Marquis DeSave must have felt like a burger at a Rottweiler convention, what with the relentless biting attacks upon him. Eventually, the assaults took their toll and CCCP put a further 6 markers behind him before the final buzzed was mercifully buzzed. Shiny thought that one period would have been enough for us to mount a comeback..but realistically I don’t think any of the Strawbs could have mounted anything, let alone a comeback.
At the other end of the ice, the Strawbs produced quite a few excellent scoring opportunities, with Pyjama Man and the Ice Marshal assuring the team was not shutout. TheIMW l played like Teeter Kennedy, or rather, played like Teeter Kennedy would have played had he been alive today at the ripe old age of 105. To say that his skills have deteriorated would be like saying Mama Cass has put on a little weight…. a small understatement.
It did not help the team’s cause that Warrin’ Peace, Pyjama Man and the recently lauded Butcher showed up late for the game. Warrin’ had an excuse…he can’t tell time. Pyjama Man had to tuck in his daughters (and girlfriend, the lovely Loans Jones) before screeching to the rink. But the Butcher? His excuse: impaired cognitive judgment caused for overheated brain circuits. Mind you, that’s his normal state. He should have stayed home and flossed. Observant readers will recall that His Bropheyness was recently demoted to Buttface and returned from the ordeal on Monday last. His Monday performance was publicly lauded. Seems he doesn’t do too well when praised. Well, he won’t be praised again, the puerile wad of tardy Sheitzhiemerwurst.
Despite the beating, the Strawbs were jovial after the match and several of them (and the lovely Loans Jones) met up for some post game imbibing at the New Terminal Tavren, home of Fat Boy chicken wings, named after an unnamed Strawb who is less than lean and wears #3.
2 jugs of Keith’s Dark (yuk!), 2 jugs of Stella, 2 Bud Light, 2.5 hubs of chicken wings and some bawdy tales of memorable spankings were consumed.
November 11, 2010
CCCP 8 Killer Strawberries 2
The Strawbs knew before the game that they would get spanked by CCCP, most of whose players toil for the Canadore Varsity team. Sometimes, you need a good spanking, although not quite as often MagBoy likes one.
The CCCP players are young, swift, talented and mild mannered…oh, yeah, did I mention young? Nevertheless, the Strawbs held in for the first period, with the score 2-1 in favour of the speedsters. The poor Marquis DeSave must have felt like a burger at a Rottweiler convention, what with the relentless biting attacks upon him. Eventually, the assaults took their toll and CCCP put a further 6 markers behind him before the final buzzed was mercifully buzzed. Shiny thought that one period would have been enough for us to mount a comeback..but realistically I don’t think any of the Strawbs could have mounted anything, let alone a comeback.
At the other end of the ice, the Strawbs produced quite a few excellent scoring opportunities, with Pyjama Man and the Ice Marshal assuring the team was not shutout. TheIMW l played like Teeter Kennedy, or rather, played like Teeter Kennedy would have played had he been alive today at the ripe old age of 105. To say that his skills have deteriorated would be like saying Mama Cass has put on a little weight…. a small understatement.
It did not help the team’s cause that Warrin’ Peace, Pyjama Man and the recently lauded Butcher showed up late for the game. Warrin’ had an excuse…he can’t tell time. Pyjama Man had to tuck in his daughters (and girlfriend, the lovely Loans Jones) before screeching to the rink. But the Butcher? His excuse: impaired cognitive judgment caused for overheated brain circuits. Mind you, that’s his normal state. He should have stayed home and flossed. Observant readers will recall that His Bropheyness was recently demoted to Buttface and returned from the ordeal on Monday last. His Monday performance was publicly lauded. Seems he doesn’t do too well when praised. Well, he won’t be praised again, the puerile wad of tardy Sheitzhiemerwurst.
Despite the beating, the Strawbs were jovial after the match and several of them (and the lovely Loans Jones) met up for some post game imbibing at the New Terminal Tavren, home of Fat Boy chicken wings, named after an unnamed Strawb who is less than lean and wears #3.
2 jugs of Keith’s Dark (yuk!), 2 jugs of Stella, 2 Bud Light, 2.5 hubs of chicken wings and some bawdy tales of memorable spankings were consumed.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
Triumphant Return
Game Report
November 8, 2010
Strawbs 8 Longshafts 5
Sometimes as a Killer Strawberry all you’ve got left is handsome. And sometimes that handsome is simply not enough. Just ask the Butcher who spent the past weekend laundering other mens’ intimates. Perhaps it was a little harsh of the Executive to send him to Alaska for rehabilitation. Fortunately, the Executive, while cruel when necessary, is always fair. And the Butcher certainly benefited from the cruel/fair treatment recently meted out to him.
In last night’s tussle with the very speedy Longshafts, the good Doctor was on top of his game. He performed a series of unforgettable, fully legal muggings on every corner of the ice. He was ornery. He was belligerent. He was motivated. He was so sneaky and effective that, by game’s end, he had an amazing secret collection of Longshaft organs tucked away inside his equipment, organs the Longshafters did not even know they were missing. Welcome back Butcher…we missed ya.
The match started out well for the opposition. By the end of the first period they were ahead 2-0. It took a full team defence to keep the score so low. Special kudos to the D and to the Marquis, all of whom struggled valiantly to keep the rubber outside the cage. Despite the slim margin, the Longshafts were so confident they were about to crush the Strawbs that they kept hooting constantly, and when they did score, their celebratory rituals were overdone, bordering on taunts.
Alas, their ejaculations were premature. Dr. Thug quickly popped in 2 goals early in the second period, lovely markers he continued to describe in terms which became more unbelievable which each quaff of Guinness at the post game soiree. The Stawbs then took a 3-2 lead, as Slickery, Warrin’ Peace and Mayor Maynot combined to shove a stiletto up the Longshafts’ (insert missing body part here)…… From then on, the game seesawed back and forth, as Slickery exacted revenge on his opposition on four more occasions, for an incredible total of 5 goals in the game. Pyjama man added the coup de grace with 16 seconds left. Final score Strawbs 8 Longshafts 5.
In the dressing room at the end of the game, the Butcher was officially welcomed back with a gift of Gentleman Jack, a fine Tennessee Bourbon presented to him in a makeshift suitcase on the occasion of his 56th birthday. Although no gentleman on the ice this glorious evening, the Butcher’s sharing of the loot was a welcome magnanimous gesture.
After the match, most Strawbs slogged home exhausted. The others, thumbing their noses at the lateness of the hour, reassembled at the New Terminal Tavren to celebrate a well earned victory and to toast the return of the dirtiest SOB in the league.
2 Grasshoppers, 3 Guinness, 3 Keiths, 2 pounds of chicken wings and the warm inner glow of some illegally ingested Gentleman Jack were consumed.
November 8, 2010
Strawbs 8 Longshafts 5
Sometimes as a Killer Strawberry all you’ve got left is handsome. And sometimes that handsome is simply not enough. Just ask the Butcher who spent the past weekend laundering other mens’ intimates. Perhaps it was a little harsh of the Executive to send him to Alaska for rehabilitation. Fortunately, the Executive, while cruel when necessary, is always fair. And the Butcher certainly benefited from the cruel/fair treatment recently meted out to him.
In last night’s tussle with the very speedy Longshafts, the good Doctor was on top of his game. He performed a series of unforgettable, fully legal muggings on every corner of the ice. He was ornery. He was belligerent. He was motivated. He was so sneaky and effective that, by game’s end, he had an amazing secret collection of Longshaft organs tucked away inside his equipment, organs the Longshafters did not even know they were missing. Welcome back Butcher…we missed ya.
The match started out well for the opposition. By the end of the first period they were ahead 2-0. It took a full team defence to keep the score so low. Special kudos to the D and to the Marquis, all of whom struggled valiantly to keep the rubber outside the cage. Despite the slim margin, the Longshafts were so confident they were about to crush the Strawbs that they kept hooting constantly, and when they did score, their celebratory rituals were overdone, bordering on taunts.
Alas, their ejaculations were premature. Dr. Thug quickly popped in 2 goals early in the second period, lovely markers he continued to describe in terms which became more unbelievable which each quaff of Guinness at the post game soiree. The Stawbs then took a 3-2 lead, as Slickery, Warrin’ Peace and Mayor Maynot combined to shove a stiletto up the Longshafts’ (insert missing body part here)…… From then on, the game seesawed back and forth, as Slickery exacted revenge on his opposition on four more occasions, for an incredible total of 5 goals in the game. Pyjama man added the coup de grace with 16 seconds left. Final score Strawbs 8 Longshafts 5.
In the dressing room at the end of the game, the Butcher was officially welcomed back with a gift of Gentleman Jack, a fine Tennessee Bourbon presented to him in a makeshift suitcase on the occasion of his 56th birthday. Although no gentleman on the ice this glorious evening, the Butcher’s sharing of the loot was a welcome magnanimous gesture.
After the match, most Strawbs slogged home exhausted. The others, thumbing their noses at the lateness of the hour, reassembled at the New Terminal Tavren to celebrate a well earned victory and to toast the return of the dirtiest SOB in the league.
2 Grasshoppers, 3 Guinness, 3 Keiths, 2 pounds of chicken wings and the warm inner glow of some illegally ingested Gentleman Jack were consumed.
Monday, November 08, 2010
Get A Grip
Butcher Bombs Badly. Buttface Beckons
Killer Strawberries 7 Free Agents 2
Game Report
November 4, 2010
It was something the Executive had been worried about for more than a year. As aficionados of all Things Killer Strawberry know, Dr. Butcher Brophey took a sabbatical from his beloved team in 2009-2010, in order to spread to the world his vast knowledge of the topic “Innovating Innovationary Innovation Techniques Innovatively: An Innovator’s Perspective” . His educational victims included some of the unwashed masses of Europe and a few fascinated Bedouins seeking to expand their markets for camel dung.
The good Doctor lectured to great acclaim at The Milan Academy of Blind Donkey Raisers, held open air brainstorming session with the self-flagellating Sisters of Perpetual Suffering and Bleeding in Padua, and, in an unprecedented audience with the Pope, instructed His Most Holy Bigness on the idea of using Catholic confession as a source of Church revenue. He even met up in Giza with his buddy, the also-sabbaticalled Freight Train 444, who, together, turned 3 of the pyramids into to thriving Tim Horton’s Falafel franchises.
But let’s get back to the worrisome part. For any true hockey player, a year spent away from the frozen pond is an awful lot like diving naked into a humming beehive. It’s eventually gonna hurt a lot and for a long time afterward. For a player of the Butcher’s caliber and mental capacity, the result was sure to be especially bad. Turns out the Executive had much to fear.
At the start of the season, the Butcher was eased back into the lineup by placing him on the wing opposite the Ice Marshal. It was much like Edmonton’s experiment of placing the stone-handed Dave Semenko on a line with Gretzky… a gift really. But noooooooo!. The move was a disaster. Brophey was not only underwhelming, he was below sub-underwhelming. His performance, combined with a sullenness so infantile that his sulky lower lip had to be popped with a safety pin, forced the Executive to retreat from its strategy of slow integration and to put the said sulky sulker back among the blueline pigeons for game 2 of the season.
In his defence, it must be noted that the Butcher was less awful at his old position than anticipated. For the next couple of matches, he struggled mightily to bring his game up to its previous level of mediocrity. Unfortunately, hecould not even hurdle that low bar.
In last night’s game, a fresh nadir of Bropheyesque ineptitude was reached. While his teammates performed magnificently in the 7-2 victory over the Turbo squad, the Butcher was abysmal. The breaking point was reached when, in the early moments of the final period, he carelessly tossed a fat, lazy, ill-timed pass right up the middle onto the surprised stick of Turbo’s best player. As the Strawbs’ bench gasped in disbelief, that best player moved in alone on the Marquis, mesmerized him with dazzling feats of legerdemain and casually popped the biscuit into the net.
Mercifully, the game came to an end, and, after the customary shaking of hands, the Killer Strawberries retired to their dressing room for the first round of ribbing and witty repartee. None of the gentlemen on the team mentioned the gaffe for what seemed to be an eternity. The elephant in the room remained unacknowledged until the moment a meek Butcher asked “Ice Marshal, I feel really bad about tonight. What do you recommend?” “A suitcase oughta come in handy” he tersely volunteered.
For the upcoming weekend, Dr. Bonehead Butcher Brophey will be hand laundering jock straps for the Strawbs’ farm team, the Nasty Cupcakes, as well as getting some valuable ice time with farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottom Feeders, a team so awful, that Miss White Go Go Boots, whose concept of morality defies imitation, still refuses to entertain any member of that sorry organization.
Post game, most of the boys and Cuddles McMillan resurfaced at the New Terminal Tavren to quaff some wet stuff and to wish the Butcher well on his short rehabilitation stint.
A free 120 ounce pitcher of Bud, 2 not-so-free Grasshoppers, 10 Steamwhisltles, 3 Keiths Dark, 4 Bud Light, 1 Stella , 17 pounds of chicken wings a little Louis Vuitton Whine were consumed.
Killer Strawberries 7 Free Agents 2
Game Report
November 4, 2010
It was something the Executive had been worried about for more than a year. As aficionados of all Things Killer Strawberry know, Dr. Butcher Brophey took a sabbatical from his beloved team in 2009-2010, in order to spread to the world his vast knowledge of the topic “Innovating Innovationary Innovation Techniques Innovatively: An Innovator’s Perspective” . His educational victims included some of the unwashed masses of Europe and a few fascinated Bedouins seeking to expand their markets for camel dung.
The good Doctor lectured to great acclaim at The Milan Academy of Blind Donkey Raisers, held open air brainstorming session with the self-flagellating Sisters of Perpetual Suffering and Bleeding in Padua, and, in an unprecedented audience with the Pope, instructed His Most Holy Bigness on the idea of using Catholic confession as a source of Church revenue. He even met up in Giza with his buddy, the also-sabbaticalled Freight Train 444, who, together, turned 3 of the pyramids into to thriving Tim Horton’s Falafel franchises.
