Off to a good start!
Lori wins Big.
Magnausium in Plaid.
The Plaid Shorts Team.
Most of the Strawbs, Strawbs bone to seed and their fans after the Awards at the Legion.Saturday, August 07, 2010
Killer Strawberries Golf August 6, 2010
Off to a good start! Lori wins Big. Magnausium in Plaid. The Plaid Shorts Team. Most of the Strawbs, Strawbs bone to seed and their fans after the Awards at the Legion.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Practice Round
Some of the Killer Strawberries, Freight Train Laronde, Butcher Brophey, the Ice Marshall and The Vice, were out on the links yesterday getting in a practice round before August's annual Strawberries golf event. Also on board, on loan from the Lahr Reunion Team, was Batawa import Fists Hore.Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Killer Strawberries on Tour, Again
The Killer Strawberries "Summer Tour 2010" took them to the French River for 4 days. Freight Train shows the "colours" prior to a hearty breakfast and another day of river fun.Thursday, March 18, 2010
2009-2010 Champion Team of Final Game
Here is the Strawbs team that won the final game to clinch Championship #3 in 4 years.Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Championship Victory!
Killer Strawberries 5 Aviation Iceholes 1
Game Report
March 15, 2010
All the stops in the Strawbs’ juggernaut were slammed to wide open this past Monday evening as the Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club directed its shinny machine to the ice pads of victory. Every talisman, good luck charm and voodoo incantation was used to ensure that the handsomest intramural squad in the history of intramural squads, a team so creaky its members must tie each others’ skates, copped its third College Championship in the last 4 years. The greatest relief was bidding adieu to the detested Aviation Iceholes, a team so loathed by the kitten-loving, dog-petting, tree-hugging Killer Strawberries that even the mention of this opponent is highly discouraged in polite company throughout the hockey cosmos.
It was not an easy path to intramural glory. A third of the Strawbs’ team was MIA on the evening, leaving the heavy lifting to be done by a valiant few who toiled ceaselessly to grab the Crown under adverse conditions. Absent was Freight Train Laronde who was overseas, introducing his pal, Butcher Brophey, to the seedier carnal exchanges of exotic Cairo. He did, however, send an email to the Strawbs, prior to the match, a “Pyramid Power” photo of himself and the Butcher, scandalously outfitted in purple loincloths while mounting camels at the foot of the largest pyramid they could find.
Also missing was Worn-E who was taking a well-deserved sabbatical in Orlando, Florida, where he was engaged in the study of “The Heuristic Educational Implications of Hedonistic Pursuits In Sub-Tropical Climes”. Sounds like a big rum infused piss-up to this writer.
Warrin’ Peace could not make it because his wife, the gorgeous Samara Dessert, had commanded him to remove all the Strawbs’ graffiti scratched into the walls of the Garage of Bad Ideas at an earlier soiree which had gotten out of hand.
Poor Dr. Thug was virtually immobilized by a post-anterior laceration of his medio-lateral cruciate, an injury he sustained while mysteriously attempting to remove his underwear on a slippery strip club floor somewhere near Delhi, Ontario. Even though he could not play, His Thuggery did show up to the arena to take over the coaching reins previously wielded by Paunch Imlach whose bail could not be posted by game time. Dr. Thug attributed the Strawbs’ triumph to the lucky knee brace he had lent to the Ice Marshall and to his expert manipulation of Gumby’s old Shanky, an ancient five iron which has been wielded successfully at all 3 Strawbs’ championship games in the last 4 years. As he is wont to do, the good Doctor downplayed the contribution of all the hockey acumen he has acquired over his last 80 years of self-concussing on frozen ponds and burlesque stages around the world.
On the ice, the Killer Strawberries executed to near perfection the game plan concocted by Gawdawful Gumby on his pre-game trip to the loo. “I want you guys to score early and often,” he barked to anyone who would listen. “And I will personally attend to any of you so-called hockey players if you don’t.” Frightened by the intensity of the Gawd’s oral delivery, the Strawbs did exactly as ordered. Bing Crossbah, the starting centre, moved the opening draw back to Archilles Perron who quickly spooned it back to the streaking Bing. Bing squeezed through the startled defence and slammed a missile just inside the right post. It took 7 seconds. Gumby thought it should have been done quicker but was still mildly pleased with the effort. Then Bing bonged again, scoring another beauty before the clock had ticked off 2 minutes. “Playing with the Ice Marshal opened up the ice for me all night long,” Bing burbled to reporters at the post game presser. "IMW may have a well deserved reputation as a smooth skating right winger, but more importantly he seems to magically draw opponents to his side of the rink. I almost felt alone out there with the space I had to work with.”
As for the Ice Marshal, he had his best game in 2 years, despite playing with a knee so wounded it had to be fused together with metal rods,titanium crosspieces and the prayers of his mother. Twice he harnessed blistering shots launched by the defence, manipulated them expertly in heavy traffic and neatly flipped them into tiny holes left by the Iceholes’ bewildered goaltender.
Pyjama Man was at the peak of feistiness and delivered an excellent performance for his long-suffering girlfriend, Loans Jones, who was watching him swooningly from the stands. MagBoy could barely be contained. He frustrated the opposition repeatedly with his supersonic speed, mettlesome play and halitosis. On more than one occasion, he expertly goaded an Icehole into taking a stupid penalty, which error in judgment usually resulted in a Strawbs’ goal.
The defence was magnificent. Shiny Sean Brightly was all over the ice, blocking shots, breaking up potential breakaways and sliding into scoring position with all the aplomb of a stealth missile. His two trips to the sin bin were well deserved and strategically useful in making the Iceholes pay for the liberties they were attempting to take with the corporal well-being of his Strawberrian team mates. P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third also showed up to play, assisting on a least two markers, hustling when he ought to have hustled and shutting down the most dangerous of the Aviators. Archilles played way above his head. He was most adept at keeping the puck in the opposition’s end under trying circumstances, which adeptitude resulted in the third Strawbs’ tally. Serious consideration will be given to moving him full time to a point position next year.
And what can be said about the Vice that has not already been said. He must be the most frustrating guy to play against in the universe. Over the years, he has perfected the barely detectable elbow hook, the borderline defensive interference manoeuvre, the step on the opponent’s stick trick and so many other quasi-illegal moves that a hockey instructional video featuring his obstructionist magic is being proposed by more than one NHL organization.
As the last line of defence, Monsieur Le Plug rose to the occasion. He must have appeared like a Titan in oversized goalie apparel to the clearly baffled shooters on the other team. He was a veritable black hole between the pipes, sucking up any and all energy the opposition directed to his attention. He is definitely a lock on the Killer Strawberries' goalie of the year for 2009-2010. He reminds the Executive of a young Jesse The Leak, who now toils anonymously for Revenue Canada in some soul-sucking cubicle in Sudbury.
After the game, the team and its fans (2) reconvened at the terminal Tavren to slug back champagne, to clink glasses ad nauseum and to lavishly compliment each other on a fabulous season. Emails were sent out to the non-contributors, songs were sung and once again a calm soothing glow of victory well-earned permeated the air.
16 Jeroboams of Champagne, 2 Appletinis (Bootsey MagGirl's favourite), 47 Ibuprofen, 1 Ode To Shanky and lots of happy smiles were consumed
Game Report
March 15, 2010
All the stops in the Strawbs’ juggernaut were slammed to wide open this past Monday evening as the Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club directed its shinny machine to the ice pads of victory. Every talisman, good luck charm and voodoo incantation was used to ensure that the handsomest intramural squad in the history of intramural squads, a team so creaky its members must tie each others’ skates, copped its third College Championship in the last 4 years. The greatest relief was bidding adieu to the detested Aviation Iceholes, a team so loathed by the kitten-loving, dog-petting, tree-hugging Killer Strawberries that even the mention of this opponent is highly discouraged in polite company throughout the hockey cosmos.
It was not an easy path to intramural glory. A third of the Strawbs’ team was MIA on the evening, leaving the heavy lifting to be done by a valiant few who toiled ceaselessly to grab the Crown under adverse conditions. Absent was Freight Train Laronde who was overseas, introducing his pal, Butcher Brophey, to the seedier carnal exchanges of exotic Cairo. He did, however, send an email to the Strawbs, prior to the match, a “Pyramid Power” photo of himself and the Butcher, scandalously outfitted in purple loincloths while mounting camels at the foot of the largest pyramid they could find.
Also missing was Worn-E who was taking a well-deserved sabbatical in Orlando, Florida, where he was engaged in the study of “The Heuristic Educational Implications of Hedonistic Pursuits In Sub-Tropical Climes”. Sounds like a big rum infused piss-up to this writer.
Warrin’ Peace could not make it because his wife, the gorgeous Samara Dessert, had commanded him to remove all the Strawbs’ graffiti scratched into the walls of the Garage of Bad Ideas at an earlier soiree which had gotten out of hand.
Poor Dr. Thug was virtually immobilized by a post-anterior laceration of his medio-lateral cruciate, an injury he sustained while mysteriously attempting to remove his underwear on a slippery strip club floor somewhere near Delhi, Ontario. Even though he could not play, His Thuggery did show up to the arena to take over the coaching reins previously wielded by Paunch Imlach whose bail could not be posted by game time. Dr. Thug attributed the Strawbs’ triumph to the lucky knee brace he had lent to the Ice Marshall and to his expert manipulation of Gumby’s old Shanky, an ancient five iron which has been wielded successfully at all 3 Strawbs’ championship games in the last 4 years. As he is wont to do, the good Doctor downplayed the contribution of all the hockey acumen he has acquired over his last 80 years of self-concussing on frozen ponds and burlesque stages around the world.
On the ice, the Killer Strawberries executed to near perfection the game plan concocted by Gawdawful Gumby on his pre-game trip to the loo. “I want you guys to score early and often,” he barked to anyone who would listen. “And I will personally attend to any of you so-called hockey players if you don’t.” Frightened by the intensity of the Gawd’s oral delivery, the Strawbs did exactly as ordered. Bing Crossbah, the starting centre, moved the opening draw back to Archilles Perron who quickly spooned it back to the streaking Bing. Bing squeezed through the startled defence and slammed a missile just inside the right post. It took 7 seconds. Gumby thought it should have been done quicker but was still mildly pleased with the effort. Then Bing bonged again, scoring another beauty before the clock had ticked off 2 minutes. “Playing with the Ice Marshal opened up the ice for me all night long,” Bing burbled to reporters at the post game presser. "IMW may have a well deserved reputation as a smooth skating right winger, but more importantly he seems to magically draw opponents to his side of the rink. I almost felt alone out there with the space I had to work with.”
As for the Ice Marshal, he had his best game in 2 years, despite playing with a knee so wounded it had to be fused together with metal rods,titanium crosspieces and the prayers of his mother. Twice he harnessed blistering shots launched by the defence, manipulated them expertly in heavy traffic and neatly flipped them into tiny holes left by the Iceholes’ bewildered goaltender.
Pyjama Man was at the peak of feistiness and delivered an excellent performance for his long-suffering girlfriend, Loans Jones, who was watching him swooningly from the stands. MagBoy could barely be contained. He frustrated the opposition repeatedly with his supersonic speed, mettlesome play and halitosis. On more than one occasion, he expertly goaded an Icehole into taking a stupid penalty, which error in judgment usually resulted in a Strawbs’ goal.
The defence was magnificent. Shiny Sean Brightly was all over the ice, blocking shots, breaking up potential breakaways and sliding into scoring position with all the aplomb of a stealth missile. His two trips to the sin bin were well deserved and strategically useful in making the Iceholes pay for the liberties they were attempting to take with the corporal well-being of his Strawberrian team mates. P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third also showed up to play, assisting on a least two markers, hustling when he ought to have hustled and shutting down the most dangerous of the Aviators. Archilles played way above his head. He was most adept at keeping the puck in the opposition’s end under trying circumstances, which adeptitude resulted in the third Strawbs’ tally. Serious consideration will be given to moving him full time to a point position next year.
And what can be said about the Vice that has not already been said. He must be the most frustrating guy to play against in the universe. Over the years, he has perfected the barely detectable elbow hook, the borderline defensive interference manoeuvre, the step on the opponent’s stick trick and so many other quasi-illegal moves that a hockey instructional video featuring his obstructionist magic is being proposed by more than one NHL organization.
As the last line of defence, Monsieur Le Plug rose to the occasion. He must have appeared like a Titan in oversized goalie apparel to the clearly baffled shooters on the other team. He was a veritable black hole between the pipes, sucking up any and all energy the opposition directed to his attention. He is definitely a lock on the Killer Strawberries' goalie of the year for 2009-2010. He reminds the Executive of a young Jesse The Leak, who now toils anonymously for Revenue Canada in some soul-sucking cubicle in Sudbury.
After the game, the team and its fans (2) reconvened at the terminal Tavren to slug back champagne, to clink glasses ad nauseum and to lavishly compliment each other on a fabulous season. Emails were sent out to the non-contributors, songs were sung and once again a calm soothing glow of victory well-earned permeated the air.
