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.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
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.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
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