But let’s get back to the worrisome part. For any true hockey player, a year spent away from the frozen pond is an awful lot like diving naked into a humming beehive. It’s eventually gonna hurt a lot and for a long time afterward. For a player of the Butcher’s caliber and mental capacity, the result was sure to be especially bad. Turns out the Executive had much to fear.
At the start of the season, the Butcher was eased back into the lineup by placing him on the wing opposite the Ice Marshal. It was much like Edmonton’s experiment of placing the stone-handed Dave Semenko on a line with Gretzky… a gift really. But noooooooo!. The move was a disaster. Brophey was not only underwhelming, he was below sub-underwhelming. His performance, combined with a sullenness so infantile that his sulky lower lip had to be popped with a safety pin, forced the Executive to retreat from its strategy of slow integration and to put the said sulky sulker back among the blueline pigeons for game 2 of the season.
In his defence, it must be noted that the Butcher was less awful at his old position than anticipated. For the next couple of matches, he struggled mightily to bring his game up to its previous level of mediocrity. Unfortunately, hecould not even hurdle that low bar.
In last night’s game, a fresh nadir of Bropheyesque ineptitude was reached. While his teammates performed magnificently in the 7-2 victory over the Turbo squad, the Butcher was abysmal. The breaking point was reached when, in the early moments of the final period, he carelessly tossed a fat, lazy, ill-timed pass right up the middle onto the surprised stick of Turbo’s best player. As the Strawbs’ bench gasped in disbelief, that best player moved in alone on the Marquis, mesmerized him with dazzling feats of legerdemain and casually popped the biscuit into the net.
Mercifully, the game came to an end, and, after the customary shaking of hands, the Killer Strawberries retired to their dressing room for the first round of ribbing and witty repartee. None of the gentlemen on the team mentioned the gaffe for what seemed to be an eternity. The elephant in the room remained unacknowledged until the moment a meek Butcher asked “Ice Marshal, I feel really bad about tonight. What do you recommend?” “A suitcase oughta come in handy” he tersely volunteered.
For the upcoming weekend, Dr. Bonehead Butcher Brophey will be hand laundering jock straps for the Strawbs’ farm team, the Nasty Cupcakes, as well as getting some valuable ice time with farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottom Feeders, a team so awful, that Miss White Go Go Boots, whose concept of morality defies imitation, still refuses to entertain any member of that sorry organization.
Post game, most of the boys and Cuddles McMillan resurfaced at the New Terminal Tavren to quaff some wet stuff and to wish the Butcher well on his short rehabilitation stint.
A free 120 ounce pitcher of Bud, 2 not-so-free Grasshoppers, 10 Steamwhisltles, 3 Keiths Dark, 4 Bud Light, 1 Stella , 17 pounds of chicken wings a little Louis Vuitton Whine were consumed.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Turbo Powered Tailspin
Strawbs 7 Turbo Powered 2
Game report
November 1, 2010
If one were to somehow quantify the remarkableness of a single dog fart as it contributed to the overall air quality at a canine chilifest, then divided that number by the number of times Sir Gumby has been on time for any outing, ever, you would exceed the remarkableness of last night’s game by a factor of 7 factorial plus 5 to the power of a googleplex.
Not only did nothing happen in the first matchup since last year’s final game between the Strawbs and their erstwhile arch-enemies the Turbo Powered Sphincters (known then as the Aviation Aholes), nothing happened anywhere else in the universe for the 2 days following. The game was a black hole of black holes.
Perhaps, the above description is a little hyperbolic. The Marquis DeSave did put his face in front of some rubber. The Butcher was less of a threat on defence than he would have been on offence. Pyjama Man did utter a couple of vituperative epithets at the bozo who butt-ended him on a faceoff. Archilles Perron continued to patrol the blueline with all the enthusiasm of Lindsay Lohan at an AA reunion. Shiny may have scored a goal or perhaps thought he had. The IMW should have continued his pre-game nap elsewhere. The Vice skated like a 90 year old over-concussed Dr. Thug on Prozak spritzers. Slickery was absent by his very presence. Mayor Maynot, the team’s newest rookie and Astroglide provisioner, was so underwhelming that the referees asked that his name be removed from the scoresheet at game’s end.
The one bright moment (assuming we round up the moment to the nearest scintilla of brightness) came a the end of the match, when MagBoy, in full Guy Lafleur-like flight, descended alone upon the opposing goaltender intent on ramming the puck through the poor fellow with all the momentum he could muster at his top speed of 13 knots per hour. As he was readying to unleash his shot/bodycheck, a stick was thrown from the stands by his mistress, the unalloyed MagGirl. A penalty shot was called. MagBoy doffed his helmet, adjusted his boys, slicked back his hair and once more attacked the Turbo’s goaler. CRRRRACK! The puck found its way to the back of the net and thus was MagBoy assured some physical comfort later in the evening.
Post game, the lads headed off to their new watering hole, the New terminal Tavren, with a very excited MagGirl in tow. Black holes and tailspins of both varieties were discussed, created, admired and imagined.
Cheap beer (totaling more than 36 litres), several gross of chicken wings and a cup of aphrodisiacal cocoa (for MagGirl) were consumed.
Game report
November 1, 2010
If one were to somehow quantify the remarkableness of a single dog fart as it contributed to the overall air quality at a canine chilifest, then divided that number by the number of times Sir Gumby has been on time for any outing, ever, you would exceed the remarkableness of last night’s game by a factor of 7 factorial plus 5 to the power of a googleplex.
Not only did nothing happen in the first matchup since last year’s final game between the Strawbs and their erstwhile arch-enemies the Turbo Powered Sphincters (known then as the Aviation Aholes), nothing happened anywhere else in the universe for the 2 days following. The game was a black hole of black holes.
Perhaps, the above description is a little hyperbolic. The Marquis DeSave did put his face in front of some rubber. The Butcher was less of a threat on defence than he would have been on offence. Pyjama Man did utter a couple of vituperative epithets at the bozo who butt-ended him on a faceoff. Archilles Perron continued to patrol the blueline with all the enthusiasm of Lindsay Lohan at an AA reunion. Shiny may have scored a goal or perhaps thought he had. The IMW should have continued his pre-game nap elsewhere. The Vice skated like a 90 year old over-concussed Dr. Thug on Prozak spritzers. Slickery was absent by his very presence. Mayor Maynot, the team’s newest rookie and Astroglide provisioner, was so underwhelming that the referees asked that his name be removed from the scoresheet at game’s end.
The one bright moment (assuming we round up the moment to the nearest scintilla of brightness) came a the end of the match, when MagBoy, in full Guy Lafleur-like flight, descended alone upon the opposing goaltender intent on ramming the puck through the poor fellow with all the momentum he could muster at his top speed of 13 knots per hour. As he was readying to unleash his shot/bodycheck, a stick was thrown from the stands by his mistress, the unalloyed MagGirl. A penalty shot was called. MagBoy doffed his helmet, adjusted his boys, slicked back his hair and once more attacked the Turbo’s goaler. CRRRRACK! The puck found its way to the back of the net and thus was MagBoy assured some physical comfort later in the evening.
Post game, the lads headed off to their new watering hole, the New terminal Tavren, with a very excited MagGirl in tow. Black holes and tailspins of both varieties were discussed, created, admired and imagined.
Cheap beer (totaling more than 36 litres), several gross of chicken wings and a cup of aphrodisiacal cocoa (for MagGirl) were consumed.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Strawbs Go A Little Rough on Beavers
Killer Strawberries 5 Turbo Beavers 1
Game Report
October 28, 2010
For the first time this year, the Killer Strawberries iced a full complement plus Gumby as it faced a squad of meatheads, otherwise known as the Turbo Beavers. They were more like Turbo Cleavers, given these dolts’ propensity for spearing, butt-ending and cross checking. Somehow they managed to have only 2 of their players ejected for being egregious monuments to fatuity.
The Strawbs started off slowly . For significant moments early on, they were handcuffed in their own zone and had to rely on the stellar play of the Marquis DeSave, who had to handle more rubber than a Bourbon Street hooker on the first night of Mardi Gras. Normally, a Strawb would welcome a little light handcuffing but things are different at the rink. Somehow the Strawbs shook off the shackles of ineptitude and finished period one strongly.
The first period ended in a 1-1 draw. It was in the second that the team awoke. Led by a rejuvenated Shiny Shone Brightly, the squad quickly began to light up the board and did not look back. Well, almost all did not look back. There was Sir Gawdawful Gumby living down to his moniker. Apparently, a short shift for him consists in floating inside the opponents’ blueline, no matter the location of the puck anywhere on the ice surface, and waiting for 2 and one half minutes to elapse before sauntering back to his bench for a well earned earful. Apparently his sustained fit of pique at being commandeered into an offensive role has got management talking about returning him to his preferred perch on defence….or to Buttface, Alaska, home of the team’s farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottom Feeders.
The final score was 5 to 1 Strawbs. They now get to play the Turbo Beavers’ dumber cousins, the Turbo Powered Aholes next Monday. Lovely.
Post game, the squad shuttled off to the Loose Moose, a local watering hole named after one of the current Strawb’s former girlfriends. It will become the New Terminal Tavren, the team having abandoned the old Terminal Tavren, whose new ownership refuses to subsidize any of the Strawbs’ multifarious vices. So long and thanks for all the fish (and nips).
2 Stella, 2 Guinness, 2 Keith’s Dark, 5 Kokanee, 3 Blue Light, one pound of chicken wings and the sweet taste of re-subsidization were consumed.
Game Report
October 28, 2010
For the first time this year, the Killer Strawberries iced a full complement plus Gumby as it faced a squad of meatheads, otherwise known as the Turbo Beavers. They were more like Turbo Cleavers, given these dolts’ propensity for spearing, butt-ending and cross checking. Somehow they managed to have only 2 of their players ejected for being egregious monuments to fatuity.
The Strawbs started off slowly . For significant moments early on, they were handcuffed in their own zone and had to rely on the stellar play of the Marquis DeSave, who had to handle more rubber than a Bourbon Street hooker on the first night of Mardi Gras. Normally, a Strawb would welcome a little light handcuffing but things are different at the rink. Somehow the Strawbs shook off the shackles of ineptitude and finished period one strongly.
The first period ended in a 1-1 draw. It was in the second that the team awoke. Led by a rejuvenated Shiny Shone Brightly, the squad quickly began to light up the board and did not look back. Well, almost all did not look back. There was Sir Gawdawful Gumby living down to his moniker. Apparently, a short shift for him consists in floating inside the opponents’ blueline, no matter the location of the puck anywhere on the ice surface, and waiting for 2 and one half minutes to elapse before sauntering back to his bench for a well earned earful. Apparently his sustained fit of pique at being commandeered into an offensive role has got management talking about returning him to his preferred perch on defence….or to Buttface, Alaska, home of the team’s farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottom Feeders.
The final score was 5 to 1 Strawbs. They now get to play the Turbo Beavers’ dumber cousins, the Turbo Powered Aholes next Monday. Lovely.
Post game, the squad shuttled off to the Loose Moose, a local watering hole named after one of the current Strawb’s former girlfriends. It will become the New Terminal Tavren, the team having abandoned the old Terminal Tavren, whose new ownership refuses to subsidize any of the Strawbs’ multifarious vices. So long and thanks for all the fish (and nips).
2 Stella, 2 Guinness, 2 Keith’s Dark, 5 Kokanee, 3 Blue Light, one pound of chicken wings and the sweet taste of re-subsidization were consumed.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Almost Undefeated Again
Game Report
Killer Strawberries 2 Sunnyvale Chargers 3
October 25, 2010
It didn’t take long the Strawbs to toss off the unbearable weight of an undefeated season. Last night, they calmly surrendered a small victory to an excellent Charger squad but not without a fight.
The Marquis DeSave was once more superb between the pipes as he repeatedly erased the potential damaging effects of poor defensive zone play by both the forwards and the somnabulent D.
The offence, in the absence of Slickery Mac who was having his nails done by a temptress of dubious morals, roared back from a 2 goal deficit to tie the game. But like a drunken teenager at his first orgy, there was nothing left in the tank by the end of the outing. Final score: 3-2 for the bad guys.
On a positive note, the Strawbs inked a two way contract with a new player whose age, when added the the pool of all Strawbs’ages, drops the average lifespan of the team by 2.4 years. The new player, who will be monikered at a later date, got off to a rocky start by entering the dressing room before the game and brazenly attempting to sit in the hallowed space between the Vice and the IMW. For a scintilla juris, he basked in the glow of sweet senescence before being rudely relegated to a more appropriate perch near the toilet. Another such faux pas is not expected soon.
After the game, the hardier Killer Strawberries (those with a drinking problem), shuttled off the Terminal Tavren in search of cheap libation. The new owner was not present to dispense with any largesse and, consequently, the attendees were forced to pay full price for their watery sustenance. A new, more cash friendly establishment is being sought with great urgency.
The bitter dregs of a long-time drinking relationship gone sour were consumed with melancholy.
Killer Strawberries 2 Sunnyvale Chargers 3
October 25, 2010
It didn’t take long the Strawbs to toss off the unbearable weight of an undefeated season. Last night, they calmly surrendered a small victory to an excellent Charger squad but not without a fight.
The Marquis DeSave was once more superb between the pipes as he repeatedly erased the potential damaging effects of poor defensive zone play by both the forwards and the somnabulent D.
The offence, in the absence of Slickery Mac who was having his nails done by a temptress of dubious morals, roared back from a 2 goal deficit to tie the game. But like a drunken teenager at his first orgy, there was nothing left in the tank by the end of the outing. Final score: 3-2 for the bad guys.
On a positive note, the Strawbs inked a two way contract with a new player whose age, when added the the pool of all Strawbs’ages, drops the average lifespan of the team by 2.4 years. The new player, who will be monikered at a later date, got off to a rocky start by entering the dressing room before the game and brazenly attempting to sit in the hallowed space between the Vice and the IMW. For a scintilla juris, he basked in the glow of sweet senescence before being rudely relegated to a more appropriate perch near the toilet. Another such faux pas is not expected soon.