16 Jeroboams of Champagne, 2 Appletinis (Bootsey MagGirl's favourite), 47 Ibuprofen, 1 Ode To Shanky and lots of happy smiles were consumed
Monday, March 15, 2010
Pyramid Power
Strawbs vacation in Egypt rather than play in finals. At least the "colours" are being shown world wide.Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Iceholes Paunched Into Submission
Game Report
March 4, 2010
Killer Strawberries 7 Aviation Iceholes 2
Last night was the first game in a 2 out 3 series between the ancient Killer Strawberries and their despised rivals, the Aviation Iceholes . The Pete Palangio Arena was rocking hours before game time as fans from as far away as across the street streamed into the ice palace to take in the evening’s entertainment. Both the candy bar machine and the pop dispenser were sold out before the drop of the puck. Or maybe they were just broken but it can be said with certainty that the Vice lost at least 4 loonies looking to grab a quick nutritious dinner before he had to lace them up.
Once again, the Killer Strawberries were lead by coach Paunch Imlach who had been parachuted in to replace the bench stylings of the inimitable Ice Marshal Walpole. The IMW was still recuperating at the Aloha Baby Compound under the very close care of Candy and Mandy Delicious, dedicated professionals in the caring industry. Coach Paunch, using a complicated admixture of voodoo, a five iron, a German drinking hat and bluster, whipped the Strawbs into a frenzy just as they were to step on the ice. The adrenalin was running so high, mothers were asked to remove their daughters from the arena lest something crazy happen.
The Strawbs bolted from the gate. After giving up the first goal, they never looked back. The Iceholes spent more time on their heels than a Baltimore street walker on St. Patrick’s Day. MagBoy was, in his own estimation, “magnificent”, potting 3 goals, roughin’ it up in every zone and even making well timed trips to the Sin Bin. Bing skated like an 18 year old jacked up on Bennies and contributed excellent offensive and defensive play. Dr. Thug scored the ugliest goal of his career by laying on his back, flailing at the puck with his arms and legs and stick and ears. How the puck went in is still a mystery, but its crossing of the goal line was accompanied was the most joyfyl "YEAAAAAAA" in the history of hockey. Dr. Thug followed the referee all the way to timekeeper's box to ensure that there was no confusion as the identity of the artist who produced the goal.
Somebodies else scored the other markers. Those somebodies else included neither Freight Train nor Worn-E, nor Archilles, nor Gumby, nor Shiny, nor Warrin’ Peace whose continued absences from important playoff games has earned him a one way ticket to Butthole, Alaska to toil for the Butthole Bottom Feeders, the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team.
On the defensive side of the ledger, the blueliners' play was okay, if by okay you mean not below shitty.
After the match, the squad reassembled at the Terminal Tavren. They called the IMW to let him know that he was still loved and sorely missed, even in victory. The IMW then emailed all the Strawbs pictures of him recuperating with double Delicious martinis. Here’s hoping he can make it back for game 2.
4 Stella, 5 Guinness, 7 Keiths, 3.1914 rounds of cider, some Pi, 3 birthday Scotches provided by the Cairo bound Freight Train and some fine recollections of Icehole butt-kickin’ were consumed.
March 4, 2010
Killer Strawberries 7 Aviation Iceholes 2
Last night was the first game in a 2 out 3 series between the ancient Killer Strawberries and their despised rivals, the Aviation Iceholes . The Pete Palangio Arena was rocking hours before game time as fans from as far away as across the street streamed into the ice palace to take in the evening’s entertainment. Both the candy bar machine and the pop dispenser were sold out before the drop of the puck. Or maybe they were just broken but it can be said with certainty that the Vice lost at least 4 loonies looking to grab a quick nutritious dinner before he had to lace them up.
Once again, the Killer Strawberries were lead by coach Paunch Imlach who had been parachuted in to replace the bench stylings of the inimitable Ice Marshal Walpole. The IMW was still recuperating at the Aloha Baby Compound under the very close care of Candy and Mandy Delicious, dedicated professionals in the caring industry. Coach Paunch, using a complicated admixture of voodoo, a five iron, a German drinking hat and bluster, whipped the Strawbs into a frenzy just as they were to step on the ice. The adrenalin was running so high, mothers were asked to remove their daughters from the arena lest something crazy happen.
The Strawbs bolted from the gate. After giving up the first goal, they never looked back. The Iceholes spent more time on their heels than a Baltimore street walker on St. Patrick’s Day. MagBoy was, in his own estimation, “magnificent”, potting 3 goals, roughin’ it up in every zone and even making well timed trips to the Sin Bin. Bing skated like an 18 year old jacked up on Bennies and contributed excellent offensive and defensive play. Dr. Thug scored the ugliest goal of his career by laying on his back, flailing at the puck with his arms and legs and stick and ears. How the puck went in is still a mystery, but its crossing of the goal line was accompanied was the most joyfyl "YEAAAAAAA" in the history of hockey. Dr. Thug followed the referee all the way to timekeeper's box to ensure that there was no confusion as the identity of the artist who produced the goal.
Somebodies else scored the other markers. Those somebodies else included neither Freight Train nor Worn-E, nor Archilles, nor Gumby, nor Shiny, nor Warrin’ Peace whose continued absences from important playoff games has earned him a one way ticket to Butthole, Alaska to toil for the Butthole Bottom Feeders, the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team.
On the defensive side of the ledger, the blueliners' play was okay, if by okay you mean not below shitty.
After the match, the squad reassembled at the Terminal Tavren. They called the IMW to let him know that he was still loved and sorely missed, even in victory. The IMW then emailed all the Strawbs pictures of him recuperating with double Delicious martinis. Here’s hoping he can make it back for game 2.
4 Stella, 5 Guinness, 7 Keiths, 3.1914 rounds of cider, some Pi, 3 birthday Scotches provided by the Cairo bound Freight Train and some fine recollections of Icehole butt-kickin’ were consumed.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Rebound
Killer Strawberries 2 B*****ds 1 (SO)
Game Report
March 3, 2010
Last night, the Killer Strawberries showed once again what they can do when their backs are against the wall, when there is no tomorrow, when it’s do or die and when they run out of clichés. Facing elimination against the swift skating B****ds, they came to play and play they did.
It should be noted at the outset that Mr. Adversity was stalking the arena right up til game time. Warrin’ Peace was a no show, having entered a witless protection program somewhere on Manitoulin Island. The redoubtable Ice Marshall, who in a match earlier in the week against the detested Aviation Iceholes had sacrificed his fragile body for the good of the team, was unable to dress, being confined to bedrest at the Aloha Baby Compound under the excellent medical and other care of twin nurse sisters Candy and Mandy Delicious. “It’s been a hard ho to row” (or something to that effect) stated the IMW in his pre-game conference call to the team. “I’ll be back soon to do whatever I can to ensure our third championship in 4 years.”
Taking over bench duties, just fresh from his 14th stint at the Betty Ford, Paunch Imlach exhorted and excoriated his new squad to higher efforts. The team responded like Shiny to the dinner bell. Worn-E had his best game of the season, riffing magical musical numbers of hockey elegance, and left etched into the ice surface scrawlings worthy of any French Impressionist. Not once did he clamour for his nitro, which was securely ensconced in the inside mickey pocket of Paunch’s favourite smoking jacket.
The Vice, haggard and worn from out from monitoring the progress of his youngest daughter’s first encounter with childbirth (it was girl, Emmy Liz, born March 3, 2010 at 2:12am, wearing a hockey helmet and very tiny bob skates), put his hockey sagacity and his blazing slowness on display. With the game tied at 1-1 and with under 2 minutes left to go in the very tight match, the Vice found himself on the ass end of a 2 on 0. Realizing he would not catch the streaking B****d puck handler, he concentrated his efforts on the trailing player. The streaking B****d made a great move but was stymied by the sharp Monsieur LePlug as the poor B****d slammed his sorry self into the end boards. As the puck lay tantalizingly close to the goal line, unattended and screaming for attention, the Vice expertly lifted the straggler’s stick before the stunned fellow could deposit the biscuit into the slightly open cage: disaster averted and score still tied.
The Vice's defence partners, Shiny and P. Gumbington Pettigrew III, were superb: Shiny was truly stellar with his frequent offensive forays and defensive legerdemain. Gumby’s recollection of his performance had him self-rated at an 11 out 10. He actually played at a 9 out of 10 level, the only flaw in his game being his relentless attempts to get Coach Paunch to deliver his nearly useless missives to the forwards on the bench. Fortunately, those forwards have always been wise enough to discount Gumbo’s advice by 50% and then to ignore what is left.
On offence, MagBoy was a human buzzsaw and were it not for his Vice-like dedication to inaccuracy, could have a potted an easy couple. Archilles contributed the first marker of the game, a beauty now on video display in the Smutsonian Institute, housed in his basement crawlspace. Freight Train fought off his African jet lag just in time to suffer from hands colder than a bishop’s embrace. Still, he had an excellent passing game. Dr. Thug, self-medicated and as content as a kitten in a mouse-infested yarn factory, skated as if mired in quicksand, yet still managed to contribute offensively (or so he claimed after the game to his adoring audience of minus 1).
Pyjama Man and Bing Crossbah were solid, with Bing being double teamed most of the night. In the shootout, Pymama Man took the first Strawbs’ penalty shot and flung a mean backhander high into the B****d’s cage. Crossbah, although reluctant to take the second shot, did not disappoint. He faked left, then right, then left again, called his grandma on his cell for advice, kicked the puck up to his forehand, twirled about and launched a low drive into the net. Joy erupted on the Strawbs’ side of the rink, the B***ds having missed their second attempt, once again shut down by the Man, Monsieur LePlug.
With the victory, the Killer Strawberries begin a best 2 out of 3 series against their favourite team to hate: the Aviation Iceholes. It promises to be ugly.
Post game (12:15am EST), the exhausted Strawbs were in no shape to scurry off to the Terminal Tavren. Alternate means of celebration were found.
xx ---, yyy ----, -z2+2x+4 ---------, a pound of licorice and visions of a glorious destiny were consumed.
Game Report
March 3, 2010
Last night, the Killer Strawberries showed once again what they can do when their backs are against the wall, when there is no tomorrow, when it’s do or die and when they run out of clichés. Facing elimination against the swift skating B****ds, they came to play and play they did.
It should be noted at the outset that Mr. Adversity was stalking the arena right up til game time. Warrin’ Peace was a no show, having entered a witless protection program somewhere on Manitoulin Island. The redoubtable Ice Marshall, who in a match earlier in the week against the detested Aviation Iceholes had sacrificed his fragile body for the good of the team, was unable to dress, being confined to bedrest at the Aloha Baby Compound under the excellent medical and other care of twin nurse sisters Candy and Mandy Delicious. “It’s been a hard ho to row” (or something to that effect) stated the IMW in his pre-game conference call to the team. “I’ll be back soon to do whatever I can to ensure our third championship in 4 years.”
Taking over bench duties, just fresh from his 14th stint at the Betty Ford, Paunch Imlach exhorted and excoriated his new squad to higher efforts. The team responded like Shiny to the dinner bell. Worn-E had his best game of the season, riffing magical musical numbers of hockey elegance, and left etched into the ice surface scrawlings worthy of any French Impressionist. Not once did he clamour for his nitro, which was securely ensconced in the inside mickey pocket of Paunch’s favourite smoking jacket.
The Vice, haggard and worn from out from monitoring the progress of his youngest daughter’s first encounter with childbirth (it was girl, Emmy Liz, born March 3, 2010 at 2:12am, wearing a hockey helmet and very tiny bob skates), put his hockey sagacity and his blazing slowness on display. With the game tied at 1-1 and with under 2 minutes left to go in the very tight match, the Vice found himself on the ass end of a 2 on 0. Realizing he would not catch the streaking B****d puck handler, he concentrated his efforts on the trailing player. The streaking B****d made a great move but was stymied by the sharp Monsieur LePlug as the poor B****d slammed his sorry self into the end boards. As the puck lay tantalizingly close to the goal line, unattended and screaming for attention, the Vice expertly lifted the straggler’s stick before the stunned fellow could deposit the biscuit into the slightly open cage: disaster averted and score still tied.
The Vice's defence partners, Shiny and P. Gumbington Pettigrew III, were superb: Shiny was truly stellar with his frequent offensive forays and defensive legerdemain. Gumby’s recollection of his performance had him self-rated at an 11 out 10. He actually played at a 9 out of 10 level, the only flaw in his game being his relentless attempts to get Coach Paunch to deliver his nearly useless missives to the forwards on the bench. Fortunately, those forwards have always been wise enough to discount Gumbo’s advice by 50% and then to ignore what is left.
On offence, MagBoy was a human buzzsaw and were it not for his Vice-like dedication to inaccuracy, could have a potted an easy couple. Archilles contributed the first marker of the game, a beauty now on video display in the Smutsonian Institute, housed in his basement crawlspace. Freight Train fought off his African jet lag just in time to suffer from hands colder than a bishop’s embrace. Still, he had an excellent passing game. Dr. Thug, self-medicated and as content as a kitten in a mouse-infested yarn factory, skated as if mired in quicksand, yet still managed to contribute offensively (or so he claimed after the game to his adoring audience of minus 1).
Pyjama Man and Bing Crossbah were solid, with Bing being double teamed most of the night. In the shootout, Pymama Man took the first Strawbs’ penalty shot and flung a mean backhander high into the B****d’s cage. Crossbah, although reluctant to take the second shot, did not disappoint. He faked left, then right, then left again, called his grandma on his cell for advice, kicked the puck up to his forehand, twirled about and launched a low drive into the net. Joy erupted on the Strawbs’ side of the rink, the B***ds having missed their second attempt, once again shut down by the Man, Monsieur LePlug.
