Search This Blog

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.