A Vesuvius of Wisdom

Game Report

February 3, 2011

Killer Strawberries 10 Turbo Beavers 0

When he used to be chauffeured to his games, P. Gumbington Pettigrew III was never late. This allowed him to position himself upon his dressing room throne well before most of his team mates showed up to play. From this perch, he would dispense his voluminous hockey wisdom whenever he saw fit to whomever should be so lucky as to enter his realm. He almost always saw fit.

Things have changed since P. Gumbington became dissatisfied with his chauffeur’s services. He now drives himself to all Strawberries’ matches secure in the knowledge that, in accordance with the words of his once imaginary lover, the ageless Carole King, “nobody does it better.”

One of the consequences of his newly implemented “Chariot of The Gawd’s” plan is that he rarely gets to a game before the Zamboni has completed its last lick of the ice. This gives him very little time to correct the most recent flaws he has detected in the play of his inferiors. It is a great loss, a shame really, that so much wisdom gets left undispensed by someone who is so full of it.

As his disciples and worshippers know, Sir Gumby is as adept at forward and goaltending as he is at defence. No scale yet exists to properly measure the performances he routinely puts in. Because the coaching staff knows to expect to same level of play from him whether he plays up , back, between the pipes (or is just on the bench for that matter), he has been shuffled about quite a bit since the Christmas break. This peripateticism has been necessary to adjust for team injuries, unforeseen absences and the rare over-subscription. And because Sir Gumby shows up with little pre-game time to spare, he often does not know what role will be expected of him on the evening.

As had been anticipated last night, our pumpkin-socked pontificator did not show up until the last minute. He barged into to the dressing room like a bulldog with a grudge, barely able to contain the volcano of miffed-induced advice needed to be spewed forth. He made his way across the the floor, swept away a couple of stunned rookies besmirching his perch and magisterially demanded of the coaching staff… “What do you want me to play tonight?”…. “Better” was the terse reply.

Well, to his credit, he did elevate his game to “unexpected.” He even got a breakaway while playing defence. He did score because, as he so properly noted “the score was already 10-0 for us. Both the breakaway and the deliberate miss were intended as life lessons for my team mates. Anyone interested in absorbing the philosophy behind my decisions are invited to gather about my person at the Terminal Tavren following the game.”

The game ended 10-0. Hands were shaken, showers taken and compliments in wolves’ clothing were exchanged. It was midnight before P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third scurried off with all interested parties for post-game cheer and a chance to pick up the kind of hockey wisdom not available elsewhere in the universe.

1 Guinness and the puppy-eyed adoration of a young waitress who didn’t know better were consumed.