With the victory, the Killer Strawberries begin a best 2 out of 3 series against their favourite team to hate: the Aviation Iceholes. It promises to be ugly.
Post game (12:15am EST), the exhausted Strawbs were in no shape to scurry off to the Terminal Tavren. Alternate means of celebration were found.
xx ---, yyy ----, -z2+2x+4 ---------, a pound of licorice and visions of a glorious destiny were consumed.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Strawbs Look Adversity In The Face
Game report
March 1, 2010
Killer Strawberries 2 Aviation Panthers 3 (SO)
Last evening, without Warrin’ Peace (hangnail injury) in the lineup, the Killer Strawberries were defeated by this year’s arch enema, the Aviation Panthers, a good team with a couple of meatheads who think spearing and slashing are spiritual acts.
The Panthers scored early and took a 2-0 lead into the final 7 minutes of the game. Both sides had a few good chances, with the Strawbs ringing the biscuit off the post on 3 occasions in the last period. With its “never give up” attitude, the squad fought back valiantly to tie the score at 2-2 and almost notched the victory with a goal mouth scramble as time expired.
Overtime consisted of a sudden death shootout, meaning each team would send one player to take a penalty-type shot simultaneously at opposite ends of the rink. Bing Crossbah shot first (and last) for the Strawbs, wiring a good shot off the side of the goalie, narrowly missing pay dirt. The Panthers were more fortunate, with a beautiful deke move resulting in the winning goal.
Next game is this Wednesday, with the winner advancing to the finals against last night’s foes. The Killer Strawberries will be pumped and looking for a rematch with the despised Panther Iceholes.
Following the match, the Strawbs scampered off to the Terminal Tavren to lick their wounds and to plot next game strategy. They plan to put back the FU in hockey fun.
0 Stella (and 0 Big Rock Cider, its uninspired replacement at the Terminal Tavren), 2 Black and Tan, 1 Bud Light, 3 Keiths, 2 Guinness, 4 Bass, 3 pounds of emu wings and some mental scarring were consumed.
March 1, 2010
Killer Strawberries 2 Aviation Panthers 3 (SO)
Last evening, without Warrin’ Peace (hangnail injury) in the lineup, the Killer Strawberries were defeated by this year’s arch enema, the Aviation Panthers, a good team with a couple of meatheads who think spearing and slashing are spiritual acts.
The Panthers scored early and took a 2-0 lead into the final 7 minutes of the game. Both sides had a few good chances, with the Strawbs ringing the biscuit off the post on 3 occasions in the last period. With its “never give up” attitude, the squad fought back valiantly to tie the score at 2-2 and almost notched the victory with a goal mouth scramble as time expired.
Overtime consisted of a sudden death shootout, meaning each team would send one player to take a penalty-type shot simultaneously at opposite ends of the rink. Bing Crossbah shot first (and last) for the Strawbs, wiring a good shot off the side of the goalie, narrowly missing pay dirt. The Panthers were more fortunate, with a beautiful deke move resulting in the winning goal.
Next game is this Wednesday, with the winner advancing to the finals against last night’s foes. The Killer Strawberries will be pumped and looking for a rematch with the despised Panther Iceholes.
Following the match, the Strawbs scampered off to the Terminal Tavren to lick their wounds and to plot next game strategy. They plan to put back the FU in hockey fun.
0 Stella (and 0 Big Rock Cider, its uninspired replacement at the Terminal Tavren), 2 Black and Tan, 1 Bud Light, 3 Keiths, 2 Guinness, 4 Bass, 3 pounds of emu wings and some mental scarring were consumed.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
360 Degree Dnuoranrut
Killer Strawberries 8 Free Agents 2
Game Report
January 25, 2010
The Killer Strawberries, rejuvenated by the return of its resident polymath, MagBoy, its teenage phenom, Bing Crossbah, and Monsieur Le Plug,, a third cousin twice removed of the cherished Jacques Plante, swung its game into high gear, resulting in a good pounding of a startled squad of 18 year old Free Agents. Aging veteran, Archilles Perron was quoted post game as saying: “ It was good to have young legs back. It’s always good to be looking at young legs. The returnees helped our team turn its performance around 360 degrees.” Monsieur Perron, of deep French Canadian extraction, had to be informed, by the resident polymath, that 360 degrees make up a full circle and that his metaphor was incomprehensibly abstruse. “You mean like da circles under WhoaHorny’s eyes?” queried the confused Achilles. Fortunately, the exchange stopped there.
The team’s new psychiatrist, Dr. Vola Uptuus, attributed the improved team play on the reawakening of the Strawbs’ three oldest members. “I do not believe that the fact that Sir Gawd, The Vice and the handsome Ice Marshal just returned from a training session at the Aloha Baby Compound was not in a big way responsible for their improved play.” (For those readers who have difficulty following the double negatives in Dr. Vola’s circumlocution, just take out the 2 nots and read the statement again.) (Warning: Don’t not do this twice).
After a lengthy investigation by this reporter, It was discovered that the said trio had been flown to Oahu last Friday morning to help with the training regimen of the Budweiser SuperBowl Hostesses who will be femaling the Bud jet to SuperBowl XXX (or so), as shown on those innocent yet lascivious TV commercials that none of use watch. “I haven’t been stretched this hard for months”, beamed an obviously rejuvenated Gumby. Working out with Ashly, Ashley and Ashlei was not only good for me but now I think the girls will be better prepared for what can happen when you’re over a mile high above the earth, partying with gung-ho types.” His Gumbiness then continued: “It was very tiring but we were all up for the challenge. Who would have thought that measuring skirt lengths, stiletto heights and scantily clad beverage service times could be so exhausting.”
The Hawaiian experience certainly paid dividends for the trio in particular and the Strawbs overall. The Vice had 2 assists on the evening and scored his first real goal since February 14, 2007. Sir Gawd, newly equipped with an Easton SX 444.a23 Super Slapper from Sportchek and with Gramma Buckley’s Comfy Slipper Inserts freshly installed in his skates, rang his first shot of the game off the post and promptly deposited his next offering into a rather surprised opponents’net. The Ice Marshall continued his torrid scoring pace by notching, unassisted, the winning goal late in the first period.
The team’s revival was also evident in the small things which added up to an admirable effort. Freight Train Laronde, gasping for breath like Aqualung my friend, and hurling bits of undigested Robbie Burns haggis into the gap behind the bench, did not miss one shift. WhoaHorny soldiered on despite playing the whole game like an acid tripping iron butterfly bent on reproducing with a less-than-inspired Hilton sister. But the best revival example involved Dr. Thug, Pyjama Man and the team’s most loyal fan this season, the absolutely gorgeous and book smart Loans Jones. With a mere 2 minutes to go in the game and with the score teetering precariously at an angle of 7 to 2 in the Strawbs’ favour, the good Doctor fed PJM with a text book saucer pass, which pass sprung PJM loose from the pack, sending him in alone on the Free Agent’s netminder. Loans Jones, normally a taciturn beauty, began yelling feverishly to her man. Dr. Thug let out one of his frequent mind-numbing war whoops in an effort to propel PJM to hockey glory. Poor PJM, stunned by his chick’s sultry exhortations and Dr. Thug’s animal screams, couldn’t tell if he was coming or going. Eventually, he decided to do both.
Shiny did not shine so brightly…syphilis is suspected. He is expected to return to his top form shortly after his next regular visit to the clinic.
After the match, The Strawbs reassembled at the recently reopened Terminal Tavren, to analyze and rejoice in the reasons for their new found energy. Shoulders were slapped, knees squeezed and the usual juvenile (but never old) jibes were exchanged, all in the name of camaraderie and bonhomie.
4 Stella, 16 Guinness, 2 Coors Light, 1 Bass, 4 Bud, 1 Blue, 2 pounds of slightly undercooked chicken wings and some rather dubious tales of mile high shenanigans were consumed.
Game Report
January 25, 2010
The Killer Strawberries, rejuvenated by the return of its resident polymath, MagBoy, its teenage phenom, Bing Crossbah, and Monsieur Le Plug,, a third cousin twice removed of the cherished Jacques Plante, swung its game into high gear, resulting in a good pounding of a startled squad of 18 year old Free Agents. Aging veteran, Archilles Perron was quoted post game as saying: “ It was good to have young legs back. It’s always good to be looking at young legs. The returnees helped our team turn its performance around 360 degrees.” Monsieur Perron, of deep French Canadian extraction, had to be informed, by the resident polymath, that 360 degrees make up a full circle and that his metaphor was incomprehensibly abstruse. “You mean like da circles under WhoaHorny’s eyes?” queried the confused Achilles. Fortunately, the exchange stopped there.
The team’s new psychiatrist, Dr. Vola Uptuus, attributed the improved team play on the reawakening of the Strawbs’ three oldest members. “I do not believe that the fact that Sir Gawd, The Vice and the handsome Ice Marshal just returned from a training session at the Aloha Baby Compound was not in a big way responsible for their improved play.” (For those readers who have difficulty following the double negatives in Dr. Vola’s circumlocution, just take out the 2 nots and read the statement again.) (Warning: Don’t not do this twice).
After a lengthy investigation by this reporter, It was discovered that the said trio had been flown to Oahu last Friday morning to help with the training regimen of the Budweiser SuperBowl Hostesses who will be femaling the Bud jet to SuperBowl XXX (or so), as shown on those innocent yet lascivious TV commercials that none of use watch. “I haven’t been stretched this hard for months”, beamed an obviously rejuvenated Gumby. Working out with Ashly, Ashley and Ashlei was not only good for me but now I think the girls will be better prepared for what can happen when you’re over a mile high above the earth, partying with gung-ho types.” His Gumbiness then continued: “It was very tiring but we were all up for the challenge. Who would have thought that measuring skirt lengths, stiletto heights and scantily clad beverage service times could be so exhausting.”
The Hawaiian experience certainly paid dividends for the trio in particular and the Strawbs overall. The Vice had 2 assists on the evening and scored his first real goal since February 14, 2007. Sir Gawd, newly equipped with an Easton SX 444.a23 Super Slapper from Sportchek and with Gramma Buckley’s Comfy Slipper Inserts freshly installed in his skates, rang his first shot of the game off the post and promptly deposited his next offering into a rather surprised opponents’net. The Ice Marshall continued his torrid scoring pace by notching, unassisted, the winning goal late in the first period.
The team’s revival was also evident in the small things which added up to an admirable effort. Freight Train Laronde, gasping for breath like Aqualung my friend, and hurling bits of undigested Robbie Burns haggis into the gap behind the bench, did not miss one shift. WhoaHorny soldiered on despite playing the whole game like an acid tripping iron butterfly bent on reproducing with a less-than-inspired Hilton sister. But the best revival example involved Dr. Thug, Pyjama Man and the team’s most loyal fan this season, the absolutely gorgeous and book smart Loans Jones. With a mere 2 minutes to go in the game and with the score teetering precariously at an angle of 7 to 2 in the Strawbs’ favour, the good Doctor fed PJM with a text book saucer pass, which pass sprung PJM loose from the pack, sending him in alone on the Free Agent’s netminder. Loans Jones, normally a taciturn beauty, began yelling feverishly to her man. Dr. Thug let out one of his frequent mind-numbing war whoops in an effort to propel PJM to hockey glory. Poor PJM, stunned by his chick’s sultry exhortations and Dr. Thug’s animal screams, couldn’t tell if he was coming or going. Eventually, he decided to do both.
Shiny did not shine so brightly…syphilis is suspected. He is expected to return to his top form shortly after his next regular visit to the clinic.
After the match, The Strawbs reassembled at the recently reopened Terminal Tavren, to analyze and rejoice in the reasons for their new found energy. Shoulders were slapped, knees squeezed and the usual juvenile (but never old) jibes were exchanged, all in the name of camaraderie and bonhomie.
4 Stella, 16 Guinness, 2 Coors Light, 1 Bass, 4 Bud, 1 Blue, 2 pounds of slightly undercooked chicken wings and some rather dubious tales of mile high shenanigans were consumed.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Killer Strawberries Hockey January 25, 2010
The Killer Strawberries and Gentlemen's Hockey Club
The games within the game.
Whoahorny on the defensive.
Gawdawful Gumby avec new stick.Saturday, January 23, 2010
Experiment Goes Awry, Strawbs Fail To Lose
Game Report
Strawbs 1 Aviation Panthers 1
January 21, 2010
The Executive of The Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club was less than pleased this Thursday, as the gem in its corporate crown failed miserably in the execution of a double secret mission to throw a game against the Aviation Panthers. The consequences are expected to affect every level of the organization, right down to the poor sod who blowdries Gumby’s gloves and underwear between periods.
The orders, written in invisible yellow ink, had been delivered in a sealed envelope to the team just prior to game time by a young woman posing as Miss White Go Go Boot’s young protégée, Vola Uptuus, a Finnish exchange student working on her PhD in creative gymnastics under various faculty advisors at Nipissing University. While all the orders are now unreadable, it was reported by unidentified sources wearing numbers 6 and 16 that the secret missive contained instructions to play as poorly as possible so as to ensure defeat. When questioned about the strategy, the Executive referred the ignorant press to B. F. Skinner’s experiments on negative reinforcement and enhanced long-term performance in heuristic cognitive based coruscations. Freight Train thought the mumbo jumbo meant it would give the team a better chance to win the cup.
