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.
Strawbs Golf Tourney 2009 Pictures
Hello Strawbs, Strawbetts and fans.
Here are are a few pictures from the golf Tournament.
For a full viewing of pictures please visit http://www.buckwild.ca/igallery/igallery.asp?d=\33+-+strawbs+2009+golf+tourney\ .
Here are are a few pictures from the golf Tournament.
For a full viewing of pictures please visit http://www.buckwild.ca/igallery/igallery.asp?d=\33+-+strawbs+2009+golf+tourney\ .
Don't forget to click on some Google Ads.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Garage of Bad Ideas May 23, 2009
A Bad Idea that turned out pretty good, actually.
You don't want to know where this Bad Idea is going.
Sampling the Garage of Bad Ideas vibes.
Hmmmm ... Bad Ideas fermenting.The Garage of Bad Ideas May 23, 2009
More Bad Ideas brewing.
The Butcher tries to remember a Bad Idea.
Gumby explains a Bad Idea about BBQ-ing.
A perfect example of a Bad Idea gone awry.
The final legacy to the Garage of Bad Ideas.Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Monday, May 04, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Killer Strawberries 2009 Dubious Achievement Awards Night
Pajama Man ready to be grilled.
Slickery and his fan.
Archilles and Warrin' before the slagging. 
Dr. Thug steals himself.Killer Strawberries 2009 Dubious Achievement Awards Night
Strawbs and fans milling about the Compound.
The Ice Marshall and the Leak.
Still dripping.
Freight Train gets his.
The Butcher on the hot seat.Killer Strawberries 2009 Dubious Achievement Awards Night
Ice Marshall and Gumby make out.
The Drip
The Butchers
The Ice Marshall slags Warrin' Peace.
Shiney Sean Brightly is humbled.Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Leak Leads Strawbs To Championship Victory
Geriatric Juggernaut Rules
Killer Strawberries 3 Redstripes 1
Game Report
March 16, 2009
Last night, a standing room only crowd of Killer Strawberry puck bunnies, wives, girlfriends, mistresses, family pets and few unsavoury hangers-on witnessed an on-ice exhibition of cunning old man hockey at its finest, as the Strawbs neutered its ill-mannered opponent with surgical precision on route to a decisive 3 to1 victory and a second championship in 3 years.
It was not easy. The obstreperous little bastards put up a fine fight, fuelled by disdain for their elders and a childlike vexation which too frequently manifested itself in the face of adversity. They are still young. They will learn. Maybe not. Who cares. We creamed the little mofos.
It was a fitting ending to a glorious Strawbs’ mini-era. For the last 5 years, Jesse The Leak has been tending the pipes for his favourite team ever, amassing an amazing 75-10-5 record over the stretch, despite or perhaps as a result of his numerous reconditioning stints with the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottomfeeders of Buttface, Alaska. Last night’s championship sudden death final was The Leak’s perfectly rendered swan song with his beloved hockey team. And boy did he show up to play. Barely 10 seconds into the game he was called upon to bar the door, and bar the door he did all night long. The petulant Redstripes squad could not solve him. He used his pads, the butt of his stick, the tips of his skates, the top of his helmet, a small dollop of luck and all else at his disposal to constantly foist their scoring attempts. He was certainly the game’s first star. His number, whatever it is, will be retired in a lavish ceremony later this summer at the Killer Strawberry headquarters and playland: the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu, Hawaii. He may even be invited to attend the ceremony, as long as he promises to behave, take no photos and sign the usual gag orders.
The Leak had plenty of backup on the evening. Everyone contributed a verse, except, of course, for Shiny Sean Brightly who was busily sunning his sausage in Fort Homodale, Florida. Shiny, we saved you some victory Scotch…NOT!
The defence was magnificent. Wave after wave of Redstripes was expertly manoeuvred into the corners where they were summarily relieved of the puck. Like an expert circus manager,Freight Train Laronde, pressed into a defensive role with Shiny’s unfortunate unauthorized abdication, used his extra long stick to repeatedly steer his opponents into nowhereland. The Vice, a veritable octopus of impudent impedence, clutched, grabbed and discumbobulated anything and everything that threatened to score. The Butcher must have had a big fight with his mistress because even his team mates were scared of the black temper he brought to the arena. You’ve got to admire a guy who, with only enough money in his pocket to either get his skates or his stick sharpened, opted to tune up his stick. To his credit, he did return the two beating hearts and the one spleen he managed to remove from his opponents’ bodies during the most heated parts of the game action. And like a true professional, he escaped unscathed except for that boneheaded penalty he took with 2 minutes remaining.
P. Gumbington Pettigrew, a zealous advocate of pre-game sex, with or without a partner, was solid on the blueline. His best play was coolly tucking the puck under a sprawling Leak, late in the game, as the puck was slowly trickling across the goal line.
