Headless Chicken Dance

Killer Strawberries 4 Longshafts 7

Game Report

January 31, 2011

To call last night’s performance by the Strawbs “flabby” would be akin to describing Miss January , 2011 as “okay to look at, if you’re into that sort of thing.” What happened to the promise glimpsed in last week’s tough-fought loss to the CCCP Bolsheviks?

The boys started out well enough and the score was close through the first period. There were flashes of adequacy on both offence and defence, including the goaltending. Unfortunately, the buzzer which sounded after the first 20 minutes must have had some kind of Pavlovian effect upon the whole squad.

Right from the drop of the puck to commence the second period, the team fell into a strange headless chicken dance, an ugly faux-quadrille bereft of rhyme and reason. Dancing, in any form, has never been this inept. The defence forgot how to defend. The offence became offensive even to the opposing Longshafts who felt they deserved a least o modicum of effort and resistance from the Strawbs. And the Strawbs’ goalie, usually reliable, took an unexpected break from competence and quickly regressed to a level which merited him the. “GetOuttaTown Suitcase Award”. This is new award given to the Killer Strawberry most likely to the return soon to the Buttface Bottomfeeders, the team’s farm team’s farm team. “ Our goalie was shittier than the Ice Marshal’s septic system after a weekend invasion by the in-laws”, mused a clearly disturbed Gumby.

On defence, one aging veteran, who pleaded for anonymity, put in a display which prompted the Ministry of Transportation to ask the Executive if he would be available to work as a pylon on Highway 69 this coming summer. Shiny was present only by his remarkable absence. And this reporter will not bother wasting a perfectly good simile on either of the other 2 D.

Up front, there was no shortage of on-ice work deserving of calumny. Let one egregious example suffice as indicative of the whole. This example would be Slickery Mac, a young man with a belly like his dad’s. What good Slickery managed to eke out against the opposition, although no worse than any of his other compatriots, would not have been detectable by the best microscope in the world.

After the debacle, the weakest performers reconvened at the terminal Tavren to drink away the foul-tasting memories of the game just played. Although there is no official report of what or how much was consumed, it can only be guessed that, by the time the Strawbs’ representatives left the building, there was no more humble pie remaining anywhere on the premises.