In any event, the squad attempted to do its best to play its worst. The only exception was the team’s replacement in net, student goalie Mark “The Wall” Wagner, who, blatantly disobeying orders, stopped 142 of the 143 shots directed at him by the Panthers. Everyone else sucked beyond the call of duty, as mandated by the thick foreheads at Aloha Baby Compound.
Shiny Shone Brightly spent most of the evening wisecracking and smoking urinal stained stogies in the opponent’s crease with his buddy, Gawdawful Gumby, as their defence mate, Whoahorny Richardson, lay uselessly prostrate on the Strawbs’ bench liberally applying Astroglide Nitro to every extremity of his abused body. Pyjama Man got his head slammed in the door to the bench during the warmup and contributed nothing but a series of sad moans to the night’s proceedings. The Vice refused to leave the centre ice faceoff circle except to make frequent trips to the women’s washroom which he claims is way cleaner than the men’s. Archilles and Freight Train played air guitar with their sticks and Dr. Thug ventured over to the other ice pad to practice his bodychecking on some unsuspecting peewee girls hockey team. The Ice Marshal spent most of the game teaching the scorekeeper how to do cryptic crosswords on the time keeping machinery. The team’s most effective players were Warrin’ Peace who was stranded at home tuning up his wife’s ovulation cycle and MagBoy who was in Toronto showing the Minister of Justice how to bake muffins in his PVR.
Despite the sheer ineptitude of the Strawbs’ performance, the team was still unable to lose. The Executive has reluctantly accepted the failure of the experiment and plans never again to order a deliberate loss . As the official press release from the Compound put it so well “Managing this team islike trying to herd cats in a catnip patch.”
With the Terminal Tavren closed for fumigation, the Killer Strawberries moved their post-game celebrations to the parking lot of the Sweetwater Inn, home of the 12 minute motel room. They drank bootleg liquor from paper bags, played air guitar, accepted the compliments but not the invitations of the working girls on break and repeatedly congratulated Sir Gawdawful Gumby on what turned out to be his 51st birthday. All in all, it was a great failed experiment.
4 quarts of moonshine, a frozen pretzel and some salacious come-ons were consumed but not consummated.
Strawbs 1 Aviation Panthers 1
January 21, 2010
The Executive of The Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen’s Club was less than pleased this Thursday, as the gem in its corporate crown failed miserably in the execution of a double secret mission to throw a game against the Aviation Panthers. The consequences are expected to affect every level of the organization, right down to the poor sod who blowdries Gumby’s gloves and underwear between periods.
The orders, written in invisible yellow ink, had been delivered in a sealed envelope to the team just prior to game time by a young woman posing as Miss White Go Go Boot’s young protégée, Vola Uptuus, a Finnish exchange student working on her PhD in creative gymnastics under various faculty advisors at Nipissing University. While all the orders are now unreadable, it was reported by unidentified sources wearing numbers 6 and 16 that the secret missive contained instructions to play as poorly as possible so as to ensure defeat. When questioned about the strategy, the Executive referred the ignorant press to B. F. Skinner’s experiments on negative reinforcement and enhanced long-term performance in heuristic cognitive based coruscations. Freight Train thought the mumbo jumbo meant it would give the team a better chance to win the cup.
In any event, the squad attempted to do its best to play its worst. The only exception was the team’s replacement in net, student goalie Mark “The Wall” Wagner, who, blatantly disobeying orders, stopped 142 of the 143 shots directed at him by the Panthers. Everyone else sucked beyond the call of duty, as mandated by the thick foreheads at Aloha Baby Compound.
Shiny Shone Brightly spent most of the evening wisecracking and smoking urinal stained stogies in the opponent’s crease with his buddy, Gawdawful Gumby, as their defence mate, Whoahorny Richardson, lay uselessly prostrate on the Strawbs’ bench liberally applying Astroglide Nitro to every extremity of his abused body. Pyjama Man got his head slammed in the door to the bench during the warmup and contributed nothing but a series of sad moans to the night’s proceedings. The Vice refused to leave the centre ice faceoff circle except to make frequent trips to the women’s washroom which he claims is way cleaner than the men’s. Archilles and Freight Train played air guitar with their sticks and Dr. Thug ventured over to the other ice pad to practice his bodychecking on some unsuspecting peewee girls hockey team. The Ice Marshal spent most of the game teaching the scorekeeper how to do cryptic crosswords on the time keeping machinery. The team’s most effective players were Warrin’ Peace who was stranded at home tuning up his wife’s ovulation cycle and MagBoy who was in Toronto showing the Minister of Justice how to bake muffins in his PVR.
Despite the sheer ineptitude of the Strawbs’ performance, the team was still unable to lose. The Executive has reluctantly accepted the failure of the experiment and plans never again to order a deliberate loss . As the official press release from the Compound put it so well “Managing this team islike trying to herd cats in a catnip patch.”
With the Terminal Tavren closed for fumigation, the Killer Strawberries moved their post-game celebrations to the parking lot of the Sweetwater Inn, home of the 12 minute motel room. They drank bootleg liquor from paper bags, played air guitar, accepted the compliments but not the invitations of the working girls on break and repeatedly congratulated Sir Gawdawful Gumby on what turned out to be his 51st birthday. All in all, it was a great failed experiment.
4 quarts of moonshine, a frozen pretzel and some salacious come-ons were consumed but not consummated.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Rust Never Sleeps
Game Report
January 14, 2010
Strawberries 7 Aviation Panthers 3
It was apparent from the opening faceoff that the 2009 Christmas holiday break had not been kind to the aging Killer Strawberries, many of whom had taken the opportunity to unrestrainedly bulk up on the season’s diet-defying culinary offerings. The Executive, upon eyeing the naked manhood which graced the Strawbs’ dressing room at shower time, estimated that at least half the national caloric intake of the Ukraine had been consumed by the team over the break. Fortunately, the increase in team bulk was more than made up by a concommittant increase in team overall handsomeness.
The seasonal bulkup was accompanied by more than expected creaks and moans as the squad took to the ice for its pre-game warmup. As teammates stumbled upon the ice surface like a bunch of deranged bumper cars, you could almost see oxidized metal slough off in giant turd-like piles, resulting in an imaginary yet easily envisioned rust accumulation greater than the total corrosion which had infested the ancient rumble-seated Oldsmobile callously abandoned by Sir Gumby to the scrap heap of history on December 18, 2009, just shy of its 40th birthday.
Although things did not look good in the early going, the Strawbs eventually came through for its adoring fan base, all members of which had chosen to stay home for the evening sucking on the last of their Christmas bonbons. Monsieur LePlug was excellent in net, stopping 9 of the 10 breakaways lovingly bestowed upon him by his besotted defence. The Vice, on defence(?)resembled Bambi upon his first acquaintance with a frozen pond, just before his mother was massacred by the staight shootin' Dick Cheney. We were sure the Vice was going to blow a gasket as he valiantly attempted to untangle a set of wobbly legs bent upon their own inscrutable agenda.
Whoahorny, an unexpected showup, finally scored that goal he had promised his sons so long ago. Unfortunately, he spent so much time in the offensive zone, he somehow forgot his defensive duties. Perhaps it was the fumes of the WD 40 which he had liberally applied to grease his unwilling limbs. At least it smelled better than his usual industrial strength A535.
Although Shiny played like crap, he did look resplendent in the new Killer Strawberries jersey he sported as he entered the dressing room before the game. So did the sartorially splendiferous Jesse The Leak who had taken time off from sending recalcitrant tax evaders to the hoosegow to make an unexpected yet welcome appearance in HIS new Strawbs sweater , designed exclusively for him by the said Shiny.
But back to the game. The team was mighty pleased with Dr. Thug’s performance and enthusiasm. He whizzed about the ice like a 20 year old….cheese soufflé. Not really. He outpaced every Strawb except for Bing Crossbah, who, fortunately, still has true youth on side. Little bastard.
All in all, it turned out okay. Despite being behind early in the game ,the team rallied to pull another victory from the jaws of defeat. The Killer Strawberries may have been rusty, flatulent, hurting’and sloppy, but they still managed to notch another tick for the win column. And to live happy another day.
After the game, save for a couple of wimps who shall remain nameless (Archilles, LePlug), everyone went out to the Terminal Tavren (yes, tavren), to celebrate the rust that never sleeps.
4 Guinness, 6 Stella, 2 Sterling (to beer what baloney is to a T-bone), 4 Bud Light, 2 Kilkenny, 5 Bass , 3 pounds of wings and a case of Crown Corrosion Inhibitor were consumed.
January 14, 2010
Strawberries 7 Aviation Panthers 3
It was apparent from the opening faceoff that the 2009 Christmas holiday break had not been kind to the aging Killer Strawberries, many of whom had taken the opportunity to unrestrainedly bulk up on the season’s diet-defying culinary offerings. The Executive, upon eyeing the naked manhood which graced the Strawbs’ dressing room at shower time, estimated that at least half the national caloric intake of the Ukraine had been consumed by the team over the break. Fortunately, the increase in team bulk was more than made up by a concommittant increase in team overall handsomeness.
The seasonal bulkup was accompanied by more than expected creaks and moans as the squad took to the ice for its pre-game warmup. As teammates stumbled upon the ice surface like a bunch of deranged bumper cars, you could almost see oxidized metal slough off in giant turd-like piles, resulting in an imaginary yet easily envisioned rust accumulation greater than the total corrosion which had infested the ancient rumble-seated Oldsmobile callously abandoned by Sir Gumby to the scrap heap of history on December 18, 2009, just shy of its 40th birthday.
Although things did not look good in the early going, the Strawbs eventually came through for its adoring fan base, all members of which had chosen to stay home for the evening sucking on the last of their Christmas bonbons. Monsieur LePlug was excellent in net, stopping 9 of the 10 breakaways lovingly bestowed upon him by his besotted defence. The Vice, on defence(?)resembled Bambi upon his first acquaintance with a frozen pond, just before his mother was massacred by the staight shootin' Dick Cheney. We were sure the Vice was going to blow a gasket as he valiantly attempted to untangle a set of wobbly legs bent upon their own inscrutable agenda.
Whoahorny, an unexpected showup, finally scored that goal he had promised his sons so long ago. Unfortunately, he spent so much time in the offensive zone, he somehow forgot his defensive duties. Perhaps it was the fumes of the WD 40 which he had liberally applied to grease his unwilling limbs. At least it smelled better than his usual industrial strength A535.
Although Shiny played like crap, he did look resplendent in the new Killer Strawberries jersey he sported as he entered the dressing room before the game. So did the sartorially splendiferous Jesse The Leak who had taken time off from sending recalcitrant tax evaders to the hoosegow to make an unexpected yet welcome appearance in HIS new Strawbs sweater , designed exclusively for him by the said Shiny.
But back to the game. The team was mighty pleased with Dr. Thug’s performance and enthusiasm. He whizzed about the ice like a 20 year old….cheese soufflé. Not really. He outpaced every Strawb except for Bing Crossbah, who, fortunately, still has true youth on side. Little bastard.
All in all, it turned out okay. Despite being behind early in the game ,the team rallied to pull another victory from the jaws of defeat. The Killer Strawberries may have been rusty, flatulent, hurting’and sloppy, but they still managed to notch another tick for the win column. And to live happy another day.
After the game, save for a couple of wimps who shall remain nameless (Archilles, LePlug), everyone went out to the Terminal Tavren (yes, tavren), to celebrate the rust that never sleeps.
4 Guinness, 6 Stella, 2 Sterling (to beer what baloney is to a T-bone), 4 Bud Light, 2 Kilkenny, 5 Bass , 3 pounds of wings and a case of Crown Corrosion Inhibitor were consumed.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Strawbs End First Half On Positive Note
Game Report
December 3, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 Jet Rangers 1 or 2.
Bing! skates 4324 miles and slams in 2. Freight Train 444 just misses hat trick. Vice pulls groin and is asked to leave the rink. Gumby grumbles, tumbles and fumbles. Mumbles heard. Archilles plays D better than regular D. PJM shows up late with a bad haircut but at least showed up, unlike Dr. Thug (performing oral exams somewhere), Whoa.horny (mild cardiac infarction caused by wife's Xmas spending), Warrin'Peace (still attempting procreation on demand). MagBoy whirls, twirls and hurls in penalty box, much to the delight of the fans watching at home. Le Plug blocks the door except for 1 or 2 soft ones... off-ice training recommended. Shiny loses 40 pounds while patrolling the blue line like a Killer Puppy freshly neutered. Still weighs more than IMW at game end. IMW plays so poorly, he asks himself if life is worth it. Doesn't even bother answering his own question. Gumby directs him to his favourite self-snuff out site.
Terminal Tavren: conversation as scintillating as the IMW's game. 3 glasses of water and much ennui consumed..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
December 3, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 Jet Rangers 1 or 2.
Bing! skates 4324 miles and slams in 2. Freight Train 444 just misses hat trick. Vice pulls groin and is asked to leave the rink. Gumby grumbles, tumbles and fumbles. Mumbles heard. Archilles plays D better than regular D. PJM shows up late with a bad haircut but at least showed up, unlike Dr. Thug (performing oral exams somewhere), Whoa.horny (mild cardiac infarction caused by wife's Xmas spending), Warrin'Peace (still attempting procreation on demand). MagBoy whirls, twirls and hurls in penalty box, much to the delight of the fans watching at home. Le Plug blocks the door except for 1 or 2 soft ones... off-ice training recommended. Shiny loses 40 pounds while patrolling the blue line like a Killer Puppy freshly neutered. Still weighs more than IMW at game end. IMW plays so poorly, he asks himself if life is worth it. Doesn't even bother answering his own question. Gumby directs him to his favourite self-snuff out site.
