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.