After the game, the hardier Killer Strawberries (those with a drinking problem), shuttled off the Terminal Tavren in search of cheap libation. The new owner was not present to dispense with any largesse and, consequently, the attendees were forced to pay full price for their watery sustenance. A new, more cash friendly establishment is being sought with great urgency.
The bitter dregs of a long-time drinking relationship gone sour were consumed with melancholy.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Same As it Ever Was
Game Report
October 21, 2010
Killer Strawberries 6 Shortshafts 5
It has been an ironclad rule of the Killer Strawberries’ recruiting braintrust that championships are won from the goal crease out. Over the years, the Strawbs have managed to trick quite a few puck stoppers into being their last line of defence…some might say their only line of defence. Fans will surely remember the exploits of many of them: Dangerous Dan who turned his goalie stick into a baseball bat; Screaming Roy Cocksbreath who loved to whack across the calves any D stupid enough to befoul his crease; 6P Popp, a narcissistic man who watched himself make saves by following his reflection in the glass surrounding the ice surface; Jesse The Leak, an accounting student with many goaltending debits to his credit and Monsieur Le Plug, who managed to finish a championship season while sporting a whopping GPA of .07.
Last night, the Strawbs introduced to their adoring fanbase their 2010-2011 coup de recruitment, the Mark E. DeSave, whose idea of outrage is to utter the word s“Friggin’ Fishbits” under his breath. To distinguish himself from all the other goalies in the league, Mister DeSave has painted his pads a shocking shade of yellow bordering on offensive. Nonetheless, he was stellar between the pipes last night, turning aside the 423 shots peppered at him by a clearly frustrated opposition. He has been asked to continue his tryout with the team this upcoming Monday. A final decision on his Strawberry fate will be forthcoming from the Aloha Baby Compound headquarters immediately following the next game.
The braintrust also tinkered with the non-goalie portion of its roster. Archilles Perron, fresh from a debauched romp in Sin City with the sabbaticalizing Freight Train Laronde, was moved to defence. At least this part of the tinkering worked. To make room for Archilles, Dr. Butcher Brophey, who hopes this year to be elevated to Meat Surgeon Brophey, was placed on a forward juggernaut with the returning Slickery Mac and the handsome yet humble Ice Marshal Walpole. One more performance of this ilk by the Butcher and he will be a monikered Meathead. So ineffective was he on both sides of the centre line and on both sides of the ice that his enamoratta, the infamous Miss White Go Go Boots, surrendered her affections for the evening to a 14 year old be-zitted Zamboni driver rather than be seen canoodling with a limp wristed Lothario.
With the game tied at 5-5, (thanks to some dandy markers by Slickery (2), Pyjama Man (1) and somebody else (1), and a seeing eye knuckleball by the Alzheimeresque Dr. Thug) four Strawbs decided to abandon their defensive zone to 5 Shortshafts and one Vice Ice. (make that 6 shortshafts). Somehow the Vice managed to whiff the puck out of the zone and have it land, gift-like, at the feet of four Strawberries lying patiently in wait on the opposition’s blueline. Into the Shortshaft zone they creeped, manhandling the puck like it was a leaky bag of necrotic pus. Slickery spotted Shiny alone in front of the net and slid him the puck deftly. With 6.3 seconds remaining, Shiny coolly deposited the biscuit into the biscuit jar. Strawbs 6 Shortshafts 5.
Now normally with 6.3 seconds remaining, victory is but a small effort away. And that’s just what Slickery, the Vice, Shiny, Warrin’ Peace and the Butcher put in as they let 2 Shortshafts steal the faceoff and march down the ice to pepper the Mark E. with 7 more shots before the buzzer was mercifully sounded. As Gawd so rightly noted “Same as it ever was.”
Post game, the thirstier Strawbs reconvened at the Terminal Tavren, where the 2 for 1 deal on drinks has been jettisioned with nary a final hurrah. The team is now looking for a new watering hole and is accepting tenders until noon next Thursday.
4 overpriced Guinness, 2 overpriced Bud Light, 1 overpriced Bass, 3 well-named Poisoned Monkeys, 2 overpriced Blue, and 3 pounds of chicken wings were consumed.
October 21, 2010
Killer Strawberries 6 Shortshafts 5
It has been an ironclad rule of the Killer Strawberries’ recruiting braintrust that championships are won from the goal crease out. Over the years, the Strawbs have managed to trick quite a few puck stoppers into being their last line of defence…some might say their only line of defence. Fans will surely remember the exploits of many of them: Dangerous Dan who turned his goalie stick into a baseball bat; Screaming Roy Cocksbreath who loved to whack across the calves any D stupid enough to befoul his crease; 6P Popp, a narcissistic man who watched himself make saves by following his reflection in the glass surrounding the ice surface; Jesse The Leak, an accounting student with many goaltending debits to his credit and Monsieur Le Plug, who managed to finish a championship season while sporting a whopping GPA of .07.
Last night, the Strawbs introduced to their adoring fanbase their 2010-2011 coup de recruitment, the Mark E. DeSave, whose idea of outrage is to utter the word s“Friggin’ Fishbits” under his breath. To distinguish himself from all the other goalies in the league, Mister DeSave has painted his pads a shocking shade of yellow bordering on offensive. Nonetheless, he was stellar between the pipes last night, turning aside the 423 shots peppered at him by a clearly frustrated opposition. He has been asked to continue his tryout with the team this upcoming Monday. A final decision on his Strawberry fate will be forthcoming from the Aloha Baby Compound headquarters immediately following the next game.
The braintrust also tinkered with the non-goalie portion of its roster. Archilles Perron, fresh from a debauched romp in Sin City with the sabbaticalizing Freight Train Laronde, was moved to defence. At least this part of the tinkering worked. To make room for Archilles, Dr. Butcher Brophey, who hopes this year to be elevated to Meat Surgeon Brophey, was placed on a forward juggernaut with the returning Slickery Mac and the handsome yet humble Ice Marshal Walpole. One more performance of this ilk by the Butcher and he will be a monikered Meathead. So ineffective was he on both sides of the centre line and on both sides of the ice that his enamoratta, the infamous Miss White Go Go Boots, surrendered her affections for the evening to a 14 year old be-zitted Zamboni driver rather than be seen canoodling with a limp wristed Lothario.
With the game tied at 5-5, (thanks to some dandy markers by Slickery (2), Pyjama Man (1) and somebody else (1), and a seeing eye knuckleball by the Alzheimeresque Dr. Thug) four Strawbs decided to abandon their defensive zone to 5 Shortshafts and one Vice Ice. (make that 6 shortshafts). Somehow the Vice managed to whiff the puck out of the zone and have it land, gift-like, at the feet of four Strawberries lying patiently in wait on the opposition’s blueline. Into the Shortshaft zone they creeped, manhandling the puck like it was a leaky bag of necrotic pus. Slickery spotted Shiny alone in front of the net and slid him the puck deftly. With 6.3 seconds remaining, Shiny coolly deposited the biscuit into the biscuit jar. Strawbs 6 Shortshafts 5.
Now normally with 6.3 seconds remaining, victory is but a small effort away. And that’s just what Slickery, the Vice, Shiny, Warrin’ Peace and the Butcher put in as they let 2 Shortshafts steal the faceoff and march down the ice to pepper the Mark E. with 7 more shots before the buzzer was mercifully sounded. As Gawd so rightly noted “Same as it ever was.”
Post game, the thirstier Strawbs reconvened at the Terminal Tavren, where the 2 for 1 deal on drinks has been jettisioned with nary a final hurrah. The team is now looking for a new watering hole and is accepting tenders until noon next Thursday.
4 overpriced Guinness, 2 overpriced Bud Light, 1 overpriced Bass, 3 well-named Poisoned Monkeys, 2 overpriced Blue, and 3 pounds of chicken wings were consumed.
Killer Strawberries on Tour 2010 - Las Vegas
Giving some pointers to Jack and Tiger.
Archillies and Freight Train pose with Jessica at the Aloha Baby Compound Las Vegas site.
More shenanigans at Aloha Baby Compound Las Vegas.
Archillies and Freight Train, all set for some well deserved R&R at the Aloha Baby Compound Las Vegas.Saturday, August 07, 2010
Killer Strawberries Golf August 6, 2010
Off to a good start!
Lori wins Big.
Magnausium in Plaid.
The Plaid Shorts Team.
Most of the Strawbs, Strawbs bone to seed and their fans after the Awards at the Legion.Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Practice Round
Some of the Killer Strawberries, Freight Train Laronde, Butcher Brophey, the Ice Marshall and The Vice, were out on the links yesterday getting in a practice round before August's annual Strawberries golf event. Also on board, on loan from the Lahr Reunion Team, was Batawa import Fists Hore.Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Killer Strawberries on Tour, Again
The Killer Strawberries "Summer Tour 2010" took them to the French River for 4 days. Freight Train shows the "colours" prior to a hearty breakfast and another day of river fun.Thursday, March 18, 2010
2009-2010 Champion Team of Final Game
Here is the Strawbs team that won the final game to clinch Championship #3 in 4 years.Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Championship Victory!
Killer Strawberries 5 Aviation Iceholes 1
Game Report
March 15, 2010
All the stops in the Strawbs’ juggernaut were slammed to wide open this past Monday evening as the Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club directed its shinny machine to the ice pads of victory. Every talisman, good luck charm and voodoo incantation was used to ensure that the handsomest intramural squad in the history of intramural squads, a team so creaky its members must tie each others’ skates, copped its third College Championship in the last 4 years. The greatest relief was bidding adieu to the detested Aviation Iceholes, a team so loathed by the kitten-loving, dog-petting, tree-hugging Killer Strawberries that even the mention of this opponent is highly discouraged in polite company throughout the hockey cosmos.
It was not an easy path to intramural glory. A third of the Strawbs’ team was MIA on the evening, leaving the heavy lifting to be done by a valiant few who toiled ceaselessly to grab the Crown under adverse conditions. Absent was Freight Train Laronde who was overseas, introducing his pal, Butcher Brophey, to the seedier carnal exchanges of exotic Cairo. He did, however, send an email to the Strawbs, prior to the match, a “Pyramid Power” photo of himself and the Butcher, scandalously outfitted in purple loincloths while mounting camels at the foot of the largest pyramid they could find.
Also missing was Worn-E who was taking a well-deserved sabbatical in Orlando, Florida, where he was engaged in the study of “The Heuristic Educational Implications of Hedonistic Pursuits In Sub-Tropical Climes”. Sounds like a big rum infused piss-up to this writer.
Warrin’ Peace could not make it because his wife, the gorgeous Samara Dessert, had commanded him to remove all the Strawbs’ graffiti scratched into the walls of the Garage of Bad Ideas at an earlier soiree which had gotten out of hand.
Poor Dr. Thug was virtually immobilized by a post-anterior laceration of his medio-lateral cruciate, an injury he sustained while mysteriously attempting to remove his underwear on a slippery strip club floor somewhere near Delhi, Ontario. Even though he could not play, His Thuggery did show up to the arena to take over the coaching reins previously wielded by Paunch Imlach whose bail could not be posted by game time. Dr. Thug attributed the Strawbs’ triumph to the lucky knee brace he had lent to the Ice Marshall and to his expert manipulation of Gumby’s old Shanky, an ancient five iron which has been wielded successfully at all 3 Strawbs’ championship games in the last 4 years. As he is wont to do, the good Doctor downplayed the contribution of all the hockey acumen he has acquired over his last 80 years of self-concussing on frozen ponds and burlesque stages around the world.
On the ice, the Killer Strawberries executed to near perfection the game plan concocted by Gawdawful Gumby on his pre-game trip to the loo. “I want you guys to score early and often,” he barked to anyone who would listen. “And I will personally attend to any of you so-called hockey players if you don’t.” Frightened by the intensity of the Gawd’s oral delivery, the Strawbs did exactly as ordered. Bing Crossbah, the starting centre, moved the opening draw back to Archilles Perron who quickly spooned it back to the streaking Bing. Bing squeezed through the startled defence and slammed a missile just inside the right post. It took 7 seconds. Gumby thought it should have been done quicker but was still mildly pleased with the effort. Then Bing bonged again, scoring another beauty before the clock had ticked off 2 minutes. “Playing with the Ice Marshal opened up the ice for me all night long,” Bing burbled to reporters at the post game presser. "IMW may have a well deserved reputation as a smooth skating right winger, but more importantly he seems to magically draw opponents to his side of the rink. I almost felt alone out there with the space I had to work with.”
As for the Ice Marshal, he had his best game in 2 years, despite playing with a knee so wounded it had to be fused together with metal rods,titanium crosspieces and the prayers of his mother. Twice he harnessed blistering shots launched by the defence, manipulated them expertly in heavy traffic and neatly flipped them into tiny holes left by the Iceholes’ bewildered goaltender.
Pyjama Man was at the peak of feistiness and delivered an excellent performance for his long-suffering girlfriend, Loans Jones, who was watching him swooningly from the stands. MagBoy could barely be contained. He frustrated the opposition repeatedly with his supersonic speed, mettlesome play and halitosis. On more than one occasion, he expertly goaded an Icehole into taking a stupid penalty, which error in judgment usually resulted in a Strawbs’ goal.
The defence was magnificent. Shiny Sean Brightly was all over the ice, blocking shots, breaking up potential breakaways and sliding into scoring position with all the aplomb of a stealth missile. His two trips to the sin bin were well deserved and strategically useful in making the Iceholes pay for the liberties they were attempting to take with the corporal well-being of his Strawberrian team mates. P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third also showed up to play, assisting on a least two markers, hustling when he ought to have hustled and shutting down the most dangerous of the Aviators. Archilles played way above his head. He was most adept at keeping the puck in the opposition’s end under trying circumstances, which adeptitude resulted in the third Strawbs’ tally. Serious consideration will be given to moving him full time to a point position next year.