Terminal Tavren: conversation as scintillating as the IMW's game. 3 glasses of water and much ennui consumed..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Mr. Obnoxious Gets Double Whammied
Game Report
November 23, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 Aviation Panthers 0
Last night, the Killer Strawberries, with nary a player missing physically, played host to Mr. Obnoxious and his band of unmerry men at the beautiful Pete Palangio Arenas. Much to the delight of all the fan (1) in attendance, Mr. Obnoxious was handed his butt as the filling in a large helping of humble pie, as the Strawbs cruised to a 6-0 victory over the Aviation Panthers. Except for Mr. O and one other meathead, Mr. Big Meathead, the Panthers are a fun team to play. They frequently tested the Strawbs’ defensive skills and Monsieur Le Plug had to be on his game to record his second shutout of the season.
Whoa.horny Richardson recorded his first goal as a forward and was so delighted with himself that spent the rest of the match doing SFA. Dr. Thug, the ancientest (ie most ancient) and venerable-est (ie most venerable) statesman of the Canadore Intramural Hockey League, continued his torrid scoring pace, notching 2 markers on the evening. Bing! Crossbar was also quite productive and will be allowed, based on his performance in the first half of the season, to attend the upcoming Strawbs’ Christmas Soiree and Stilletto Exhibition in the company of his grandmother, who, oddly enough, is younger than most of the players on the team.
As noted above, Mr. Obnoxious was whammied once on the frozen pond. According to unconfirmed sources, he got whammied again post game. Apparently, he got home a little early, only to find his best friend wearing his favourite housecoat and his wife wanting to leave him. The Strawbs’ condolences go out to his best friend.
After the game, many a Strawb and the team’s leading fan jammed themselves into their usual corner at the Terminal Tavren. It was there that Dr. Thug made 2 startling announcements. The squad was uneasily anticipating some unwanted news about his imminent retirement but, alas, they were mistaken. Dr. Thug, a man who knows more about the minutae of minutae than anyone, ever, let it be known to the team that, henceforth, he will be dedicating himself to cornering the “Cosmic Loose Electron Market.” According to the mad scientist, the universe will soon run out of uncommitted electrons. Most of the negative charges on earth are now bound up in hard drives, wireless conduits and other forms of permanent electron slavery. “I have calculated that they are only 10 11 gadzillion ( a really big number) electrons in the universe, with only a small amount of that within the earth and its gravitational confines” he declared. “Of that small number, most have been corralled to run our electronic devices such as computers, TVs, cameras and remote controlled vibrators. I have figured out how to capture the uncommitted electrons by using my soon-to-be patented ELECTRON AGGLOMERATOR II. As the electron shortage becomes severe, I will offer to sell the charged particles in my control at monopolistic prices. I will be fabulously wealthy and I will live forever.”
As might be expected, the assembled Strawbs were agog with dumbfoundedness. “How will you live forever?” queried one of the stunned listeners. “It has worked so far, hasn’t it?” replied the soon-to-be patent holder. As Dr. Thug left the table briefly to discard some liquid electrons, the conversation turned to his ancientness and to the effects of his having consumed, since the age of twelve, way too many beers out of aluminum cans. Guesses were made as to his true age. None of the guesses were anywhere near the age proclaimed on the stone birth certificate he carries in his tattered wallet.
4 Stella, 6 Guinness, 5 Black and Tan, 1 bass, 2 Bud, 17 Keiths White (none in aluminum cans), a loaf of cheese bread, 2 plates of fries and 1045000 free electrons were consumed.
November 23, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 Aviation Panthers 0
Last night, the Killer Strawberries, with nary a player missing physically, played host to Mr. Obnoxious and his band of unmerry men at the beautiful Pete Palangio Arenas. Much to the delight of all the fan (1) in attendance, Mr. Obnoxious was handed his butt as the filling in a large helping of humble pie, as the Strawbs cruised to a 6-0 victory over the Aviation Panthers. Except for Mr. O and one other meathead, Mr. Big Meathead, the Panthers are a fun team to play. They frequently tested the Strawbs’ defensive skills and Monsieur Le Plug had to be on his game to record his second shutout of the season.
Whoa.horny Richardson recorded his first goal as a forward and was so delighted with himself that spent the rest of the match doing SFA. Dr. Thug, the ancientest (ie most ancient) and venerable-est (ie most venerable) statesman of the Canadore Intramural Hockey League, continued his torrid scoring pace, notching 2 markers on the evening. Bing! Crossbar was also quite productive and will be allowed, based on his performance in the first half of the season, to attend the upcoming Strawbs’ Christmas Soiree and Stilletto Exhibition in the company of his grandmother, who, oddly enough, is younger than most of the players on the team.
As noted above, Mr. Obnoxious was whammied once on the frozen pond. According to unconfirmed sources, he got whammied again post game. Apparently, he got home a little early, only to find his best friend wearing his favourite housecoat and his wife wanting to leave him. The Strawbs’ condolences go out to his best friend.
After the game, many a Strawb and the team’s leading fan jammed themselves into their usual corner at the Terminal Tavren. It was there that Dr. Thug made 2 startling announcements. The squad was uneasily anticipating some unwanted news about his imminent retirement but, alas, they were mistaken. Dr. Thug, a man who knows more about the minutae of minutae than anyone, ever, let it be known to the team that, henceforth, he will be dedicating himself to cornering the “Cosmic Loose Electron Market.” According to the mad scientist, the universe will soon run out of uncommitted electrons. Most of the negative charges on earth are now bound up in hard drives, wireless conduits and other forms of permanent electron slavery. “I have calculated that they are only 10 11 gadzillion ( a really big number) electrons in the universe, with only a small amount of that within the earth and its gravitational confines” he declared. “Of that small number, most have been corralled to run our electronic devices such as computers, TVs, cameras and remote controlled vibrators. I have figured out how to capture the uncommitted electrons by using my soon-to-be patented ELECTRON AGGLOMERATOR II. As the electron shortage becomes severe, I will offer to sell the charged particles in my control at monopolistic prices. I will be fabulously wealthy and I will live forever.”
As might be expected, the assembled Strawbs were agog with dumbfoundedness. “How will you live forever?” queried one of the stunned listeners. “It has worked so far, hasn’t it?” replied the soon-to-be patent holder. As Dr. Thug left the table briefly to discard some liquid electrons, the conversation turned to his ancientness and to the effects of his having consumed, since the age of twelve, way too many beers out of aluminum cans. Guesses were made as to his true age. None of the guesses were anywhere near the age proclaimed on the stone birth certificate he carries in his tattered wallet.
4 Stella, 6 Guinness, 5 Black and Tan, 1 bass, 2 Bud, 17 Keiths White (none in aluminum cans), a loaf of cheese bread, 2 plates of fries and 1045000 free electrons were consumed.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Monsieur Le Plug Meets The Leak-Both Impressed
Game Report
November 19, 2009
Killer Strawberries 8 ALU Warriors 2
Things did do not look good as the Zamboni was finishing its surface polishing just outside the Strawbs dressing room. Shiny was still in Las Vegas blowing his wife’s mad money on the nickel slots. Dr. Thug was in Ottawa writing the MCAT for Prince Richard. Gawdawful Gumby was chasing shiny pennies with another hockey squad who would have him. Pyjama Man had notified the team at the last match that he would be absent this evening because of a conflicting home visit by CAS. Bing! Crossbar was reported to be doing homework at the Canadore pub in the company of three sirens from his hometown. What was left in the dressing, while of the highest quality, was sadly deficient in numbers.
Fortunately, the Leak, who toils in Sudbury for the Canadian Taliban (ie Revenue and Corrections Canada), made a surprise guest appearance, complete with a set of hockey equipment he had purloined from a peewee team located just down the hall from the Strawbs’ dressing room. But alas and fortunately, just before the puck dropped, Pyjama Man showed up with Bing!, ready to do battle.
The Leak took little time to get himself onto the scoreboard. With all the grace of a wounded deer on dull skates, he swooped in on a loose puck and promptly slammed it into the yawning cage. By thus scoring, he became the all-time Killer Strawberries leader in average goals per game. He coasted on his new found laurels for the rest of the game, refusing to enter his defensive zone as retribution to his old team for having repeatedly done the same to him during his tenure as the Strawbs’ #1, #2 and #3 netminder in seasons past.
Bing! Crossbar, his sperm count at an all time low, showed surprising vigour. He tallied 4 times during the game, with all of the tallies deposited into the appropriate net. “My girlfriends really got me up for the game,” he told the boys in the shower following the game. “Maybe you elder statesmen should try it sometime.” As the Vice rightly pointed out, Bing! is not married.
The team was quite astonished to see Pyjama Man make an appearance. He advised the Strawbs after the match that the meeting with CAS had gone well and that, to celebrate his sliding off the hook for now, he had duct-taped his children to chairs in front of the TV while he sped away to play hockey. “They love the Princess Bride,” he said. “And I gave them snacks too!”
While the Killer Strawberries were worthy winners on the night, Whoa.Horny Richardson’s contribution was positively Scroogian, Stoogian and stinky. Like the Vice in the previous match, he too chose to ignore the laws of physics and basic atom hockey. With all the willful blindness of a bored eunuch in a fat pasha’s harem, he attempted a floater pass through 5 Warriors positioned like a brick wall in front of the Strawbs' net. Needless to say (but it will be said anyway), the puck barely made half of the journey Whoa.Horny had intended for it and was quickly slid past a startled Monsieur Le Plug. To that point, Le Plug had stood on his head, stymieing wave after wave of the speedy Warrior offence, which offence seemed to cast some kind of spell on the Strawbs’ langorous defence. Le Plug faced more 2 and 3 man breakways than The Leak ever did when Butcher Brophey was around to delimb any player stupid enough to get with the reach of his scalpel, er hockey stick.
The game ended in a score of 8-2. The Strawbs then re-convened at the Terminal Tavren to go over the positives and negatives on the evening. The Leak’s scoring prowess was feted, Le Plug’s patience admired, Crossbar’s youth rued with green-eyed jealousy, Pyjama Man’s resourcefulness remarked upon in cosmic terms, and Whoa.Horny’s mental lapse recalled with all the fondness of a first year college encounter with a stubborn venereal disease.
2 jugs of water, 2 Bass, 2 Keiths, 2 Guinness, 2 Stella, 2 Canadian and many Leakian memories of defensive miscues were consumed.
November 19, 2009
Killer Strawberries 8 ALU Warriors 2
Things did do not look good as the Zamboni was finishing its surface polishing just outside the Strawbs dressing room. Shiny was still in Las Vegas blowing his wife’s mad money on the nickel slots. Dr. Thug was in Ottawa writing the MCAT for Prince Richard. Gawdawful Gumby was chasing shiny pennies with another hockey squad who would have him. Pyjama Man had notified the team at the last match that he would be absent this evening because of a conflicting home visit by CAS. Bing! Crossbar was reported to be doing homework at the Canadore pub in the company of three sirens from his hometown. What was left in the dressing, while of the highest quality, was sadly deficient in numbers.
Fortunately, the Leak, who toils in Sudbury for the Canadian Taliban (ie Revenue and Corrections Canada), made a surprise guest appearance, complete with a set of hockey equipment he had purloined from a peewee team located just down the hall from the Strawbs’ dressing room. But alas and fortunately, just before the puck dropped, Pyjama Man showed up with Bing!, ready to do battle.
The Leak took little time to get himself onto the scoreboard. With all the grace of a wounded deer on dull skates, he swooped in on a loose puck and promptly slammed it into the yawning cage. By thus scoring, he became the all-time Killer Strawberries leader in average goals per game. He coasted on his new found laurels for the rest of the game, refusing to enter his defensive zone as retribution to his old team for having repeatedly done the same to him during his tenure as the Strawbs’ #1, #2 and #3 netminder in seasons past.
Bing! Crossbar, his sperm count at an all time low, showed surprising vigour. He tallied 4 times during the game, with all of the tallies deposited into the appropriate net. “My girlfriends really got me up for the game,” he told the boys in the shower following the game. “Maybe you elder statesmen should try it sometime.” As the Vice rightly pointed out, Bing! is not married.
The team was quite astonished to see Pyjama Man make an appearance. He advised the Strawbs after the match that the meeting with CAS had gone well and that, to celebrate his sliding off the hook for now, he had duct-taped his children to chairs in front of the TV while he sped away to play hockey. “They love the Princess Bride,” he said. “And I gave them snacks too!”
While the Killer Strawberries were worthy winners on the night, Whoa.Horny Richardson’s contribution was positively Scroogian, Stoogian and stinky. Like the Vice in the previous match, he too chose to ignore the laws of physics and basic atom hockey. With all the willful blindness of a bored eunuch in a fat pasha’s harem, he attempted a floater pass through 5 Warriors positioned like a brick wall in front of the Strawbs' net. Needless to say (but it will be said anyway), the puck barely made half of the journey Whoa.Horny had intended for it and was quickly slid past a startled Monsieur Le Plug. To that point, Le Plug had stood on his head, stymieing wave after wave of the speedy Warrior offence, which offence seemed to cast some kind of spell on the Strawbs’ langorous defence. Le Plug faced more 2 and 3 man breakways than The Leak ever did when Butcher Brophey was around to delimb any player stupid enough to get with the reach of his scalpel, er hockey stick.
