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Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Strawbs Win. Goaltending Woes Continue.

Killer Strawberries   8      Scoregasms    5

Game Report

February 13, 2013

Record: unknown yet respectable

What has happened to the cocky goaltender who, for months after being the Strawbs first overall pick in the 2011 draft, was as impenetrable as anything found in an Italian convent? In last night’s game against the Scoregasms, the offence was relentless. MagBoy and The Mayor alone had at least 8 breakaways and 3 goals between them. Every Strawbs forward scored and every defencemen played some version of defence. But in nets, the story is one which continues to send shock waves of consternation up and down the bench, through the press box and right up into the sanctum sanctorum in Aloha Baby Compound, where whiskey and uxorious companionship flow like the Nile in rainy season.

The goaltending has been so atrocious that there is now a very plausible theory circulating among the handsomer Strawbs. This theory holds that Dr. Phelonius Thug’s most recent concussion was caused by the Marquis DeSap’s inability to stop anything moving towards him with any speed greater than that achieved by a retreating glacier. How would this theory be possible, you may ask? If you need to ask, you just don’t know.

In the impartial opinion of this award winning reporter, the Strawbs will be going nowhere in the playoffs until such time as solve their gaping hole behind the blueline.

With Valentine’s looming ominously just past the midnight fast approaching, all Strawbs scurried home after the game  to ensure that the gifts so carefully chosen for the loves-of-their-lives would be properly chilled for the next day. Nothing but perhaps a bottle or two from the chilling inventory was consumed.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

A Serendipitous Delight

Killer Strawberries    7    Turbo Pussies    5

Game Report

February 11, 2013

To say that the Turbo Beavers had more overall skill than the Strawbs in last night’s hockey tussle would have the holder of such an opinion of the right side of the truth. But, as all hubristic cocky little pricks know, more skill does not equal victory. Grit and a good dollop of horseshit luck are a helluva lot more effective. And the Strawbs, if anything, know how to manufacture  enough of the former and a surfeit of the latter when the occasion demands.

The Strawbs' equine-excretion-inspired good fortune began with a few well-timed absences. The Marquis DeSad, he of the impertinent lip, impudent attitude and insolent wit, was somewhere in Texas making love to his ego. Dr. Thug was out with concussion 1012 suffered as result of running into his own car door after too long a roadside debriefing with Ron Bacardi. Freight Train Laronde remains on the injured reserved list, having suffered an undisclosed lower body injury at The Word Lap Dance Championships in Amos, in the Province of Queeebec.

The game started out badly. The Strawbs were down 3-0 in the time it takes a new girl to tell the Gumbomeister to sod off.  But being in the behind position is nothing foreign to any Strawb worth his salt. After taking a collective deep breath, the squad mounted its assault. Slickery showed why he is considered his father’s quasi-legitimate son as he scored almost at will. The Mayor was on fire, cheating repeatedly off every faceoff to scream his way to center ice where Shiny would elegantly feed him a breakaway pass. He scored on 2 of his 10 attempts, a scoring percentage well-above even such luminaries as Phil Kessel and the now deceased Gary Croteau.

The Ice Martian was effectively ineffective, as was his protégé, MagBoy. Warrin’ Peace finally contributed an important tally early in the second period then immediately went into his Idle Some More mode.

The Vice played much better when he demoted himself to defence. He clicked with Shiny and they have decided to get married, in the hockey sense. The other two defenders were a disgrace bordering on ineptitude. Fortunately for them, this writer will not go into any details, since he doesn’t have any. The preceding opinion is based solely on the hearsay provided by the Vice as he was being driven home by said writer. A fuzzy recollection also conjures up the phrases “effing crappy, woeful and time for retirement.”

After the game, everyone went straight home to wake up their spouses with the good news. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was consumed.

Friday, February 08, 2013

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Killer Strawberries    5    Rams    5

Game Report

February 7, 2013

Record: ?-?-41

As is customary with every Strawbs’ performance, on and off the ice, there were elements ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous in last night's game against the Rams. Let us start with the ridiculous.

Normally, the Marquis DeSave is as reliable between the pipes as a good quality toilet paper. The paper may give a little around the edges but it can be trusted to clean up any messes it encounters. Not so last night. The Marquis performed like the type of ass-wipe one finds gracing the outhouse of a third world airport. You know the type: paper so flimsy and porous that it crumbles in your hand as you peel it off the roll and then proves difficult to remove from the hirsute guardians of your nether regions.  MagBoy, in his post-game rant at the Terminal Tavren, diplomatically avoided any reference to toilet paper in his description of the cocky DeSave’s outing but did note that a thin slice of Swiss cheese place along the goal line might have served the Strawbs better on the evening.

Out on the other parts of the pond, it was a bit of a mixed bag. Mayor Maynot, fresh from dodging death threats at the Astorville arena where he had just finished his Zebra duties in a Peewee House League grudge match, danced about the rink like needle of a compass at the magnetic North Pole. He was here, there and nowhere at the same time.

The Vice lugged around his extra 30 pounds of winter fat with all the aplomb of Honey BooBoo after her afternoon nap. Dr Thug, nattily attired in his old asbestos, anti-concussion Aurel Joliette 2000 Noggin Protector and some little kid’s hockey gloves, skated circles around himself and almost touched the puck once.

Slickery was pathetic. None of his fourteen rockets hit the net and his passing sucked. Gumbo lowered his team leading 14 passes per game up the middle to a respectable 13.67. Butcher Brophey, whose inamorata has left him for another woman in Saskatchewan, neither butchered nor exhibited the least sign of the vituperative truculence which has made him legendary both in Canada and in every other country where he has been allowed to play more than one game in any sport. Wethinks he is still grieving. As for Shiny Shone Brightly, he was good but not as good as he self-reported in the dressing room following the match.

This brings us to the triumphant return of the team’s spiritual leader, swami, Svengali and psychiatrist. As anyone familiar with the well-known  world of Canadore intramural is aware, Ice Martian Walpole has recently been battling inscrutable cosmic forces just to stay alive. On Christmas Day, 2012, IMW was wheeled into the operatory at the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu for emergency surgery. Two of his hot tub companions, the Olsen twins, had gone into simultaneous cardiac arrest. The IMW had quickly sized up the situation and summoned the Executive’s doctor to the operatory, where he waited to dole out the orders.

“The lasses have weak hearts. They need to be replaced immediately” remarked the unflappable IMW. “ Dr. Zhivago, take out my heart, slice it down the middle and transplant one half into each of the twins. Don’t worry about me. Just put me on the Machine until we can find a suitable replacement my aching heart”.

The Olsen twins survived their operations and are tickled pink to have some IMW inside them permanently. The Ice Martian faltered a bit on Boxing Day but held on until his new antelope’s heart was able to take over from the Machine three days later. For the month of January and right up to game time last night, he was in rehab under the recuperatory tutelage of a crack team of physioterrorists. The rehab must have taken because his return to the Strawbs’ fold was nothing short of blissful. IMW contributed 2 goals and an assist. “I’m just a journeyman player in the hands of a fickle fate” commented the shy leader. “The boys made a special effort to feed good passes. I was simply the lucky guy who touched the puck last before it crossed the goal line, twice I believe. Even Gumby could have scored on my chances...well at least on one of the chances, assuming he wasn't keeping company with Johnny Walker The Red.”

After the game, the squad reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to toast the continued good health of the Olsen twins and the handiwork of Dr. Zhivago.

1 Crock Top, 6 Guinness, 7 Hot and Hoppy, 16 Garfunkels, 10 pounds of deep fried artery hardener and the stuff of dream-comebacks-come-true were consumed.