And what can be said about the Vice that has not already been said. He must be the most frustrating guy to play against in the universe. Over the years, he has perfected the barely detectable elbow hook, the borderline defensive interference manoeuvre, the step on the opponent’s stick trick and so many other quasi-illegal moves that a hockey instructional video featuring his obstructionist magic is being proposed by more than one NHL organization.
As the last line of defence, Monsieur Le Plug rose to the occasion. He must have appeared like a Titan in oversized goalie apparel to the clearly baffled shooters on the other team. He was a veritable black hole between the pipes, sucking up any and all energy the opposition directed to his attention. He is definitely a lock on the Killer Strawberries' goalie of the year for 2009-2010. He reminds the Executive of a young Jesse The Leak, who now toils anonymously for Revenue Canada in some soul-sucking cubicle in Sudbury.
After the game, the team and its fans (2) reconvened at the terminal Tavren to slug back champagne, to clink glasses ad nauseum and to lavishly compliment each other on a fabulous season. Emails were sent out to the non-contributors, songs were sung and once again a calm soothing glow of victory well-earned permeated the air.
16 Jeroboams of Champagne, 2 Appletinis (Bootsey MagGirl's favourite), 47 Ibuprofen, 1 Ode To Shanky and lots of happy smiles were consumed
Game Report
March 15, 2010
All the stops in the Strawbs’ juggernaut were slammed to wide open this past Monday evening as the Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club directed its shinny machine to the ice pads of victory. Every talisman, good luck charm and voodoo incantation was used to ensure that the handsomest intramural squad in the history of intramural squads, a team so creaky its members must tie each others’ skates, copped its third College Championship in the last 4 years. The greatest relief was bidding adieu to the detested Aviation Iceholes, a team so loathed by the kitten-loving, dog-petting, tree-hugging Killer Strawberries that even the mention of this opponent is highly discouraged in polite company throughout the hockey cosmos.
It was not an easy path to intramural glory. A third of the Strawbs’ team was MIA on the evening, leaving the heavy lifting to be done by a valiant few who toiled ceaselessly to grab the Crown under adverse conditions. Absent was Freight Train Laronde who was overseas, introducing his pal, Butcher Brophey, to the seedier carnal exchanges of exotic Cairo. He did, however, send an email to the Strawbs, prior to the match, a “Pyramid Power” photo of himself and the Butcher, scandalously outfitted in purple loincloths while mounting camels at the foot of the largest pyramid they could find.
Also missing was Worn-E who was taking a well-deserved sabbatical in Orlando, Florida, where he was engaged in the study of “The Heuristic Educational Implications of Hedonistic Pursuits In Sub-Tropical Climes”. Sounds like a big rum infused piss-up to this writer.
Warrin’ Peace could not make it because his wife, the gorgeous Samara Dessert, had commanded him to remove all the Strawbs’ graffiti scratched into the walls of the Garage of Bad Ideas at an earlier soiree which had gotten out of hand.
Poor Dr. Thug was virtually immobilized by a post-anterior laceration of his medio-lateral cruciate, an injury he sustained while mysteriously attempting to remove his underwear on a slippery strip club floor somewhere near Delhi, Ontario. Even though he could not play, His Thuggery did show up to the arena to take over the coaching reins previously wielded by Paunch Imlach whose bail could not be posted by game time. Dr. Thug attributed the Strawbs’ triumph to the lucky knee brace he had lent to the Ice Marshall and to his expert manipulation of Gumby’s old Shanky, an ancient five iron which has been wielded successfully at all 3 Strawbs’ championship games in the last 4 years. As he is wont to do, the good Doctor downplayed the contribution of all the hockey acumen he has acquired over his last 80 years of self-concussing on frozen ponds and burlesque stages around the world.
On the ice, the Killer Strawberries executed to near perfection the game plan concocted by Gawdawful Gumby on his pre-game trip to the loo. “I want you guys to score early and often,” he barked to anyone who would listen. “And I will personally attend to any of you so-called hockey players if you don’t.” Frightened by the intensity of the Gawd’s oral delivery, the Strawbs did exactly as ordered. Bing Crossbah, the starting centre, moved the opening draw back to Archilles Perron who quickly spooned it back to the streaking Bing. Bing squeezed through the startled defence and slammed a missile just inside the right post. It took 7 seconds. Gumby thought it should have been done quicker but was still mildly pleased with the effort. Then Bing bonged again, scoring another beauty before the clock had ticked off 2 minutes. “Playing with the Ice Marshal opened up the ice for me all night long,” Bing burbled to reporters at the post game presser. "IMW may have a well deserved reputation as a smooth skating right winger, but more importantly he seems to magically draw opponents to his side of the rink. I almost felt alone out there with the space I had to work with.”
As for the Ice Marshal, he had his best game in 2 years, despite playing with a knee so wounded it had to be fused together with metal rods,titanium crosspieces and the prayers of his mother. Twice he harnessed blistering shots launched by the defence, manipulated them expertly in heavy traffic and neatly flipped them into tiny holes left by the Iceholes’ bewildered goaltender.
Pyjama Man was at the peak of feistiness and delivered an excellent performance for his long-suffering girlfriend, Loans Jones, who was watching him swooningly from the stands. MagBoy could barely be contained. He frustrated the opposition repeatedly with his supersonic speed, mettlesome play and halitosis. On more than one occasion, he expertly goaded an Icehole into taking a stupid penalty, which error in judgment usually resulted in a Strawbs’ goal.
The defence was magnificent. Shiny Sean Brightly was all over the ice, blocking shots, breaking up potential breakaways and sliding into scoring position with all the aplomb of a stealth missile. His two trips to the sin bin were well deserved and strategically useful in making the Iceholes pay for the liberties they were attempting to take with the corporal well-being of his Strawberrian team mates. P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third also showed up to play, assisting on a least two markers, hustling when he ought to have hustled and shutting down the most dangerous of the Aviators. Archilles played way above his head. He was most adept at keeping the puck in the opposition’s end under trying circumstances, which adeptitude resulted in the third Strawbs’ tally. Serious consideration will be given to moving him full time to a point position next year.
And what can be said about the Vice that has not already been said. He must be the most frustrating guy to play against in the universe. Over the years, he has perfected the barely detectable elbow hook, the borderline defensive interference manoeuvre, the step on the opponent’s stick trick and so many other quasi-illegal moves that a hockey instructional video featuring his obstructionist magic is being proposed by more than one NHL organization.
As the last line of defence, Monsieur Le Plug rose to the occasion. He must have appeared like a Titan in oversized goalie apparel to the clearly baffled shooters on the other team. He was a veritable black hole between the pipes, sucking up any and all energy the opposition directed to his attention. He is definitely a lock on the Killer Strawberries' goalie of the year for 2009-2010. He reminds the Executive of a young Jesse The Leak, who now toils anonymously for Revenue Canada in some soul-sucking cubicle in Sudbury.
After the game, the team and its fans (2) reconvened at the terminal Tavren to slug back champagne, to clink glasses ad nauseum and to lavishly compliment each other on a fabulous season. Emails were sent out to the non-contributors, songs were sung and once again a calm soothing glow of victory well-earned permeated the air.
16 Jeroboams of Champagne, 2 Appletinis (Bootsey MagGirl's favourite), 47 Ibuprofen, 1 Ode To Shanky and lots of happy smiles were consumed
Monday, March 15, 2010
Pyramid Power
Strawbs vacation in Egypt rather than play in finals. At least the "colours" are being shown world wide.Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Iceholes Paunched Into Submission
Game Report
March 4, 2010
Killer Strawberries 7 Aviation Iceholes 2
Last night was the first game in a 2 out 3 series between the ancient Killer Strawberries and their despised rivals, the Aviation Iceholes . The Pete Palangio Arena was rocking hours before game time as fans from as far away as across the street streamed into the ice palace to take in the evening’s entertainment. Both the candy bar machine and the pop dispenser were sold out before the drop of the puck. Or maybe they were just broken but it can be said with certainty that the Vice lost at least 4 loonies looking to grab a quick nutritious dinner before he had to lace them up.
Once again, the Killer Strawberries were lead by coach Paunch Imlach who had been parachuted in to replace the bench stylings of the inimitable Ice Marshal Walpole. The IMW was still recuperating at the Aloha Baby Compound under the very close care of Candy and Mandy Delicious, dedicated professionals in the caring industry. Coach Paunch, using a complicated admixture of voodoo, a five iron, a German drinking hat and bluster, whipped the Strawbs into a frenzy just as they were to step on the ice. The adrenalin was running so high, mothers were asked to remove their daughters from the arena lest something crazy happen.
The Strawbs bolted from the gate. After giving up the first goal, they never looked back. The Iceholes spent more time on their heels than a Baltimore street walker on St. Patrick’s Day. MagBoy was, in his own estimation, “magnificent”, potting 3 goals, roughin’ it up in every zone and even making well timed trips to the Sin Bin. Bing skated like an 18 year old jacked up on Bennies and contributed excellent offensive and defensive play. Dr. Thug scored the ugliest goal of his career by laying on his back, flailing at the puck with his arms and legs and stick and ears. How the puck went in is still a mystery, but its crossing of the goal line was accompanied was the most joyfyl "YEAAAAAAA" in the history of hockey. Dr. Thug followed the referee all the way to timekeeper's box to ensure that there was no confusion as the identity of the artist who produced the goal.
Somebodies else scored the other markers. Those somebodies else included neither Freight Train nor Worn-E, nor Archilles, nor Gumby, nor Shiny, nor Warrin’ Peace whose continued absences from important playoff games has earned him a one way ticket to Butthole, Alaska to toil for the Butthole Bottom Feeders, the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team.
On the defensive side of the ledger, the blueliners' play was okay, if by okay you mean not below shitty.
After the match, the squad reassembled at the Terminal Tavren. They called the IMW to let him know that he was still loved and sorely missed, even in victory. The IMW then emailed all the Strawbs pictures of him recuperating with double Delicious martinis. Here’s hoping he can make it back for game 2.
4 Stella, 5 Guinness, 7 Keiths, 3.1914 rounds of cider, some Pi, 3 birthday Scotches provided by the Cairo bound Freight Train and some fine recollections of Icehole butt-kickin’ were consumed.
March 4, 2010
Killer Strawberries 7 Aviation Iceholes 2
Last night was the first game in a 2 out 3 series between the ancient Killer Strawberries and their despised rivals, the Aviation Iceholes . The Pete Palangio Arena was rocking hours before game time as fans from as far away as across the street streamed into the ice palace to take in the evening’s entertainment. Both the candy bar machine and the pop dispenser were sold out before the drop of the puck. Or maybe they were just broken but it can be said with certainty that the Vice lost at least 4 loonies looking to grab a quick nutritious dinner before he had to lace them up.
Once again, the Killer Strawberries were lead by coach Paunch Imlach who had been parachuted in to replace the bench stylings of the inimitable Ice Marshal Walpole. The IMW was still recuperating at the Aloha Baby Compound under the very close care of Candy and Mandy Delicious, dedicated professionals in the caring industry. Coach Paunch, using a complicated admixture of voodoo, a five iron, a German drinking hat and bluster, whipped the Strawbs into a frenzy just as they were to step on the ice. The adrenalin was running so high, mothers were asked to remove their daughters from the arena lest something crazy happen.
The Strawbs bolted from the gate. After giving up the first goal, they never looked back. The Iceholes spent more time on their heels than a Baltimore street walker on St. Patrick’s Day. MagBoy was, in his own estimation, “magnificent”, potting 3 goals, roughin’ it up in every zone and even making well timed trips to the Sin Bin. Bing skated like an 18 year old jacked up on Bennies and contributed excellent offensive and defensive play. Dr. Thug scored the ugliest goal of his career by laying on his back, flailing at the puck with his arms and legs and stick and ears. How the puck went in is still a mystery, but its crossing of the goal line was accompanied was the most joyfyl "YEAAAAAAA" in the history of hockey. Dr. Thug followed the referee all the way to timekeeper's box to ensure that there was no confusion as the identity of the artist who produced the goal.
Somebodies else scored the other markers. Those somebodies else included neither Freight Train nor Worn-E, nor Archilles, nor Gumby, nor Shiny, nor Warrin’ Peace whose continued absences from important playoff games has earned him a one way ticket to Butthole, Alaska to toil for the Butthole Bottom Feeders, the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team.
On the defensive side of the ledger, the blueliners' play was okay, if by okay you mean not below shitty.
After the match, the squad reassembled at the Terminal Tavren. They called the IMW to let him know that he was still loved and sorely missed, even in victory. The IMW then emailed all the Strawbs pictures of him recuperating with double Delicious martinis. Here’s hoping he can make it back for game 2.
4 Stella, 5 Guinness, 7 Keiths, 3.1914 rounds of cider, some Pi, 3 birthday Scotches provided by the Cairo bound Freight Train and some fine recollections of Icehole butt-kickin’ were consumed.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Rebound
Killer Strawberries 2 B*****ds 1 (SO)
Game Report
March 3, 2010
Last night, the Killer Strawberries showed once again what they can do when their backs are against the wall, when there is no tomorrow, when it’s do or die and when they run out of clichés. Facing elimination against the swift skating B****ds, they came to play and play they did.
It should be noted at the outset that Mr. Adversity was stalking the arena right up til game time. Warrin’ Peace was a no show, having entered a witless protection program somewhere on Manitoulin Island. The redoubtable Ice Marshall, who in a match earlier in the week against the detested Aviation Iceholes had sacrificed his fragile body for the good of the team, was unable to dress, being confined to bedrest at the Aloha Baby Compound under the excellent medical and other care of twin nurse sisters Candy and Mandy Delicious. “It’s been a hard ho to row” (or something to that effect) stated the IMW in his pre-game conference call to the team. “I’ll be back soon to do whatever I can to ensure our third championship in 4 years.”
Taking over bench duties, just fresh from his 14th stint at the Betty Ford, Paunch Imlach exhorted and excoriated his new squad to higher efforts. The team responded like Shiny to the dinner bell. Worn-E had his best game of the season, riffing magical musical numbers of hockey elegance, and left etched into the ice surface scrawlings worthy of any French Impressionist. Not once did he clamour for his nitro, which was securely ensconced in the inside mickey pocket of Paunch’s favourite smoking jacket.