The game ended in a score of 8-2. The Strawbs then re-convened at the Terminal Tavren to go over the positives and negatives on the evening. The Leak’s scoring prowess was feted, Le Plug’s patience admired, Crossbar’s youth rued with green-eyed jealousy, Pyjama Man’s resourcefulness remarked upon in cosmic terms, and Whoa.Horny’s mental lapse recalled with all the fondness of a first year college encounter with a stubborn venereal disease.
2 jugs of water, 2 Bass, 2 Keiths, 2 Guinness, 2 Stella, 2 Canadian and many Leakian memories of defensive miscues were consumed.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Strawbs’ Zoloftian Defence Fails To Trigger A Loss
Game Report
November 12, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 BodyCzechs 3
It almost appeared to be done on purpose. In last night’s match against the BodyCzechs, the Killer Strawberries managed to pull out a victory despite the defence’s somnabulent performance. Even the fans could be heard grumbling vociferously throughout the game, displeased that their sometimes-cherished defenders treated the puck as if it were infected with a new mutation of H1N1.
On one particularly galling play, Sir Gumby, with 4 opponents circling in the 3 feet between himself and a disoriented Vice Ice Marshal, decided to attempt a nifty little cross ice pass to his partner. To his utter amazement, the pass was picked off and the 4 BodyCzechs proceeded, unimpeded, to barrel down upon an astonished and disgruntled Monsieur Le Plug. The BodyCzechs did not managed to score on the play as the Plug kicked out shot after shot for the whole 3 minutes he was left alone to fend for himself. After the original errant pass from Gumby, Gumby and his defence partner had decided to go the bench for a well deserved rest while the forwards, MagBoy, Crossbar, and Dr. Thug, did the same. Those on the bench failed to notice the poor line change and continued playing out their bridge hands, much to Monsieur Le Plug’s chagrin. It was learned by management after the game, that Archilles Perron had spiked the water bottles with his stash of Zoloft in an effort to spark team unity. “I thought we could use a little more mellow” he was quoted as saying in the post game presser. Nice idea….bad execution.
Pyjama Man, armed with a new left-handed stick he found in his neighbour’s back yard during his evening tom-catting, was not a factor in the game. He had played better in the previous game when, having broken his favourite stick “Rosebud”, he was forced to use a janitor’s broom.
Freight Train Laronde, celebrating his 51th birthday and sober for the first time since the acquisition of his newly minted PhD on November 12, showed up to the game without his jock. A collection was taken in the dressing room. Since there was not enough collected to get him bus fare to his house and back, he took the donations upstairs and purchased the only athletic supporter available, a PeeWee NutGuard 2X. The equipment, though a little large, was adequate for the purpose and Laronde made it through the game physically unscathed.
Fortunately, the forwards played well enough to ensure the 6-3 victory. Feeling magnanimous, they invited the defence and goalie to join them at the Terminal Tavren following the game. The 2 fans, Bootsey MagGirl and Loan Jones tagged along, in the hope that one of the team’s gentlemen would buy them a drink. Good thing they had brought their own money. At the watering hole Dr. Thug, upon learning that there was a Biology graduate from Waterloo on the premises, promptly sought him out and, for 3 hours, waxed eloquent on vector movements, Amirase and Mutase, and on H1N1 variants, H2N2, H2N3 and H2So4. The grad left exhausted and severely chastised for his ignorance.
4 Stella, 2 Appletinis, 1 glass of water, 5 Guinness, 4 Bass, 2.5 Keith’s, 1 Kilkenny, 1 large fry, 2 pounds of chicken wings and tales of Zoloftian insouciance were consumed.
November 12, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 BodyCzechs 3
It almost appeared to be done on purpose. In last night’s match against the BodyCzechs, the Killer Strawberries managed to pull out a victory despite the defence’s somnabulent performance. Even the fans could be heard grumbling vociferously throughout the game, displeased that their sometimes-cherished defenders treated the puck as if it were infected with a new mutation of H1N1.
On one particularly galling play, Sir Gumby, with 4 opponents circling in the 3 feet between himself and a disoriented Vice Ice Marshal, decided to attempt a nifty little cross ice pass to his partner. To his utter amazement, the pass was picked off and the 4 BodyCzechs proceeded, unimpeded, to barrel down upon an astonished and disgruntled Monsieur Le Plug. The BodyCzechs did not managed to score on the play as the Plug kicked out shot after shot for the whole 3 minutes he was left alone to fend for himself. After the original errant pass from Gumby, Gumby and his defence partner had decided to go the bench for a well deserved rest while the forwards, MagBoy, Crossbar, and Dr. Thug, did the same. Those on the bench failed to notice the poor line change and continued playing out their bridge hands, much to Monsieur Le Plug’s chagrin. It was learned by management after the game, that Archilles Perron had spiked the water bottles with his stash of Zoloft in an effort to spark team unity. “I thought we could use a little more mellow” he was quoted as saying in the post game presser. Nice idea….bad execution.
Pyjama Man, armed with a new left-handed stick he found in his neighbour’s back yard during his evening tom-catting, was not a factor in the game. He had played better in the previous game when, having broken his favourite stick “Rosebud”, he was forced to use a janitor’s broom.
Freight Train Laronde, celebrating his 51th birthday and sober for the first time since the acquisition of his newly minted PhD on November 12, showed up to the game without his jock. A collection was taken in the dressing room. Since there was not enough collected to get him bus fare to his house and back, he took the donations upstairs and purchased the only athletic supporter available, a PeeWee NutGuard 2X. The equipment, though a little large, was adequate for the purpose and Laronde made it through the game physically unscathed.
Fortunately, the forwards played well enough to ensure the 6-3 victory. Feeling magnanimous, they invited the defence and goalie to join them at the Terminal Tavren following the game. The 2 fans, Bootsey MagGirl and Loan Jones tagged along, in the hope that one of the team’s gentlemen would buy them a drink. Good thing they had brought their own money. At the watering hole Dr. Thug, upon learning that there was a Biology graduate from Waterloo on the premises, promptly sought him out and, for 3 hours, waxed eloquent on vector movements, Amirase and Mutase, and on H1N1 variants, H2N2, H2N3 and H2So4. The grad left exhausted and severely chastised for his ignorance.
4 Stella, 2 Appletinis, 1 glass of water, 5 Guinness, 4 Bass, 2.5 Keith’s, 1 Kilkenny, 1 large fry, 2 pounds of chicken wings and tales of Zoloftian insouciance were consumed.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Newton’s Laws Doubted and Flouted. Vice Pays The Price.
Strawbs Still Win.
Strawbs 5 Aviation Panthers 1
Game Report
November 12, 2009
With Whoa.horny busy brewing nitro in his basement lab without the knowledge or consent of his much younger wife, Christmas Carol, with Shiny blowing his kids’ RESPs in Las Vegas, with Warrin’ Peace self-pulled from the lineup to answer an ovulation window of opportunity and with Freight Train nursing an early evening hangover caused by the recent granting to him of a PhD or its ilk, the Strawbs found themselves shorthanded on the evening.
Archilles Perron was pressed into emergency service on defence, and, armoured with a perfect Zoloftian insouciance, led the team in defence. It was as if he had, all these years, been misplaced as a forward. He filled the many gaping pores left by his defence mates and was instrumental in keeping the opposition’s tallying to a single marker. That marker was the only blot a game well played by Monsieur Le Plug. The strange thing was the shot which crossed the goal line was no harder that anything Gumby or the Vice could launch with the best tail wind.
Speaking of the Vice, it should be noted that the Executive is beginning to wonder more worrifully about his on ice judgment. On one play, he was the last man back in precarious possession of the puck. An Aviation Panther, stumbling about on bob skates, approached him in a wobbly manner. The Vice seemed to be under the impression that he could easily flip the puck through the attacker’s chest, and, to everyone’s amazement proceeded to attempt the ill-advised manoeuvre. As the puck bounced off the opponent’s chest and landed in perfect position for the wobbler to head in alone on goal, the Vice looked positively perplexed at the unfairness of the universe. It won’t be his last encounter with bad judgment, the laws of physics and a cruel world.
It would appear that year’s of Strawbs’ coaching has finally sunk in for MagBoy. He played an excellent game. He corralled his unbridled enthusiasm, showed restraint in difficult situations and by and large stayed in the areas for which he was responsible. And that was at home at supper. He displayed similar behavior on ice.
Dr. Thug continued in his vocal leadership role by scaring the BeeJeezus out of the opposition’s netminder with his ear piecing “YAAAAAAAA!” every time the Strawbs scored. You cannot get better cheerleading.
The Strawbs continued to break attendance records. Loans Jones showed up to play with her Blackberry in the stands as her current boyfriend, the never early Pyjama man toiled expertly on ice. With Ms. Jones in attendance, it marked the third straight game that the Killer Strawberries were lavished with fan attention.
After the game, the fan and her Strawberrian entourage re-assembled at the Terminal Tavren to toast victory and the elevation of Freight train Laronde to the lofty heights of PiledHighandDeeperdom.
6 Stella, 4 Guinness, 2 Bass, 3 Kilkenny, 2 Keith’s White, 2 jugs(of water), 2 baskets on low cal fries and some lessons on the laws of physics were consumed.
Strawbs 5 Aviation Panthers 1
Game Report
November 12, 2009
With Whoa.horny busy brewing nitro in his basement lab without the knowledge or consent of his much younger wife, Christmas Carol, with Shiny blowing his kids’ RESPs in Las Vegas, with Warrin’ Peace self-pulled from the lineup to answer an ovulation window of opportunity and with Freight Train nursing an early evening hangover caused by the recent granting to him of a PhD or its ilk, the Strawbs found themselves shorthanded on the evening.
Archilles Perron was pressed into emergency service on defence, and, armoured with a perfect Zoloftian insouciance, led the team in defence. It was as if he had, all these years, been misplaced as a forward. He filled the many gaping pores left by his defence mates and was instrumental in keeping the opposition’s tallying to a single marker. That marker was the only blot a game well played by Monsieur Le Plug. The strange thing was the shot which crossed the goal line was no harder that anything Gumby or the Vice could launch with the best tail wind.
Speaking of the Vice, it should be noted that the Executive is beginning to wonder more worrifully about his on ice judgment. On one play, he was the last man back in precarious possession of the puck. An Aviation Panther, stumbling about on bob skates, approached him in a wobbly manner. The Vice seemed to be under the impression that he could easily flip the puck through the attacker’s chest, and, to everyone’s amazement proceeded to attempt the ill-advised manoeuvre. As the puck bounced off the opponent’s chest and landed in perfect position for the wobbler to head in alone on goal, the Vice looked positively perplexed at the unfairness of the universe. It won’t be his last encounter with bad judgment, the laws of physics and a cruel world.
It would appear that year’s of Strawbs’ coaching has finally sunk in for MagBoy. He played an excellent game. He corralled his unbridled enthusiasm, showed restraint in difficult situations and by and large stayed in the areas for which he was responsible. And that was at home at supper. He displayed similar behavior on ice.
Dr. Thug continued in his vocal leadership role by scaring the BeeJeezus out of the opposition’s netminder with his ear piecing “YAAAAAAAA!” every time the Strawbs scored. You cannot get better cheerleading.
The Strawbs continued to break attendance records. Loans Jones showed up to play with her Blackberry in the stands as her current boyfriend, the never early Pyjama man toiled expertly on ice. With Ms. Jones in attendance, it marked the third straight game that the Killer Strawberries were lavished with fan attention.
After the game, the fan and her Strawberrian entourage re-assembled at the Terminal Tavren to toast victory and the elevation of Freight train Laronde to the lofty heights of PiledHighandDeeperdom.
6 Stella, 4 Guinness, 2 Bass, 3 Kilkenny, 2 Keith’s White, 2 jugs(of water), 2 baskets on low cal fries and some lessons on the laws of physics were consumed.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Whoa.horny Saddles Up
Killer Strawberries 6 Free Agents 1
Game Report
November 9, 2009
After an absence of 1 year and 4 games, Whoa.horny Richardson, Pembroke’s Boy Wonder Of The Year in 1923, finally found the time to partially saddle up for the Killer Strawberries in their match last evening against a quick but somewhat disorganized Free Agent squad. The phrase “partially saddle up” is a propos, given that the creaky defenceman showed up to the game with everything he needed to weave his magic, except for his gloves, helmet, jock and skate laces. The lack of a helmet is understandable. As a youth, he played helmetless and has the neuron damage to prove it. But forgetting a jock: wow!
Whoa.horny managed somehow to muster up a minimal amount of equipment in time to start the match. The Strawbs couldn’t tell what was rustier…the skates Whoa.horny put away wet in 2008 or his game. For the first period, he wobbled about like Gumby at his 50th birthday party. His stick slipped frequently from his hands, he tripped over every painted surface on the ice and he applied so much nitro to his chest between shifts that we were sure the arena was going to explode. By Gawd, it was sure good to have him back.