The Vice, haggard and worn from out from monitoring the progress of his youngest daughter’s first encounter with childbirth (it was girl, Emmy Liz, born March 3, 2010 at 2:12am, wearing a hockey helmet and very tiny bob skates), put his hockey sagacity and his blazing slowness on display. With the game tied at 1-1 and with under 2 minutes left to go in the very tight match, the Vice found himself on the ass end of a 2 on 0. Realizing he would not catch the streaking B****d puck handler, he concentrated his efforts on the trailing player. The streaking B****d made a great move but was stymied by the sharp Monsieur LePlug as the poor B****d slammed his sorry self into the end boards. As the puck lay tantalizingly close to the goal line, unattended and screaming for attention, the Vice expertly lifted the straggler’s stick before the stunned fellow could deposit the biscuit into the slightly open cage: disaster averted and score still tied.
The Vice's defence partners, Shiny and P. Gumbington Pettigrew III, were superb: Shiny was truly stellar with his frequent offensive forays and defensive legerdemain. Gumby’s recollection of his performance had him self-rated at an 11 out 10. He actually played at a 9 out of 10 level, the only flaw in his game being his relentless attempts to get Coach Paunch to deliver his nearly useless missives to the forwards on the bench. Fortunately, those forwards have always been wise enough to discount Gumbo’s advice by 50% and then to ignore what is left.
On offence, MagBoy was a human buzzsaw and were it not for his Vice-like dedication to inaccuracy, could have a potted an easy couple. Archilles contributed the first marker of the game, a beauty now on video display in the Smutsonian Institute, housed in his basement crawlspace. Freight Train fought off his African jet lag just in time to suffer from hands colder than a bishop’s embrace. Still, he had an excellent passing game. Dr. Thug, self-medicated and as content as a kitten in a mouse-infested yarn factory, skated as if mired in quicksand, yet still managed to contribute offensively (or so he claimed after the game to his adoring audience of minus 1).
Pyjama Man and Bing Crossbah were solid, with Bing being double teamed most of the night. In the shootout, Pymama Man took the first Strawbs’ penalty shot and flung a mean backhander high into the B****d’s cage. Crossbah, although reluctant to take the second shot, did not disappoint. He faked left, then right, then left again, called his grandma on his cell for advice, kicked the puck up to his forehand, twirled about and launched a low drive into the net. Joy erupted on the Strawbs’ side of the rink, the B***ds having missed their second attempt, once again shut down by the Man, Monsieur LePlug.
With the victory, the Killer Strawberries begin a best 2 out of 3 series against their favourite team to hate: the Aviation Iceholes. It promises to be ugly.
Post game (12:15am EST), the exhausted Strawbs were in no shape to scurry off to the Terminal Tavren. Alternate means of celebration were found.
xx ---, yyy ----, -z2+2x+4 ---------, a pound of licorice and visions of a glorious destiny were consumed.
Game Report
March 3, 2010
Last night, the Killer Strawberries showed once again what they can do when their backs are against the wall, when there is no tomorrow, when it’s do or die and when they run out of clichés. Facing elimination against the swift skating B****ds, they came to play and play they did.
It should be noted at the outset that Mr. Adversity was stalking the arena right up til game time. Warrin’ Peace was a no show, having entered a witless protection program somewhere on Manitoulin Island. The redoubtable Ice Marshall, who in a match earlier in the week against the detested Aviation Iceholes had sacrificed his fragile body for the good of the team, was unable to dress, being confined to bedrest at the Aloha Baby Compound under the excellent medical and other care of twin nurse sisters Candy and Mandy Delicious. “It’s been a hard ho to row” (or something to that effect) stated the IMW in his pre-game conference call to the team. “I’ll be back soon to do whatever I can to ensure our third championship in 4 years.”
Taking over bench duties, just fresh from his 14th stint at the Betty Ford, Paunch Imlach exhorted and excoriated his new squad to higher efforts. The team responded like Shiny to the dinner bell. Worn-E had his best game of the season, riffing magical musical numbers of hockey elegance, and left etched into the ice surface scrawlings worthy of any French Impressionist. Not once did he clamour for his nitro, which was securely ensconced in the inside mickey pocket of Paunch’s favourite smoking jacket.
The Vice, haggard and worn from out from monitoring the progress of his youngest daughter’s first encounter with childbirth (it was girl, Emmy Liz, born March 3, 2010 at 2:12am, wearing a hockey helmet and very tiny bob skates), put his hockey sagacity and his blazing slowness on display. With the game tied at 1-1 and with under 2 minutes left to go in the very tight match, the Vice found himself on the ass end of a 2 on 0. Realizing he would not catch the streaking B****d puck handler, he concentrated his efforts on the trailing player. The streaking B****d made a great move but was stymied by the sharp Monsieur LePlug as the poor B****d slammed his sorry self into the end boards. As the puck lay tantalizingly close to the goal line, unattended and screaming for attention, the Vice expertly lifted the straggler’s stick before the stunned fellow could deposit the biscuit into the slightly open cage: disaster averted and score still tied.
The Vice's defence partners, Shiny and P. Gumbington Pettigrew III, were superb: Shiny was truly stellar with his frequent offensive forays and defensive legerdemain. Gumby’s recollection of his performance had him self-rated at an 11 out 10. He actually played at a 9 out of 10 level, the only flaw in his game being his relentless attempts to get Coach Paunch to deliver his nearly useless missives to the forwards on the bench. Fortunately, those forwards have always been wise enough to discount Gumbo’s advice by 50% and then to ignore what is left.
On offence, MagBoy was a human buzzsaw and were it not for his Vice-like dedication to inaccuracy, could have a potted an easy couple. Archilles contributed the first marker of the game, a beauty now on video display in the Smutsonian Institute, housed in his basement crawlspace. Freight Train fought off his African jet lag just in time to suffer from hands colder than a bishop’s embrace. Still, he had an excellent passing game. Dr. Thug, self-medicated and as content as a kitten in a mouse-infested yarn factory, skated as if mired in quicksand, yet still managed to contribute offensively (or so he claimed after the game to his adoring audience of minus 1).
Pyjama Man and Bing Crossbah were solid, with Bing being double teamed most of the night. In the shootout, Pymama Man took the first Strawbs’ penalty shot and flung a mean backhander high into the B****d’s cage. Crossbah, although reluctant to take the second shot, did not disappoint. He faked left, then right, then left again, called his grandma on his cell for advice, kicked the puck up to his forehand, twirled about and launched a low drive into the net. Joy erupted on the Strawbs’ side of the rink, the B***ds having missed their second attempt, once again shut down by the Man, Monsieur LePlug.
With the victory, the Killer Strawberries begin a best 2 out of 3 series against their favourite team to hate: the Aviation Iceholes. It promises to be ugly.
Post game (12:15am EST), the exhausted Strawbs were in no shape to scurry off to the Terminal Tavren. Alternate means of celebration were found.
xx ---, yyy ----, -z2+2x+4 ---------, a pound of licorice and visions of a glorious destiny were consumed.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Strawbs Look Adversity In The Face
Game report
March 1, 2010
Killer Strawberries 2 Aviation Panthers 3 (SO)
Last evening, without Warrin’ Peace (hangnail injury) in the lineup, the Killer Strawberries were defeated by this year’s arch enema, the Aviation Panthers, a good team with a couple of meatheads who think spearing and slashing are spiritual acts.
The Panthers scored early and took a 2-0 lead into the final 7 minutes of the game. Both sides had a few good chances, with the Strawbs ringing the biscuit off the post on 3 occasions in the last period. With its “never give up” attitude, the squad fought back valiantly to tie the score at 2-2 and almost notched the victory with a goal mouth scramble as time expired.
Overtime consisted of a sudden death shootout, meaning each team would send one player to take a penalty-type shot simultaneously at opposite ends of the rink. Bing Crossbah shot first (and last) for the Strawbs, wiring a good shot off the side of the goalie, narrowly missing pay dirt. The Panthers were more fortunate, with a beautiful deke move resulting in the winning goal.
Next game is this Wednesday, with the winner advancing to the finals against last night’s foes. The Killer Strawberries will be pumped and looking for a rematch with the despised Panther Iceholes.
Following the match, the Strawbs scampered off to the Terminal Tavren to lick their wounds and to plot next game strategy. They plan to put back the FU in hockey fun.
0 Stella (and 0 Big Rock Cider, its uninspired replacement at the Terminal Tavren), 2 Black and Tan, 1 Bud Light, 3 Keiths, 2 Guinness, 4 Bass, 3 pounds of emu wings and some mental scarring were consumed.
March 1, 2010
Killer Strawberries 2 Aviation Panthers 3 (SO)
Last evening, without Warrin’ Peace (hangnail injury) in the lineup, the Killer Strawberries were defeated by this year’s arch enema, the Aviation Panthers, a good team with a couple of meatheads who think spearing and slashing are spiritual acts.
The Panthers scored early and took a 2-0 lead into the final 7 minutes of the game. Both sides had a few good chances, with the Strawbs ringing the biscuit off the post on 3 occasions in the last period. With its “never give up” attitude, the squad fought back valiantly to tie the score at 2-2 and almost notched the victory with a goal mouth scramble as time expired.
Overtime consisted of a sudden death shootout, meaning each team would send one player to take a penalty-type shot simultaneously at opposite ends of the rink. Bing Crossbah shot first (and last) for the Strawbs, wiring a good shot off the side of the goalie, narrowly missing pay dirt. The Panthers were more fortunate, with a beautiful deke move resulting in the winning goal.
Next game is this Wednesday, with the winner advancing to the finals against last night’s foes. The Killer Strawberries will be pumped and looking for a rematch with the despised Panther Iceholes.
Following the match, the Strawbs scampered off to the Terminal Tavren to lick their wounds and to plot next game strategy. They plan to put back the FU in hockey fun.
0 Stella (and 0 Big Rock Cider, its uninspired replacement at the Terminal Tavren), 2 Black and Tan, 1 Bud Light, 3 Keiths, 2 Guinness, 4 Bass, 3 pounds of emu wings and some mental scarring were consumed.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
March of The Strawberries
Game Report
February 22, 2010
Killer Strawberries 6 Free Agents 1
The playoffs started on this Monday evening, with the Killer Strawberries itching to commence their drive for a third championship in four years. The first obstacle would be the Free Agents, a team that recently tied the Strawbs 6-6 in a hard fought match which featured mental mistakes galore by its glue sniffin’ D.
By game time, the effects of volatile substances may have been cleansed from the defence’s bulbous corporate entity, but something else must have replaced the expunged noxious substances. It is true the number of breakaways allowed fell a little below a baker’s dozen. Yet still, questions remain concerning the commitment to excellence by the squad’s blueliners. Shiny Sean Brightly had just returned on game day morning from some Bacchanalian Blitzkrieg involving the seedier parts of Las Vegas and it was evident that he had unwisely partaken of some overzealous onanistic operations from which he had yet to recover. Hangover? Oh yeah.
While it was not immediately determinable what the hell was effecting his backend teammates, the consequences of their Bropheyesque lifestyles were, at times, shocking. On more than one occasion, both on-ice defencemen could be found behind the other team’s goal line, exchanging witty repartee and vituperative epithets with the back of the goalie’s head. There is a time and a place for cunning linguists and this was not one of them.
To be fair, the forwards, though workmanlike overall, had their share of underachievers. The spelling challenged Pyjama Man, who likes to call himself "Pajama Man", appeared to have had his brains temporarily removed by licentious activities perpetrated on the beaches of Cancun the week before. Dr. Thug continued to suffer from Concussion #4356, a small injury he had sustained at a family reunion on February 12. Apparently he had called an old cousin with whom he had never gotten along a “desiccated old bat with all the charm of a fully wintered dung-slopped barn floor.” Fortunately, it was only the blunt end of a handy axe that he took to the skull before hitting the ground, stunned and unremorseful. He was still exhibiting both those lingering states well into the last period of last night's match.
On the plus side, Monsieur Le Plug was superb, stopping every breakway bestowed upon him by a negligent defence. Bing Crossbah netted two beauties as did the aforesaid Pyjama Man, who had 2 errant clearing passes slide off his equipment into the opposition’s net. MagBoy and somebody else got the other markers.
Post game, the jubilant Strawberries reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to plot the next game’s strategy and to catch the finals of the Olympic Ice Dance competition. With a running commentary from Bootsey MagGirl, the boys were regaled with a Gold medal for Canada and some colourful additions to their vocabularies. They also learned what the term “twizzles”, “fuzzles” and “one more triple Appletini pleesh” meant. The ice dancing performance and its accompanying commentary were so lasciviously explicit that some of the boys had to rush off the men’s room to blush.
4 triple Appletini’s, 4.5 Guinness, 2 Stella, 2 Keith’s White, 4 Bud, 3 Blue, 7 Black and Tan, 4 pounds of chicken wings and many fine new words were consumed.
February 22, 2010
Killer Strawberries 6 Free Agents 1
The playoffs started on this Monday evening, with the Killer Strawberries itching to commence their drive for a third championship in four years. The first obstacle would be the Free Agents, a team that recently tied the Strawbs 6-6 in a hard fought match which featured mental mistakes galore by its glue sniffin’ D.
By game time, the effects of volatile substances may have been cleansed from the defence’s bulbous corporate entity, but something else must have replaced the expunged noxious substances. It is true the number of breakaways allowed fell a little below a baker’s dozen. Yet still, questions remain concerning the commitment to excellence by the squad’s blueliners. Shiny Sean Brightly had just returned on game day morning from some Bacchanalian Blitzkrieg involving the seedier parts of Las Vegas and it was evident that he had unwisely partaken of some overzealous onanistic operations from which he had yet to recover. Hangover? Oh yeah.
While it was not immediately determinable what the hell was effecting his backend teammates, the consequences of their Bropheyesque lifestyles were, at times, shocking. On more than one occasion, both on-ice defencemen could be found behind the other team’s goal line, exchanging witty repartee and vituperative epithets with the back of the goalie’s head. There is a time and a place for cunning linguists and this was not one of them.