Warrin’ Peace keep his career high 3 game scoring streak alive with some vivacious and deft work. Freight Train potted 2 markers. It should be noted here that he will be missing the next game, as he will be playing defence elsewhere. He will be in Toronto trying to explain to his doctoral thesis. His thesis sounds fascinating, a must read for insomniacs and masochists alike: “The Cross-Cultural Ramifications of Sub-Lingual Computer-Mediated Education in Non-Aligned JK Classes: A Retrospective Analysis”. Can’t wait for the paperback version.
Pyjama Man, fighting the flu, the cops and Revenue Canada, played a magnificent game using a stick designed for someone 3 feet taller, right handed and a lot smarter. He still managed to outscore the goalie, the defence corps and a forward whose name will not be mentioned because it would embarrass Dr. Thug.
Nevertheless, the Strawbs put in a strong performance and were worthy of victory. After the game, which started at 11pm, the players assembled for a tail gate party in the parking lot of the Pete Palangio Arenas. Some cold beer was rummaged from who knows where and the boys spent quite a bit of time going over the match and other events which had occurred since the last encounter. Bing! Crossbar was slagged for missing his second game in a row because he could not get a note from his Mom to stay up past midnight. Gumby was effusively praised for his well thought out proposals for the new Strawbs’ jersey. Everyone was in agreement that adding a shoulder pocket for smokes, inhalers, nitro and other paraphernalia was a stroke of brilliance. The Vice informed the assembled that his enamoratta, the redoubtable Madame LaChaise, aka The Field Marsha, will, in June next year, be receiving an Honourary Degree from Aloha Baby University. The odds in Vegas against anyone associated with the Killer Strawberries ever getting honoured for anything have been so prohibitive that extra zeros have had to be ordered from some alternate universes to complete the posted odds. Congratulations Field Marsha and screw you for raising the bar on us.
6 cold, cold Harp, 4 Coors Lite, 12 big Busch and some warm reflected glow of lifetime achievement were consumed.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Dr. Thug Infects Teammates-Leads Strawbs To Victory
Killer Strawberries 8 Aviation Panthers 2
Game Report
November 5, 2009
After having fought off H1N1, bronchitis, syphilis and halitosis over the past 6 weeks, Dr. Thug returned triumphantly to lead his beloved Strawbs to an 8-2 victory over a penalty prone squadron of Aviation Panthers. Although he looked, at times, a little wobbly and short of breath, he managed to complete most of his 5 minute shifts and may even have scored a goal or two. His return inspired his teammates to turn it up a notch and was personally responsible for getting Warrin’ Peace to continue the only torrid scoring pace of his less than illustrious career.
Pyjama Man was also back in the lineup and, despite being stopped by the cops on the way to the match, got suited up in time to make an appearance by the mid mark of the first period. Although clearly not at his best, he still led the team in scoring. As a bonus, he surreptitiously passed on the H1N1 bug to Mr. Obnoxious, the Aviation defenceman so thoroughly despised by the Strawbs that they have his picture on the bull’s eye of the dartboard in the Garage of Bad Ideas.
The Plug, or as he is known to his adoring Francophone fans, Le Plug, played exceedingly well in his fourth game of the day. Just before the Strawbs’ game, he had just completed his third match in a one day tournament hosted by Canadore College. T o take a little pressure off his shoulders, the Executive moved Freight Train Laronde back to D to help cover up the team’s evident weakness on the blue line. The move obviously worked, as the D limited the opposition to a mere 4 breakaways on the night.
Absences continue to plague the squad. Whoahorny Richardson has yet to suit up, citing “personal mental issues” as his lame excuse. Bing! Crossbar was also nowhere to be seen. It is doubtful that it was homework that got in his way.
Following the game, the ream reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to unlax and to probe the pressing issues of the day. Much time was spent speculating on the quantity of plastic embedded in Pamela Anderson as well as soon less important topics. Dr. Thug’s and PJM’s return were duly toasted, Butcher Brophey duly roasted, compliments exchanged and vituperative epithets aimed at Mr. Obnoxious were launched.
6 Guinness, 7 Keiths, 2 Kilkenny, 4 Bass, 3 pounds of chicken wings (double deep fried) and second hand H1N1 antigens were consumed.
Game Report
November 5, 2009
After having fought off H1N1, bronchitis, syphilis and halitosis over the past 6 weeks, Dr. Thug returned triumphantly to lead his beloved Strawbs to an 8-2 victory over a penalty prone squadron of Aviation Panthers. Although he looked, at times, a little wobbly and short of breath, he managed to complete most of his 5 minute shifts and may even have scored a goal or two. His return inspired his teammates to turn it up a notch and was personally responsible for getting Warrin’ Peace to continue the only torrid scoring pace of his less than illustrious career.
Pyjama Man was also back in the lineup and, despite being stopped by the cops on the way to the match, got suited up in time to make an appearance by the mid mark of the first period. Although clearly not at his best, he still led the team in scoring. As a bonus, he surreptitiously passed on the H1N1 bug to Mr. Obnoxious, the Aviation defenceman so thoroughly despised by the Strawbs that they have his picture on the bull’s eye of the dartboard in the Garage of Bad Ideas.
The Plug, or as he is known to his adoring Francophone fans, Le Plug, played exceedingly well in his fourth game of the day. Just before the Strawbs’ game, he had just completed his third match in a one day tournament hosted by Canadore College. T o take a little pressure off his shoulders, the Executive moved Freight Train Laronde back to D to help cover up the team’s evident weakness on the blue line. The move obviously worked, as the D limited the opposition to a mere 4 breakaways on the night.
Absences continue to plague the squad. Whoahorny Richardson has yet to suit up, citing “personal mental issues” as his lame excuse. Bing! Crossbar was also nowhere to be seen. It is doubtful that it was homework that got in his way.
Following the game, the ream reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to unlax and to probe the pressing issues of the day. Much time was spent speculating on the quantity of plastic embedded in Pamela Anderson as well as soon less important topics. Dr. Thug’s and PJM’s return were duly toasted, Butcher Brophey duly roasted, compliments exchanged and vituperative epithets aimed at Mr. Obnoxious were launched.
6 Guinness, 7 Keiths, 2 Kilkenny, 4 Bass, 3 pounds of chicken wings (double deep fried) and second hand H1N1 antigens were consumed.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Warrin Gets Scorin’
Game report
November 2, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 Body Czechs 1
After 6 months of self-imposed hibernation in the sweat lodge on the edge of Aloha Baby Compound from April to September, 2009 followed by 3 games of free floating, mindless wandering about the frozen pond at Pete Palangio Arenas, Warrin’ Peace finally showed up in grand style for a match against the cancelled Czechs. Playing on one of his offwings, he combined flawlessly with a gritty Magboy and a speedy Bing! Crossbar to score 3 first period beauties using the new half-slapper/changeup/knuckler shot he developed earlier this week in his Garage of Bad Ideas. It was about time as management was wondering whether his Hawaiian lethargy was a long term problem to be cured by a stint with the team’s farm team’s farm team, the Butthole Bottom Feeders. It is hoped Mr. Peace will continue his torrid pace. Apparently and fortunately for the team, certain favours he receives at home are dependent upon his future on-ice production.
Bing! Crossbar was also a force to be reckoned with on the night. His passing has been coming along nicely to complement his fast paced game. He appears to be another in a fine series of excellent draft picks by the astute Executive and he may someday acend to the lofty heights of the first line.
Shiny Sean was pressed into forward servive for the evening. Since he was already familiar with every inch of the opposition’s zone, including the office area directly behind the othe team's net, he was a natural in the new, albeit temporary,position. With team orders to reduce from his diet the vast numbers of double bacon cheeseburgers smothered in Extra Fat Mayonnaise he voraciously consumes daily , he might be able to turn his offensive game up a notch and thus be allowed again someday to center the swift Archilles and incredibly handsome Ice Marshal with whom he skated effectively last night.
The defence (Freight Train, the Vice and Gawdawful Gumby at his near gawdafullest) was rather a disappointment but that was to be expected given their advanced ages, surly attitudes and less than optimal off-ice lifestyles. A little more effort could have prevented the Czech’s only goal with 14 seconds remaining in the game, resulting the loss of a shutout for the Plug, who otherwise played very well behind a squishy D.
It should be noted that fan attendance was at a season high of 2, with Bootsey MagGirl and the Field Marsha offering encouragement to their team and well placed barbs aimed at the refereeing abomination known as His DeVuononess.
Post game most of the players and all the fans adjourned to the Terminal Tavren (yes, Tavren) for some game analysis and well deserved sarsaparillas. Shiny unveiled his unauthorized design for a the new team jersey that looked busier than Miss White Go Go Boots at a Shriners convention. Many changes were proposed and summarily dismissed by Mr. Shiny.
2 appletinis (one with too much ice in it for the picky Bootsey who looked resplendent in her red squirrel fur vest complete with dry cleaning tag from 1999), 6 Bass, 2 Keiths White, 6 Guinness, 5 Stella, 1 Gatorade, 1 Bud and some dubious design advice were consumed.
November 2, 2009
Killer Strawberries 6 Body Czechs 1
After 6 months of self-imposed hibernation in the sweat lodge on the edge of Aloha Baby Compound from April to September, 2009 followed by 3 games of free floating, mindless wandering about the frozen pond at Pete Palangio Arenas, Warrin’ Peace finally showed up in grand style for a match against the cancelled Czechs. Playing on one of his offwings, he combined flawlessly with a gritty Magboy and a speedy Bing! Crossbar to score 3 first period beauties using the new half-slapper/changeup/knuckler shot he developed earlier this week in his Garage of Bad Ideas. It was about time as management was wondering whether his Hawaiian lethargy was a long term problem to be cured by a stint with the team’s farm team’s farm team, the Butthole Bottom Feeders. It is hoped Mr. Peace will continue his torrid pace. Apparently and fortunately for the team, certain favours he receives at home are dependent upon his future on-ice production.
Bing! Crossbar was also a force to be reckoned with on the night. His passing has been coming along nicely to complement his fast paced game. He appears to be another in a fine series of excellent draft picks by the astute Executive and he may someday acend to the lofty heights of the first line.
Shiny Sean was pressed into forward servive for the evening. Since he was already familiar with every inch of the opposition’s zone, including the office area directly behind the othe team's net, he was a natural in the new, albeit temporary,position. With team orders to reduce from his diet the vast numbers of double bacon cheeseburgers smothered in Extra Fat Mayonnaise he voraciously consumes daily , he might be able to turn his offensive game up a notch and thus be allowed again someday to center the swift Archilles and incredibly handsome Ice Marshal with whom he skated effectively last night.
The defence (Freight Train, the Vice and Gawdawful Gumby at his near gawdafullest) was rather a disappointment but that was to be expected given their advanced ages, surly attitudes and less than optimal off-ice lifestyles. A little more effort could have prevented the Czech’s only goal with 14 seconds remaining in the game, resulting the loss of a shutout for the Plug, who otherwise played very well behind a squishy D.
It should be noted that fan attendance was at a season high of 2, with Bootsey MagGirl and the Field Marsha offering encouragement to their team and well placed barbs aimed at the refereeing abomination known as His DeVuononess.
Post game most of the players and all the fans adjourned to the Terminal Tavren (yes, Tavren) for some game analysis and well deserved sarsaparillas. Shiny unveiled his unauthorized design for a the new team jersey that looked busier than Miss White Go Go Boots at a Shriners convention. Many changes were proposed and summarily dismissed by Mr. Shiny.
2 appletinis (one with too much ice in it for the picky Bootsey who looked resplendent in her red squirrel fur vest complete with dry cleaning tag from 1999), 6 Bass, 2 Keiths White, 6 Guinness, 5 Stella, 1 Gatorade, 1 Bud and some dubious design advice were consumed.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Eau De Colon
Game report
October 29, 2009
ALU 3 Killer Strawberries 1
There was not enough perfume in France to disguise the malodorous effort put forth by the Strawberries in last night’s matchup with the swift skating ALU Warriors. Every Strawbs’ colon, except for that of the Plug, contributed to the stink.
The Plug played exceedingly well, stopping the Warriors on 99% of the 100 two on ones and three on ones which resulted from the over-eager defence’s desire to score a goal and thus impress the team’s executive’s masseuse and psychotherapist prominently perched in the Strawbs’ corporate box located just above the Zamboni room. “Look at me, look at me, Svetlana, I am a goal scorer” the Vice, Gumby and Shiny seemed to scream with each ill-advised foray into the opposition’s end. It was so bad that, on the last desperation faceoff in the ALU end, with 5 seconds left on the clock, both defencemen abandoned the blueline, lined up with the wingers in front of the net and could be found at the buzzer, tangled together in the mesh behind the Warriors’ net. Eau de colon indeed. The only player in position on the final play was Freight Train Laronde (pressed into a defensive role in the waning minutes of the last period), who was busy picking up the water bottles and loose pucks on the Strawbs’ bench. His actions turned out to be the evening’s biggest contribution by a defenceman.
Up front, things were a little better but not by more than the width of a wet dream. Warrin Peace appeared lost on the frozen surface as the day’s percosets lost their potency. Bing! Crossbar, a raw recruit from AA novice hockey out of Zit, Switzerland, ragged the puck so long in the opposition’s end, the Strawbs were able to execute 3 line changes before he tired himself out and dropped into a lump onto the faceoff circle just to the right of the Warriors’ goalie, who, during Crossbar’s exhibition of fanciful futility, managed to smoke a carton of contraband cigarettes, two cigarettes at a time.