To be fair, the forwards, though workmanlike overall, had their share of underachievers. The spelling challenged Pyjama Man, who likes to call himself "Pajama Man", appeared to have had his brains temporarily removed by licentious activities perpetrated on the beaches of Cancun the week before. Dr. Thug continued to suffer from Concussion #4356, a small injury he had sustained at a family reunion on February 12. Apparently he had called an old cousin with whom he had never gotten along a “desiccated old bat with all the charm of a fully wintered dung-slopped barn floor.” Fortunately, it was only the blunt end of a handy axe that he took to the skull before hitting the ground, stunned and unremorseful. He was still exhibiting both those lingering states well into the last period of last night's match.
On the plus side, Monsieur Le Plug was superb, stopping every breakway bestowed upon him by a negligent defence. Bing Crossbah netted two beauties as did the aforesaid Pyjama Man, who had 2 errant clearing passes slide off his equipment into the opposition’s net. MagBoy and somebody else got the other markers.
Post game, the jubilant Strawberries reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to plot the next game’s strategy and to catch the finals of the Olympic Ice Dance competition. With a running commentary from Bootsey MagGirl, the boys were regaled with a Gold medal for Canada and some colourful additions to their vocabularies. They also learned what the term “twizzles”, “fuzzles” and “one more triple Appletini pleesh” meant. The ice dancing performance and its accompanying commentary were so lasciviously explicit that some of the boys had to rush off the men’s room to blush.
4 triple Appletini’s, 4.5 Guinness, 2 Stella, 2 Keith’s White, 4 Bud, 3 Blue, 7 Black and Tan, 4 pounds of chicken wings and many fine new words were consumed.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Nothing Happened
Killer Strawberries 6 Jet Rangers 1
Game Report
February 11, 2010
It was a game as forgettable as Gumby's pre-1982 love life (or was that pre-2009?). The team did not even bother to go to the Terminal Tavren after the match. Overall, the evening would have been better spent watching Celine Dion do her nails, hungover, toothless and unshowered.
Only an unhealthy dose of ennui was consumed.
Game Report
February 11, 2010
It was a game as forgettable as Gumby's pre-1982 love life (or was that pre-2009?). The team did not even bother to go to the Terminal Tavren after the match. Overall, the evening would have been better spent watching Celine Dion do her nails, hungover, toothless and unshowered.
Only an unhealthy dose of ennui was consumed.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Depleted But Not Defeated
Game Report
February 8, 2010
Killer Strawberries 6 Free Agents 6
It was something all aging veterans dread: a bench too short. With over 300 years of life experience missing, the rest of the Strawb nation was asked to take on a bunch of very quick and very determined Free Agents, bent on knocking off their handsome adversaries for the evening. Gone was Freight Train Laronde, running around half naked in Kenya, looking for a cold beer. Gone was Achilles Perron, firmly ensconced, rum drinks in hand, in the deck chair of a luxury liner plying the heavenly waters of the blue Caribbean. Gone was Warrin’ Peace, surreptitiously ogling the alluringly-clad babes forever parading before him, as his wife, the beautiful Samara Dessert, toasted her limbs on the warm sands of some popular playa in the Dominican Republic.
Gone was Dr. Thug, self-concussed once again, dreaming of hockey glory in the darkness of his diminishing mind. Gone was Shiny Sean Brightly, whose excuse for missing was so febrile, so laughable, that he proffered none in his defence. Gone was Worn-E A535, forced to drive his kids, at the last minute, to the opening of a new ice cream shop located somewhere near Verner: a town whose motto is “We may not be big, but we sure are small”.
To compensate for the difficulties, the Strawbs’ coaching staff, recently honoured by the Bud Light Super Bowl Promotion Committee for its “Excellence in Stewardess Training and Undercover Operations”, moved Monsieur LePlug out of the nets into a forward position. The goal was tended by some young fellow they had found earlier in the day wandering about the Voyageur Hotel Cocktail Lounge in search of meaning in his life. He obviously found it, as he performed admirably in nets, despite using a white cane for a goalie stick.
M. LePlug stepped up to the plate (figuratively, of course) and scored a lovely goal and assisted on one other. MagBoy and Bing Crossbah buzzed about with purpose and each recorded an important tally at an important time in an unimportant game. Pyjama Man, while in physical attendance at the match, redefined the terms “languorous yet truculent”. The Ice Marshall was nothing less than something, potting 3 markers on the night, the last one coming with just 39 seconds left in the game, capping a two goals in 3 minutes comeback by the undermanned Killer Strawberries.
The defence for the match consisted of 106 years of hard living and unspecified liver damage. The Vice and his fellow blueliner, Gawd, never left the ice surface all evening. The skated when they had to, coasted when they needed to and did not harangue anyone, including their own team mates, on more than 6 occasions.
After the game, most of the few scrambled over to the Terminal Tavren to catch their breaths and to slag the bloody Mofos who, being absent, had caused them to sweat.
2 Stella, 4 Black and Tan, 2 Keiths white, 2 pounds of emu wings fried in transfattied shark oil and more than a few “Thank G*d That’s Over’s” were consumed.
February 8, 2010
Killer Strawberries 6 Free Agents 6
It was something all aging veterans dread: a bench too short. With over 300 years of life experience missing, the rest of the Strawb nation was asked to take on a bunch of very quick and very determined Free Agents, bent on knocking off their handsome adversaries for the evening. Gone was Freight Train Laronde, running around half naked in Kenya, looking for a cold beer. Gone was Achilles Perron, firmly ensconced, rum drinks in hand, in the deck chair of a luxury liner plying the heavenly waters of the blue Caribbean. Gone was Warrin’ Peace, surreptitiously ogling the alluringly-clad babes forever parading before him, as his wife, the beautiful Samara Dessert, toasted her limbs on the warm sands of some popular playa in the Dominican Republic.
Gone was Dr. Thug, self-concussed once again, dreaming of hockey glory in the darkness of his diminishing mind. Gone was Shiny Sean Brightly, whose excuse for missing was so febrile, so laughable, that he proffered none in his defence. Gone was Worn-E A535, forced to drive his kids, at the last minute, to the opening of a new ice cream shop located somewhere near Verner: a town whose motto is “We may not be big, but we sure are small”.
To compensate for the difficulties, the Strawbs’ coaching staff, recently honoured by the Bud Light Super Bowl Promotion Committee for its “Excellence in Stewardess Training and Undercover Operations”, moved Monsieur LePlug out of the nets into a forward position. The goal was tended by some young fellow they had found earlier in the day wandering about the Voyageur Hotel Cocktail Lounge in search of meaning in his life. He obviously found it, as he performed admirably in nets, despite using a white cane for a goalie stick.
M. LePlug stepped up to the plate (figuratively, of course) and scored a lovely goal and assisted on one other. MagBoy and Bing Crossbah buzzed about with purpose and each recorded an important tally at an important time in an unimportant game. Pyjama Man, while in physical attendance at the match, redefined the terms “languorous yet truculent”. The Ice Marshall was nothing less than something, potting 3 markers on the night, the last one coming with just 39 seconds left in the game, capping a two goals in 3 minutes comeback by the undermanned Killer Strawberries.
The defence for the match consisted of 106 years of hard living and unspecified liver damage. The Vice and his fellow blueliner, Gawd, never left the ice surface all evening. The skated when they had to, coasted when they needed to and did not harangue anyone, including their own team mates, on more than 6 occasions.
After the game, most of the few scrambled over to the Terminal Tavren to catch their breaths and to slag the bloody Mofos who, being absent, had caused them to sweat.
2 Stella, 4 Black and Tan, 2 Keiths white, 2 pounds of emu wings fried in transfattied shark oil and more than a few “Thank G*d That’s Over’s” were consumed.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Helmet Cam footage of a KS game - First Period
Had to break the period up in order to load it to youtube.
3 parts. Part 1 the oposing team scores early and the score is 1-0. Part 2 we score with a tip in at around 5:45 video time.
Part 3 end of game.
The goal happens about 5:45 minutes in.
3 parts. Part 1 the oposing team scores early and the score is 1-0. Part 2 we score with a tip in at around 5:45 video time.
Part 3 end of game.
The goal happens about 5:45 minutes in.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Good Heavens!
Game Report
February 4, 2010
Killer Strawberries 5 BodyCzechs 3
If there were stars given out for having performed the worst on the evening, Sir Gawdawful Gumby, fresh from who knows what, would have been awarded a firmament. This should come as no surprise for a man who prefers, if at all possible, to perpetrate his misbehaviors in the dark.
And what, may you ask, were his non-contributions on the night. Well, it is not in the best interests of the club to slag one of its members in public, but suffice it say that the post game press release referred to Sir Gumby’s on-ice shenanigans as “general sauntering, willful disregard for the location of the puck and a nonchalance bordering on utter indifference”. His weekend passes to both Aloha Baby Compound and The Compound For Minor Vice have been revoked until further notice.
Fortunately, the rest of the squad, though listless in the final period, at least wanted the 2 points. The Vice was moved to forward and did remarkably well for a man with his kind of checkered past and aluminum filled body. Shiny showed signs of significant supercilious spunk, MagBoy irritated the opposition as well as any small pebble in a workboot, and Pyjama Man was constant threat…to his own safety.
Worn-E A535, recently released from the burden of a moniker he secretly despised, used his new-found freedom to perform exactly as he has done for the last 10 games: gumbyesquely with a hint of wintergreen. After a little research, it was found by the team’s detectives, that it was really Worn-E’s wife, Christmas Carol, who was the impetus behind the move to change the moniker. Apparently, she was of the opinion that a full professor equipped sartorially with an impressive PhD from Little Cattle Drive University should not be called WhoaHorny under any circumstances. “ My wife has not been pleased with my nickname for a long time”, stated the veteran defenceman. “Things were getting strained at home. There were always some telltale signs of discontent, but you know that, when your wife shows up at home with a banjo, the rules of the game are changing. Now I may not have seen the whole banjo mind you, but the one I saw was only missing a string.”
Worn-E was applauded for his candour and his splendid insight into the minds of the other sex. The Strawbs are proud to have so astute an observer on its team and the Executive, fully apprised of the facts, are considering elevating him to the position of Associate Assistant Deputy Marital Advisor to Rookies.
After the game the Strawbs reconvened at the Terminal Tavren. The new Worn-E A535 was toasted for his acumen and Gumby named a constellation after himself.
45,236 Stella were consumed in an unnamed defenceman’s honour.
February 4, 2010
Killer Strawberries 5 BodyCzechs 3
If there were stars given out for having performed the worst on the evening, Sir Gawdawful Gumby, fresh from who knows what, would have been awarded a firmament. This should come as no surprise for a man who prefers, if at all possible, to perpetrate his misbehaviors in the dark.
And what, may you ask, were his non-contributions on the night. Well, it is not in the best interests of the club to slag one of its members in public, but suffice it say that the post game press release referred to Sir Gumby’s on-ice shenanigans as “general sauntering, willful disregard for the location of the puck and a nonchalance bordering on utter indifference”. His weekend passes to both Aloha Baby Compound and The Compound For Minor Vice have been revoked until further notice.
Fortunately, the rest of the squad, though listless in the final period, at least wanted the 2 points. The Vice was moved to forward and did remarkably well for a man with his kind of checkered past and aluminum filled body. Shiny showed signs of significant supercilious spunk, MagBoy irritated the opposition as well as any small pebble in a workboot, and Pyjama Man was constant threat…to his own safety.
Worn-E A535, recently released from the burden of a moniker he secretly despised, used his new-found freedom to perform exactly as he has done for the last 10 games: gumbyesquely with a hint of wintergreen. After a little research, it was found by the team’s detectives, that it was really Worn-E’s wife, Christmas Carol, who was the impetus behind the move to change the moniker. Apparently, she was of the opinion that a full professor equipped sartorially with an impressive PhD from Little Cattle Drive University should not be called WhoaHorny under any circumstances. “ My wife has not been pleased with my nickname for a long time”, stated the veteran defenceman. “Things were getting strained at home. There were always some telltale signs of discontent, but you know that, when your wife shows up at home with a banjo, the rules of the game are changing. Now I may not have seen the whole banjo mind you, but the one I saw was only missing a string.”
Worn-E was applauded for his candour and his splendid insight into the minds of the other sex. The Strawbs are proud to have so astute an observer on its team and the Executive, fully apprised of the facts, are considering elevating him to the position of Associate Assistant Deputy Marital Advisor to Rookies.
After the game the Strawbs reconvened at the Terminal Tavren. The new Worn-E A535 was toasted for his acumen and Gumby named a constellation after himself.
45,236 Stella were consumed in an unnamed defenceman’s honour.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Strawberries Get A Glimpse of The Future
Strawberries Get A Glimpse of The Future
Game Report
January 29, 2010
Killer Strawberries 3 Bast***ds 1
Last night’s match was the first encounter of the year between the Killer Strawberries and the unfortunately named Bast***ds, a team made up of some very smooth skating, good puck handling and level headed hockey players who were moved into the Strawbs’ division to replace the ALU Warriors.
From the drop of the puck, it became very apparent that the B’s would be no pushovers. For the first 5 minutes, they buzzed about the Strawbs’ zone like bees at an open-bar nectar convention. As usual, the Killer Strawberries weathered the initial onslaught, bending slightly but refusing to break, despite being down 1-0 early on.
But battle back they did. MagBoy, PJM and Dr. Thug proved to be enormous thorns in the butts of the B’s defence, coming achingly close to scoring on several occasions. They finally broke the shutout late in the first period on a MagBoy marker which crossed the goal line with all the force of a Vice-like slapshot; that is to say, no energy was wasted.
Bing Crossbah, flanked by the ovulation-obsessed Warrin’ Peace and the rejuvenated Ice Marshall, replied with a lovely marker early in the second period, by squeezing the 3 inch biscuit through a 2 inch hole, a trick he probably picked up while practicing off-rink. All the while, the B’s kept buzzing. But the able defence, sans WhoaHorny who claimed it was his hot bath and rum toddy night, and sans Shiny Shone Brightly, who had to attend his Nose Hairs Knitting Night, were up to the task. Freight Train and Archilles were pressed into blue line service and allowed nary one break away. While the same could not be said of the creaky geriatric pairing of Gumby and The Vice (soon to be an HBO special), they did step up their games, with the Vice getting his 5th point in 2 games and Gumby doing his grumblin’gumbying best.
Monsieur Le Plug, after allowing a soft goal early, ala Toskala, settled into to his game and stoned the opposition the rest of the way. With 5 minutes remaining, Warrin’ Peace notched a beautiful insurance marker, assisted by the speedy Bing and the handsome Ice Marshall. Footage of the goal has been sent to Stevie Y. of the Men’s Olympic Team, as a token of the Strawbs’ appreciation.
The playoffs loom in the not so distant future. The Strawbs expect to run into the B’s again, probably in the final game of the year. They have seen the shape of things to come and are preparing mentally and physically for what will surely be the toughest game of the year.
At the end of the match, the club found out the true reason why Whoahorny failed to appear. A Western Union wire was delivered to the dressing room, which telegram had been sent to the team by Whoahorny’s current spouse, Christmas Carol. According to the telegram, WhoaHorny has been in a funk ever since his students discovered his Killer Strawberries’ moniker barely a week ago. Apparently, his students have teased him in class and have been relentless in trying to figure out the origin of the nickname. The club’s Executive is not without compassion and knowledge that surpasseth all understanding. To assuage the poor Pembrokian’s malaise and to save him further animadversion fomenting in the still undeveloped minds of his academic charges, the team leadership is launching a campaign to find a less inflammatory moniker for our esteemed team mate. Anyone with a suggestion should send it to Whoa.ThatNickname@Hornynomore.com. The offerings and the final selection will be published in this space next week.
After some post game discussion concerning this and various other matters of sundry miscellany, the squad recessed to the Terminal Tavren to plan playoff strategy and to ogle the new waitress. They were successful on both counts. The only flaw in an otherwise excellent outing was attributable to Pyjama Man, who had the whole of the bar’s assemblage, including the guy who skins the cats in the kitchen, looking for his misplaced keys. After ripping apart the bench in the Strawbs’ corporate booth, vigorously frisking every female server in attendance and searching the bottom of the last Guinness keg, the keys were finally located by PJM himself. They had somehow settled themselves inside the third and fourth roll of his prodigious belly. Liposuction has been recommended.
4.5 Guinness, 2 poorly poured Black and Tans, 1 , 2 Coors Light, 1 Sterling Near Beer, 2 Bud, 1 Stella, 3 pounds of chicken wings and more than a few tentative monikers were consumed.
Game Report
January 29, 2010
Killer Strawberries 3 Bast***ds 1
Last night’s match was the first encounter of the year between the Killer Strawberries and the unfortunately named Bast***ds, a team made up of some very smooth skating, good puck handling and level headed hockey players who were moved into the Strawbs’ division to replace the ALU Warriors.
From the drop of the puck, it became very apparent that the B’s would be no pushovers. For the first 5 minutes, they buzzed about the Strawbs’ zone like bees at an open-bar nectar convention. As usual, the Killer Strawberries weathered the initial onslaught, bending slightly but refusing to break, despite being down 1-0 early on.
But battle back they did. MagBoy, PJM and Dr. Thug proved to be enormous thorns in the butts of the B’s defence, coming achingly close to scoring on several occasions. They finally broke the shutout late in the first period on a MagBoy marker which crossed the goal line with all the force of a Vice-like slapshot; that is to say, no energy was wasted.
Bing Crossbah, flanked by the ovulation-obsessed Warrin’ Peace and the rejuvenated Ice Marshall, replied with a lovely marker early in the second period, by squeezing the 3 inch biscuit through a 2 inch hole, a trick he probably picked up while practicing off-rink. All the while, the B’s kept buzzing. But the able defence, sans WhoaHorny who claimed it was his hot bath and rum toddy night, and sans Shiny Shone Brightly, who had to attend his Nose Hairs Knitting Night, were up to the task. Freight Train and Archilles were pressed into blue line service and allowed nary one break away. While the same could not be said of the creaky geriatric pairing of Gumby and The Vice (soon to be an HBO special), they did step up their games, with the Vice getting his 5th point in 2 games and Gumby doing his grumblin’gumbying best.
Monsieur Le Plug, after allowing a soft goal early, ala Toskala, settled into to his game and stoned the opposition the rest of the way. With 5 minutes remaining, Warrin’ Peace notched a beautiful insurance marker, assisted by the speedy Bing and the handsome Ice Marshall. Footage of the goal has been sent to Stevie Y. of the Men’s Olympic Team, as a token of the Strawbs’ appreciation.
The playoffs loom in the not so distant future. The Strawbs expect to run into the B’s again, probably in the final game of the year. They have seen the shape of things to come and are preparing mentally and physically for what will surely be the toughest game of the year.
At the end of the match, the club found out the true reason why Whoahorny failed to appear. A Western Union wire was delivered to the dressing room, which telegram had been sent to the team by Whoahorny’s current spouse, Christmas Carol. According to the telegram, WhoaHorny has been in a funk ever since his students discovered his Killer Strawberries’ moniker barely a week ago. Apparently, his students have teased him in class and have been relentless in trying to figure out the origin of the nickname. The club’s Executive is not without compassion and knowledge that surpasseth all understanding. To assuage the poor Pembrokian’s malaise and to save him further animadversion fomenting in the still undeveloped minds of his academic charges, the team leadership is launching a campaign to find a less inflammatory moniker for our esteemed team mate. Anyone with a suggestion should send it to Whoa.ThatNickname@Hornynomore.com. The offerings and the final selection will be published in this space next week.
After some post game discussion concerning this and various other matters of sundry miscellany, the squad recessed to the Terminal Tavren to plan playoff strategy and to ogle the new waitress. They were successful on both counts. The only flaw in an otherwise excellent outing was attributable to Pyjama Man, who had the whole of the bar’s assemblage, including the guy who skins the cats in the kitchen, looking for his misplaced keys. After ripping apart the bench in the Strawbs’ corporate booth, vigorously frisking every female server in attendance and searching the bottom of the last Guinness keg, the keys were finally located by PJM himself. They had somehow settled themselves inside the third and fourth roll of his prodigious belly. Liposuction has been recommended.
4.5 Guinness, 2 poorly poured Black and Tans, 1 , 2 Coors Light, 1 Sterling Near Beer, 2 Bud, 1 Stella, 3 pounds of chicken wings and more than a few tentative monikers were consumed.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
360 Degree Dnuoranrut
Killer Strawberries 8 Free Agents 2
Game Report
January 25, 2010
The Killer Strawberries, rejuvenated by the return of its resident polymath, MagBoy, its teenage phenom, Bing Crossbah, and Monsieur Le Plug,, a third cousin twice removed of the cherished Jacques Plante, swung its game into high gear, resulting in a good pounding of a startled squad of 18 year old Free Agents. Aging veteran, Archilles Perron was quoted post game as saying: “ It was good to have young legs back. It’s always good to be looking at young legs. The returnees helped our team turn its performance around 360 degrees.” Monsieur Perron, of deep French Canadian extraction, had to be informed, by the resident polymath, that 360 degrees make up a full circle and that his metaphor was incomprehensibly abstruse. “You mean like da circles under WhoaHorny’s eyes?” queried the confused Achilles. Fortunately, the exchange stopped there.
The team’s new psychiatrist, Dr. Vola Uptuus, attributed the improved team play on the reawakening of the Strawbs’ three oldest members. “I do not believe that the fact that Sir Gawd, The Vice and the handsome Ice Marshal just returned from a training session at the Aloha Baby Compound was not in a big way responsible for their improved play.” (For those readers who have difficulty following the double negatives in Dr. Vola’s circumlocution, just take out the 2 nots and read the statement again.) (Warning: Don’t not do this twice).
After a lengthy investigation by this reporter, It was discovered that the said trio had been flown to Oahu last Friday morning to help with the training regimen of the Budweiser SuperBowl Hostesses who will be femaling the Bud jet to SuperBowl XXX (or so), as shown on those innocent yet lascivious TV commercials that none of use watch. “I haven’t been stretched this hard for months”, beamed an obviously rejuvenated Gumby. Working out with Ashly, Ashley and Ashlei was not only good for me but now I think the girls will be better prepared for what can happen when you’re over a mile high above the earth, partying with gung-ho types.” His Gumbiness then continued: “It was very tiring but we were all up for the challenge. Who would have thought that measuring skirt lengths, stiletto heights and scantily clad beverage service times could be so exhausting.”
The Hawaiian experience certainly paid dividends for the trio in particular and the Strawbs overall. The Vice had 2 assists on the evening and scored his first real goal since February 14, 2007. Sir Gawd, newly equipped with an Easton SX 444.a23 Super Slapper from Sportchek and with Gramma Buckley’s Comfy Slipper Inserts freshly installed in his skates, rang his first shot of the game off the post and promptly deposited his next offering into a rather surprised opponents’net. The Ice Marshall continued his torrid scoring pace by notching, unassisted, the winning goal late in the first period.
The team’s revival was also evident in the small things which added up to an admirable effort. Freight Train Laronde, gasping for breath like Aqualung my friend, and hurling bits of undigested Robbie Burns haggis into the gap behind the bench, did not miss one shift. WhoaHorny soldiered on despite playing the whole game like an acid tripping iron butterfly bent on reproducing with a less-than-inspired Hilton sister. But the best revival example involved Dr. Thug, Pyjama Man and the team’s most loyal fan this season, the absolutely gorgeous and book smart Loans Jones. With a mere 2 minutes to go in the game and with the score teetering precariously at an angle of 7 to 2 in the Strawbs’ favour, the good Doctor fed PJM with a text book saucer pass, which pass sprung PJM loose from the pack, sending him in alone on the Free Agent’s netminder. Loans Jones, normally a taciturn beauty, began yelling feverishly to her man. Dr. Thug let out one of his frequent mind-numbing war whoops in an effort to propel PJM to hockey glory. Poor PJM, stunned by his chick’s sultry exhortations and Dr. Thug’s animal screams, couldn’t tell if he was coming or going. Eventually, he decided to do both.
Shiny did not shine so brightly…syphilis is suspected. He is expected to return to his top form shortly after his next regular visit to the clinic.
After the match, The Strawbs reassembled at the recently reopened Terminal Tavren, to analyze and rejoice in the reasons for their new found energy. Shoulders were slapped, knees squeezed and the usual juvenile (but never old) jibes were exchanged, all in the name of camaraderie and bonhomie.
4 Stella, 16 Guinness, 2 Coors Light, 1 Bass, 4 Bud, 1 Blue, 2 pounds of slightly undercooked chicken wings and some rather dubious tales of mile high shenanigans were consumed.
Game Report
January 25, 2010
The Killer Strawberries, rejuvenated by the return of its resident polymath, MagBoy, its teenage phenom, Bing Crossbah, and Monsieur Le Plug,, a third cousin twice removed of the cherished Jacques Plante, swung its game into high gear, resulting in a good pounding of a startled squad of 18 year old Free Agents. Aging veteran, Archilles Perron was quoted post game as saying: “ It was good to have young legs back. It’s always good to be looking at young legs. The returnees helped our team turn its performance around 360 degrees.” Monsieur Perron, of deep French Canadian extraction, had to be informed, by the resident polymath, that 360 degrees make up a full circle and that his metaphor was incomprehensibly abstruse. “You mean like da circles under WhoaHorny’s eyes?” queried the confused Achilles. Fortunately, the exchange stopped there.
The team’s new psychiatrist, Dr. Vola Uptuus, attributed the improved team play on the reawakening of the Strawbs’ three oldest members. “I do not believe that the fact that Sir Gawd, The Vice and the handsome Ice Marshal just returned from a training session at the Aloha Baby Compound was not in a big way responsible for their improved play.” (For those readers who have difficulty following the double negatives in Dr. Vola’s circumlocution, just take out the 2 nots and read the statement again.) (Warning: Don’t not do this twice).
After a lengthy investigation by this reporter, It was discovered that the said trio had been flown to Oahu last Friday morning to help with the training regimen of the Budweiser SuperBowl Hostesses who will be femaling the Bud jet to SuperBowl XXX (or so), as shown on those innocent yet lascivious TV commercials that none of use watch. “I haven’t been stretched this hard for months”, beamed an obviously rejuvenated Gumby. Working out with Ashly, Ashley and Ashlei was not only good for me but now I think the girls will be better prepared for what can happen when you’re over a mile high above the earth, partying with gung-ho types.” His Gumbiness then continued: “It was very tiring but we were all up for the challenge. Who would have thought that measuring skirt lengths, stiletto heights and scantily clad beverage service times could be so exhausting.”
The Hawaiian experience certainly paid dividends for the trio in particular and the Strawbs overall. The Vice had 2 assists on the evening and scored his first real goal since February 14, 2007. Sir Gawd, newly equipped with an Easton SX 444.a23 Super Slapper from Sportchek and with Gramma Buckley’s Comfy Slipper Inserts freshly installed in his skates, rang his first shot of the game off the post and promptly deposited his next offering into a rather surprised opponents’net. The Ice Marshall continued his torrid scoring pace by notching, unassisted, the winning goal late in the first period.
The team’s revival was also evident in the small things which added up to an admirable effort. Freight Train Laronde, gasping for breath like Aqualung my friend, and hurling bits of undigested Robbie Burns haggis into the gap behind the bench, did not miss one shift. WhoaHorny soldiered on despite playing the whole game like an acid tripping iron butterfly bent on reproducing with a less-than-inspired Hilton sister. But the best revival example involved Dr. Thug, Pyjama Man and the team’s most loyal fan this season, the absolutely gorgeous and book smart Loans Jones. With a mere 2 minutes to go in the game and with the score teetering precariously at an angle of 7 to 2 in the Strawbs’ favour, the good Doctor fed PJM with a text book saucer pass, which pass sprung PJM loose from the pack, sending him in alone on the Free Agent’s netminder. Loans Jones, normally a taciturn beauty, began yelling feverishly to her man. Dr. Thug let out one of his frequent mind-numbing war whoops in an effort to propel PJM to hockey glory. Poor PJM, stunned by his chick’s sultry exhortations and Dr. Thug’s animal screams, couldn’t tell if he was coming or going. Eventually, he decided to do both.