Archilles Perron, playing on his wrong wing no matter on which side he lined up, displayed a lethargy unmatched in most retirement homes. Magboy pranced about, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Freight Train’s biggest contribution on the evening has already been mentioned. He appeared to be distracted by his inability to choose an appropriate title for his doctoral thesis on the role of pencil colour upon heuristic student performance in grade 3 music class…wethinks “Bullshit” would do nicely.
Even the Ice Marshal contributed to the odiferous on-ice offerings. The morning’s massage and psychotherapy session, while it certainly helped him to deal temporarily with the demons of a difficult yet productive youth, left him as ineffective as the Vice at an out of town hockey tournament. Still, Svetlana would understand.
At the post game debriefing, the mood turned more jovial. The assembled Strawbs, in accordance with custom, put the whole thing into context. As MagBoy put it so well, “It is through the bitterness of loss that the sweetness of the beer is released”…or some such other tripe as is his wont to dispense.
4 Stella, 2 Keiths Stout, 1 Bass, 3 Rickards White, 2 pounds of overcooked chicken wings and more than a modicum of sweetness were consumed.
October 29, 2009
ALU 3 Killer Strawberries 1
There was not enough perfume in France to disguise the malodorous effort put forth by the Strawberries in last night’s matchup with the swift skating ALU Warriors. Every Strawbs’ colon, except for that of the Plug, contributed to the stink.
The Plug played exceedingly well, stopping the Warriors on 99% of the 100 two on ones and three on ones which resulted from the over-eager defence’s desire to score a goal and thus impress the team’s executive’s masseuse and psychotherapist prominently perched in the Strawbs’ corporate box located just above the Zamboni room. “Look at me, look at me, Svetlana, I am a goal scorer” the Vice, Gumby and Shiny seemed to scream with each ill-advised foray into the opposition’s end. It was so bad that, on the last desperation faceoff in the ALU end, with 5 seconds left on the clock, both defencemen abandoned the blueline, lined up with the wingers in front of the net and could be found at the buzzer, tangled together in the mesh behind the Warriors’ net. Eau de colon indeed. The only player in position on the final play was Freight Train Laronde (pressed into a defensive role in the waning minutes of the last period), who was busy picking up the water bottles and loose pucks on the Strawbs’ bench. His actions turned out to be the evening’s biggest contribution by a defenceman.
Up front, things were a little better but not by more than the width of a wet dream. Warrin Peace appeared lost on the frozen surface as the day’s percosets lost their potency. Bing! Crossbar, a raw recruit from AA novice hockey out of Zit, Switzerland, ragged the puck so long in the opposition’s end, the Strawbs were able to execute 3 line changes before he tired himself out and dropped into a lump onto the faceoff circle just to the right of the Warriors’ goalie, who, during Crossbar’s exhibition of fanciful futility, managed to smoke a carton of contraband cigarettes, two cigarettes at a time.
Archilles Perron, playing on his wrong wing no matter on which side he lined up, displayed a lethargy unmatched in most retirement homes. Magboy pranced about, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Freight Train’s biggest contribution on the evening has already been mentioned. He appeared to be distracted by his inability to choose an appropriate title for his doctoral thesis on the role of pencil colour upon heuristic student performance in grade 3 music class…wethinks “Bullshit” would do nicely.
Even the Ice Marshal contributed to the odiferous on-ice offerings. The morning’s massage and psychotherapy session, while it certainly helped him to deal temporarily with the demons of a difficult yet productive youth, left him as ineffective as the Vice at an out of town hockey tournament. Still, Svetlana would understand.
At the post game debriefing, the mood turned more jovial. The assembled Strawbs, in accordance with custom, put the whole thing into context. As MagBoy put it so well, “It is through the bitterness of loss that the sweetness of the beer is released”…or some such other tripe as is his wont to dispense.
4 Stella, 2 Keiths Stout, 1 Bass, 3 Rickards White, 2 pounds of overcooked chicken wings and more than a modicum of sweetness were consumed.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Jet Rangers Shot Down By Surging Strawberries
Game report
October 22, 2009
Killer Strawberries 3 Jet Rangers 1
As I write this report quite early on Friday morning shortly after the Strawbs’ victory last night, I am struck by a very penetrating question posed to me by Svetlana as she alternately strokes, kneads and drills into my screaming hamstring. Svetlana is no ordinary, run of the mill masseuse. She recently escaped from the former Soviet Union where she was the chief masseuse and team psychotherapist for the Red Army hockey team. She has set up in North Bay where she has restricted her practice to elite athletes and handsome hockey players. If you are, as is the Ice Marshal, qualified under both rubrics, you are indeed a lucky man.
As she teased another spasm of blissful delight from my aching musculature, she asked: “Monsieur Hice Marechal, hiz eet a plaisir playing wis de Killer Fruits?” Still intoxicated by her lilting, French infused voice and the hypnotic rhythm of her able fingertips, I replied: “Ma Cherie, less talk, more pain please.”
Still her probing question haunted me right up to the time of this writing. Certainly, there is a pleasure in beating a band of testosterone fueled hooligans such as the Jet Rangers, especially when they attempt to taunt you at the opening face off with juvenile quips along the lines of “Didn’t you coach my Grampa?” or “Keep your head up old man” or “Didn’t you play on the same line as Moses McLean when he was in peewee?”. Obviously, this rationale would be insufficient. In reality, the true pleasure lies in executing the crisp pass, ringing one off the crossbar, recovering the rebound and burying it in the mesh just above the glass; it is watching Freight Train Laronde get derailed by the tiny edge of paint on the blueline causing him to take a header on a breakaway. It is laughing as Archilles Perron, a once proud man, throws up in the opposition’s faceoff circle while the puck is being passed around in his own end. It is watching Warrin Peace swoop aimlessly about the frozen surface, scrawling indecipherable runes into the virgin ice, oblivious to time and space. But most of all, the pleasure is most intense as the scabs of on ice errors are delicately picked at, post game, by the merciless wits in the dressing room.
I will certainly give my considered answer to Svetlana at our next encounter which will inevitably follow our match this Thursday. As a trained psychologist, I am sure that upon reflection, she will have some interesting insights into what or more precisely, who, is giving me such a big pain in the gluteus maximus. Even if she does not, my gluteus will nevertheless be in good hands.
October 22, 2009
Killer Strawberries 3 Jet Rangers 1
As I write this report quite early on Friday morning shortly after the Strawbs’ victory last night, I am struck by a very penetrating question posed to me by Svetlana as she alternately strokes, kneads and drills into my screaming hamstring. Svetlana is no ordinary, run of the mill masseuse. She recently escaped from the former Soviet Union where she was the chief masseuse and team psychotherapist for the Red Army hockey team. She has set up in North Bay where she has restricted her practice to elite athletes and handsome hockey players. If you are, as is the Ice Marshal, qualified under both rubrics, you are indeed a lucky man.
As she teased another spasm of blissful delight from my aching musculature, she asked: “Monsieur Hice Marechal, hiz eet a plaisir playing wis de Killer Fruits?” Still intoxicated by her lilting, French infused voice and the hypnotic rhythm of her able fingertips, I replied: “Ma Cherie, less talk, more pain please.”
Still her probing question haunted me right up to the time of this writing. Certainly, there is a pleasure in beating a band of testosterone fueled hooligans such as the Jet Rangers, especially when they attempt to taunt you at the opening face off with juvenile quips along the lines of “Didn’t you coach my Grampa?” or “Keep your head up old man” or “Didn’t you play on the same line as Moses McLean when he was in peewee?”. Obviously, this rationale would be insufficient. In reality, the true pleasure lies in executing the crisp pass, ringing one off the crossbar, recovering the rebound and burying it in the mesh just above the glass; it is watching Freight Train Laronde get derailed by the tiny edge of paint on the blueline causing him to take a header on a breakaway. It is laughing as Archilles Perron, a once proud man, throws up in the opposition’s faceoff circle while the puck is being passed around in his own end. It is watching Warrin Peace swoop aimlessly about the frozen surface, scrawling indecipherable runes into the virgin ice, oblivious to time and space. But most of all, the pleasure is most intense as the scabs of on ice errors are delicately picked at, post game, by the merciless wits in the dressing room.
I will certainly give my considered answer to Svetlana at our next encounter which will inevitably follow our match this Thursday. As a trained psychologist, I am sure that upon reflection, she will have some interesting insights into what or more precisely, who, is giving me such a big pain in the gluteus maximus. Even if she does not, my gluteus will nevertheless be in good hands.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Strawbs Bounce Bad Czechs
Game Report
Strawbs 9 BodyCzechs 3
October 19, 2009
Boulstered by the absence of penalty pig Butcher Brophey, who is in Portugal studying the mating habits of his ovine cousins, the Killer Strawberries sent a 9-3 NSF (not sufficient firepower) warning to a fine but still inexperienced BodyCzechs squad.
The Strawbs scored early and often and were solidly backed up by Rich “The Plug” Delorme who has replaced the once irreplaceable Jesse The Leak, at one time referred to as the Martin Brodeur of the Canadore Intramural League (by his mother and girlfriend). Mr. Leak is spending his hockey retirement putting tax evaders behind bars and knitting tuques for wayward cats. On more than one occasion the Plug was left to fend for himself as the Strawbs’ defence carried out its plan to test him early and often by allowing frequent breakaway situations to develop. The Plug performed admirably and, being the good rookie he is, did not curse his porous defence except in French an under his breath.
Another Strawb also made his debut on the evening. Chris Crossey, hereinafter and forever to be referred to as Bing! Crossbar, put in an inspired performance: inspired by Gumby’s threat to ask for his return to the Butthole Bottom Feeders if he failed to meet the incredibly low standards of the team. Although he did not score (or maybe he did, who knows), he managed to ring a couple off the iron with his quick snapper, thus securing his place on the squad until further notice.
Gumby, fresh from his Battle of The Blades appearance at the old Maple Leaf Gardens, was a little frustrated because there were no referees to harangue. He did, however, draw attention to himself on one occasion when one of the picks on his new blades got stuck on the blueline, resulting in one of the finest pirouettes ever executed by a Killer Strawberry. The Executive advised him post game to use his old skates which surely must have most of the mistakes squeezed out of them by now.
At the end of the game, The Vice was presented with a bottle of 55 year old Scotch, which Scotch was born in the same year as he was. It was obvious that the Scotch had aged much better than the Vice had...it was a lot smoother and far less cranky.
The team, or most of it, then repaired to the Terminal Tavren to continue the evaluation of the squad’s talent, old and new. It was concluded that, with the new additions and the absence of the Butcher, there was a good chance of repeating as league champs. It was good to start the year on a high note.
2 Keiths Stout, 3 Guinness, 3 Stella, 4 regular Keiths, 2 dozen chicken wings and some tall tales of figure skating exploits at the Carlton Cash Box were consumed.
Strawbs 9 BodyCzechs 3
October 19, 2009
Boulstered by the absence of penalty pig Butcher Brophey, who is in Portugal studying the mating habits of his ovine cousins, the Killer Strawberries sent a 9-3 NSF (not sufficient firepower) warning to a fine but still inexperienced BodyCzechs squad.
The Strawbs scored early and often and were solidly backed up by Rich “The Plug” Delorme who has replaced the once irreplaceable Jesse The Leak, at one time referred to as the Martin Brodeur of the Canadore Intramural League (by his mother and girlfriend). Mr. Leak is spending his hockey retirement putting tax evaders behind bars and knitting tuques for wayward cats. On more than one occasion the Plug was left to fend for himself as the Strawbs’ defence carried out its plan to test him early and often by allowing frequent breakaway situations to develop. The Plug performed admirably and, being the good rookie he is, did not curse his porous defence except in French an under his breath.
Another Strawb also made his debut on the evening. Chris Crossey, hereinafter and forever to be referred to as Bing! Crossbar, put in an inspired performance: inspired by Gumby’s threat to ask for his return to the Butthole Bottom Feeders if he failed to meet the incredibly low standards of the team. Although he did not score (or maybe he did, who knows), he managed to ring a couple off the iron with his quick snapper, thus securing his place on the squad until further notice.
Gumby, fresh from his Battle of The Blades appearance at the old Maple Leaf Gardens, was a little frustrated because there were no referees to harangue. He did, however, draw attention to himself on one occasion when one of the picks on his new blades got stuck on the blueline, resulting in one of the finest pirouettes ever executed by a Killer Strawberry. The Executive advised him post game to use his old skates which surely must have most of the mistakes squeezed out of them by now.
At the end of the game, The Vice was presented with a bottle of 55 year old Scotch, which Scotch was born in the same year as he was. It was obvious that the Scotch had aged much better than the Vice had...it was a lot smoother and far less cranky.
The team, or most of it, then repaired to the Terminal Tavren to continue the evaluation of the squad’s talent, old and new. It was concluded that, with the new additions and the absence of the Butcher, there was a good chance of repeating as league champs. It was good to start the year on a high note.
2 Keiths Stout, 3 Guinness, 3 Stella, 4 regular Keiths, 2 dozen chicken wings and some tall tales of figure skating exploits at the Carlton Cash Box were consumed.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Shinney Drops a Bird
If you are viewing this post from the Ontario government network you will not be able to see the video.
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