Shiny did not shine so brightly…syphilis is suspected. He is expected to return to his top form shortly after his next regular visit to the clinic.
After the match, The Strawbs reassembled at the recently reopened Terminal Tavren, to analyze and rejoice in the reasons for their new found energy. Shoulders were slapped, knees squeezed and the usual juvenile (but never old) jibes were exchanged, all in the name of camaraderie and bonhomie.
4 Stella, 16 Guinness, 2 Coors Light, 1 Bass, 4 Bud, 1 Blue, 2 pounds of slightly undercooked chicken wings and some rather dubious tales of mile high shenanigans were consumed.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Killer Strawberries Hockey January 25, 2010
The Killer Strawberries and Gentlemen's Hockey Club
The games within the game.
Whoahorny on the defensive.
Gawdawful Gumby avec new stick.Saturday, January 23, 2010
Experiment Goes Awry, Strawbs Fail To Lose
Game Report
Strawbs 1 Aviation Panthers 1
January 21, 2010
The Executive of The Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club was less than pleased this Thursday, as the gem in its corporate crown failed miserably in the execution of a double secret mission to throw a game against the Aviation Panthers. The consequences are expected to affect every level of the organization, right down to the poor sod who blowdries Gumby’s gloves and underwear between periods.
The orders, written in invisible yellow ink, had been delivered in a sealed envelope to the team just prior to game time by a young woman posing as Miss White Go Go Boot’s young protégée, Vola Uptuus, a Finnish exchange student working on her PhD in creative gymnastics under various faculty advisors at Nipissing University. While all the orders are now unreadable, it was reported by unidentified sources wearing numbers 6 and 16 that the secret missive contained instructions to play as poorly as possible so as to ensure defeat. When questioned about the strategy, the Executive referred the ignorant press to B. F. Skinner’s experiments on negative reinforcement and enhanced long-term performance in heuristic cognitive based coruscations. Freight Train thought the mumbo jumbo meant it would give the team a better chance to win the cup.
In any event, the squad attempted to do its best to play its worst. The only exception was the team’s replacement in net, student goalie Mark “The Wall” Wagner, who, blatantly disobeying orders, stopped 142 of the 143 shots directed at him by the Panthers. Everyone else sucked beyond the call of duty, as mandated by the thick foreheads at Aloha Baby Compound.
Shiny Shone Brightly spent most of the evening wisecracking and smoking urinal stained stogies in the opponent’s crease with his buddy, Gawdawful Gumby, as their defence mate, Whoahorny Richardson, lay uselessly prostrate on the Strawbs’ bench liberally applying Astroglide Nitro to every extremity of his abused body. Pyjama Man got his head slammed in the door to the bench during the warmup and contributed nothing but a series of sad moans to the night’s proceedings. The Vice refused to leave the centre ice faceoff circle except to make frequent trips to the women’s washroom which he claims is way cleaner than the men’s. Archilles and Freight Train played air guitar with their sticks and Dr. Thug ventured over to the other ice pad to practice his bodychecking on some unsuspecting peewee girls hockey team. The Ice Marshal spent most of the game teaching the scorekeeper how to do cryptic crosswords on the time keeping machinery. The team’s most effective players were Warrin’ Peace who was stranded at home tuning up his wife’s ovulation cycle and MagBoy who was in Toronto showing the Minister of Justice how to bake muffins in his PVR.
Despite the sheer ineptitude of the Strawbs’ performance, the team was still unable to lose. The Executive has reluctantly accepted the failure of the experiment and plans never again to order a deliberate loss . As the official press release from the Compound put it so well “Managing this team islike trying to herd cats in a catnip patch.”
With the Terminal Tavren closed for fumigation, the Killer Strawberries moved their post-game celebrations to the parking lot of the Sweetwater Inn, home of the 12 minute motel room. They drank bootleg liquor from paper bags, played air guitar, accepted the compliments but not the invitations of the working girls on break and repeatedly congratulated Sir Gawdawful Gumby on what turned out to be his 51st birthday. All in all, it was a great failed experiment.
4 quarts of moonshine, a frozen pretzel and some salacious come-ons were consumed but not consummated.
Strawbs 1 Aviation Panthers 1
January 21, 2010
The Executive of The Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club was less than pleased this Thursday, as the gem in its corporate crown failed miserably in the execution of a double secret mission to throw a game against the Aviation Panthers. The consequences are expected to affect every level of the organization, right down to the poor sod who blowdries Gumby’s gloves and underwear between periods.
The orders, written in invisible yellow ink, had been delivered in a sealed envelope to the team just prior to game time by a young woman posing as Miss White Go Go Boot’s young protégée, Vola Uptuus, a Finnish exchange student working on her PhD in creative gymnastics under various faculty advisors at Nipissing University. While all the orders are now unreadable, it was reported by unidentified sources wearing numbers 6 and 16 that the secret missive contained instructions to play as poorly as possible so as to ensure defeat. When questioned about the strategy, the Executive referred the ignorant press to B. F. Skinner’s experiments on negative reinforcement and enhanced long-term performance in heuristic cognitive based coruscations. Freight Train thought the mumbo jumbo meant it would give the team a better chance to win the cup.
In any event, the squad attempted to do its best to play its worst. The only exception was the team’s replacement in net, student goalie Mark “The Wall” Wagner, who, blatantly disobeying orders, stopped 142 of the 143 shots directed at him by the Panthers. Everyone else sucked beyond the call of duty, as mandated by the thick foreheads at Aloha Baby Compound.
Shiny Shone Brightly spent most of the evening wisecracking and smoking urinal stained stogies in the opponent’s crease with his buddy, Gawdawful Gumby, as their defence mate, Whoahorny Richardson, lay uselessly prostrate on the Strawbs’ bench liberally applying Astroglide Nitro to every extremity of his abused body. Pyjama Man got his head slammed in the door to the bench during the warmup and contributed nothing but a series of sad moans to the night’s proceedings. The Vice refused to leave the centre ice faceoff circle except to make frequent trips to the women’s washroom which he claims is way cleaner than the men’s. Archilles and Freight Train played air guitar with their sticks and Dr. Thug ventured over to the other ice pad to practice his bodychecking on some unsuspecting peewee girls hockey team. The Ice Marshal spent most of the game teaching the scorekeeper how to do cryptic crosswords on the time keeping machinery. The team’s most effective players were Warrin’ Peace who was stranded at home tuning up his wife’s ovulation cycle and MagBoy who was in Toronto showing the Minister of Justice how to bake muffins in his PVR.
Despite the sheer ineptitude of the Strawbs’ performance, the team was still unable to lose. The Executive has reluctantly accepted the failure of the experiment and plans never again to order a deliberate loss . As the official press release from the Compound put it so well “Managing this team islike trying to herd cats in a catnip patch.”
With the Terminal Tavren closed for fumigation, the Killer Strawberries moved their post-game celebrations to the parking lot of the Sweetwater Inn, home of the 12 minute motel room. They drank bootleg liquor from paper bags, played air guitar, accepted the compliments but not the invitations of the working girls on break and repeatedly congratulated Sir Gawdawful Gumby on what turned out to be his 51st birthday. All in all, it was a great failed experiment.
4 quarts of moonshine, a frozen pretzel and some salacious come-ons were consumed but not consummated.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Rust Never Sleeps
Game Report
January 14, 2010
Strawberries 7 Aviation Panthers 3
It was apparent from the opening faceoff that the 2009 Christmas holiday break had not been kind to the aging Killer Strawberries, many of whom had taken the opportunity to unrestrainedly bulk up on the season’s diet-defying culinary offerings. The Executive, upon eyeing the naked manhood which graced the Strawbs’ dressing room at shower time, estimated that at least half the national caloric intake of the Ukraine had been consumed by the team over the break. Fortunately, the increase in team bulk was more than made up by a concommittant increase in team overall handsomeness.
The seasonal bulkup was accompanied by more than expected creaks and moans as the squad took to the ice for its pre-game warmup. As teammates stumbled upon the ice surface like a bunch of deranged bumper cars, you could almost see oxidized metal slough off in giant turd-like piles, resulting in an imaginary yet easily envisioned rust accumulation greater than the total corrosion which had infested the ancient rumble-seated Oldsmobile callously abandoned by Sir Gumby to the scrap heap of history on December 18, 2009, just shy of its 40th birthday.
Although things did not look good in the early going, the Strawbs eventually came through for its adoring fan base, all members of which had chosen to stay home for the evening sucking on the last of their Christmas bonbons. Monsieur LePlug was excellent in net, stopping 9 of the 10 breakaways lovingly bestowed upon him by his besotted defence. The Vice, on defence(?)resembled Bambi upon his first acquaintance with a frozen pond, just before his mother was massacred by the staight shootin' Dick Cheney. We were sure the Vice was going to blow a gasket as he valiantly attempted to untangle a set of wobbly legs bent upon their own inscrutable agenda.
Whoahorny, an unexpected showup, finally scored that goal he had promised his sons so long ago. Unfortunately, he spent so much time in the offensive zone, he somehow forgot his defensive duties. Perhaps it was the fumes of the WD 40 which he had liberally applied to grease his unwilling limbs. At least it smelled better than his usual industrial strength A535.
Although Shiny played like crap, he did look resplendent in the new Killer Strawberries jersey he sported as he entered the dressing room before the game. So did the sartorially splendiferous Jesse The Leak who had taken time off from sending recalcitrant tax evaders to the hoosegow to make an unexpected yet welcome appearance in HIS new Strawbs sweater , designed exclusively for him by the said Shiny.
But back to the game. The team was mighty pleased with Dr. Thug’s performance and enthusiasm. He whizzed about the ice like a 20 year old….cheese soufflé. Not really. He outpaced every Strawb except for Bing Crossbah, who, fortunately, still has true youth on side. Little bastard.
All in all, it turned out okay. Despite being behind early in the game ,the team rallied to pull another victory from the jaws of defeat. The Killer Strawberries may have been rusty, flatulent, hurting’and sloppy, but they still managed to notch another tick for the win column. And to live happy another day.
After the game, save for a couple of wimps who shall remain nameless (Archilles, LePlug), everyone went out to the Terminal Tavren (yes, tavren), to celebrate the rust that never sleeps.
4 Guinness, 6 Stella, 2 Sterling (to beer what baloney is to a T-bone), 4 Bud Light, 2 Kilkenny, 5 Bass , 3 pounds of wings and a case of Crown Corrosion Inhibitor were consumed.
January 14, 2010
Strawberries 7 Aviation Panthers 3
It was apparent from the opening faceoff that the 2009 Christmas holiday break had not been kind to the aging Killer Strawberries, many of whom had taken the opportunity to unrestrainedly bulk up on the season’s diet-defying culinary offerings. The Executive, upon eyeing the naked manhood which graced the Strawbs’ dressing room at shower time, estimated that at least half the national caloric intake of the Ukraine had been consumed by the team over the break. Fortunately, the increase in team bulk was more than made up by a concommittant increase in team overall handsomeness.
The seasonal bulkup was accompanied by more than expected creaks and moans as the squad took to the ice for its pre-game warmup. As teammates stumbled upon the ice surface like a bunch of deranged bumper cars, you could almost see oxidized metal slough off in giant turd-like piles, resulting in an imaginary yet easily envisioned rust accumulation greater than the total corrosion which had infested the ancient rumble-seated Oldsmobile callously abandoned by Sir Gumby to the scrap heap of history on December 18, 2009, just shy of its 40th birthday.
Although things did not look good in the early going, the Strawbs eventually came through for its adoring fan base, all members of which had chosen to stay home for the evening sucking on the last of their Christmas bonbons. Monsieur LePlug was excellent in net, stopping 9 of the 10 breakaways lovingly bestowed upon him by his besotted defence. The Vice, on defence(?)resembled Bambi upon his first acquaintance with a frozen pond, just before his mother was massacred by the staight shootin' Dick Cheney. We were sure the Vice was going to blow a gasket as he valiantly attempted to untangle a set of wobbly legs bent upon their own inscrutable agenda.
Whoahorny, an unexpected showup, finally scored that goal he had promised his sons so long ago. Unfortunately, he spent so much time in the offensive zone, he somehow forgot his defensive duties. Perhaps it was the fumes of the WD 40 which he had liberally applied to grease his unwilling limbs. At least it smelled better than his usual industrial strength A535.
Although Shiny played like crap, he did look resplendent in the new Killer Strawberries jersey he sported as he entered the dressing room before the game. So did the sartorially splendiferous Jesse The Leak who had taken time off from sending recalcitrant tax evaders to the hoosegow to make an unexpected yet welcome appearance in HIS new Strawbs sweater , designed exclusively for him by the said Shiny.
But back to the game. The team was mighty pleased with Dr. Thug’s performance and enthusiasm. He whizzed about the ice like a 20 year old….cheese soufflé. Not really. He outpaced every Strawb except for Bing Crossbah, who, fortunately, still has true youth on side. Little bastard.
All in all, it turned out okay. Despite being behind early in the game ,the team rallied to pull another victory from the jaws of defeat. The Killer Strawberries may have been rusty, flatulent, hurting’and sloppy, but they still managed to notch another tick for the win column. And to live happy another day.
After the game, save for a couple of wimps who shall remain nameless (Archilles, LePlug), everyone went out to the Terminal Tavren (yes, tavren), to celebrate the rust that never sleeps.
4 Guinness, 6 Stella, 2 Sterling (to beer what baloney is to a T-bone), 4 Bud Light, 2 Kilkenny, 5 Bass , 3 pounds of wings and a case of Crown Corrosion Inhibitor were consumed.
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