Up front, it was all out effort all the time. Warrin’Peace, strung out on the patch, scored the game’s first goal, a snapshot that he ripped over the goalie’s left shoulder into a space smaller than that occupied by the Butcher’s brain. Dr. Thug tallied the second marker for the Strawbs, a soft hands goal that caused women’s hearts everywhere to beat just a little faster. MagPie, the team’s pepperpot and self-proclaimed wit (he is only half right on the latter point), delivered the coup de grace, the team’s third goal late in the third period, sealing the victory for the Strawbs. Archilles Perron, still recuperating from a vacuum attachment injury to his lower body, skated like he was 40 again. Slickery Mac was at his tricky slickest, ragging the puck like Eddie Shack during penalty kills, weaving expertly through oncoming traffic and making excellent choices on every part of the ice surface. Pyjama Boy, with his enamoratta looking on in full swoon, played a fine brand of feisty hockey, never losing his cool, always an offensive threat.
And let’s not forget the contribution of the Ice Marshal. He had duties both as player and coach. He juggled lines, worked penalty kill pairings, directed traffic in and out of the penalty box and still managed to create havoc when havoc was needed. “I just wanted to contribute in any way I could, what with my broken foot, severed aorta and post nasal drip. The trick is to never give up. I attribute my never-give-uppedness to the excellent upbringing I had at The Broda, the orphanage I grew up in, just across the street from the Carlton Cashbox. You can learn a lot from good nuns in such a fine place, especially from the older ones who take a liking to you, if you know what I mean. Thank you Sisters of Perpetual Suffering, and mostly you, Sister Vava Voom. ”
After the game, the Strawbs dressing room was a veritable zoo, with Scotch flowing, butts being towel whipped, hairs mussed and general anarchy reigning supreme. The festivities carried over to the Terminal Tavren, where the Teeter Kennedy Room was commandeered by the victors and their rabid fans. The party continued into the wee hours, with the lies growing more unbelievable, the insults more hug-like and the patrons more pissed. The Leak’s imminent departure was dutifully rued, the fans thanked and then thanked again. Teammates were toasted and roasted. Backs were slapped and funny handshakes exchanged. All in all, it was sublime.
407 Stella, 2 Appletinis, 354 Bass, 5692 and a half Guinness, 321 pounds of chicken wings, 1 celery stick and the sweet elixir of success were consumed.
Killer Strawberries 3 Redstripes 1
Game Report
March 16, 2009
Last night, a standing room only crowd of Killer Strawberry puck bunnies, wives, girlfriends, mistresses, family pets and few unsavoury hangers-on witnessed an on-ice exhibition of cunning old man hockey at its finest, as the Strawbs neutered its ill-mannered opponent with surgical precision on route to a decisive 3 to1 victory and a second championship in 3 years.
It was not easy. The obstreperous little bastards put up a fine fight, fuelled by disdain for their elders and a childlike vexation which too frequently manifested itself in the face of adversity. They are still young. They will learn. Maybe not. Who cares. We creamed the little mofos.
It was a fitting ending to a glorious Strawbs’ mini-era. For the last 5 years, Jesse The Leak has been tending the pipes for his favourite team ever, amassing an amazing 75-10-5 record over the stretch, despite or perhaps as a result of his numerous reconditioning stints with the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottomfeeders of Buttface, Alaska. Last night’s championship sudden death final was The Leak’s perfectly rendered swan song with his beloved hockey team. And boy did he show up to play. Barely 10 seconds into the game he was called upon to bar the door, and bar the door he did all night long. The petulant Redstripes squad could not solve him. He used his pads, the butt of his stick, the tips of his skates, the top of his helmet, a small dollop of luck and all else at his disposal to constantly foist their scoring attempts. He was certainly the game’s first star. His number, whatever it is, will be retired in a lavish ceremony later this summer at the Killer Strawberry headquarters and playland: the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu, Hawaii. He may even be invited to attend the ceremony, as long as he promises to behave, take no photos and sign the usual gag orders.
The Leak had plenty of backup on the evening. Everyone contributed a verse, except, of course, for Shiny Sean Brightly who was busily sunning his sausage in Fort Homodale, Florida. Shiny, we saved you some victory Scotch…NOT!
The defence was magnificent. Wave after wave of Redstripes was expertly manoeuvred into the corners where they were summarily relieved of the puck. Like an expert circus manager,Freight Train Laronde, pressed into a defensive role with Shiny’s unfortunate unauthorized abdication, used his extra long stick to repeatedly steer his opponents into nowhereland. The Vice, a veritable octopus of impudent impedence, clutched, grabbed and discumbobulated anything and everything that threatened to score. The Butcher must have had a big fight with his mistress because even his team mates were scared of the black temper he brought to the arena. You’ve got to admire a guy who, with only enough money in his pocket to either get his skates or his stick sharpened, opted to tune up his stick. To his credit, he did return the two beating hearts and the one spleen he managed to remove from his opponents’ bodies during the most heated parts of the game action. And like a true professional, he escaped unscathed except for that boneheaded penalty he took with 2 minutes remaining.
P. Gumbington Pettigrew, a zealous advocate of pre-game sex, with or without a partner, was solid on the blueline. His best play was coolly tucking the puck under a sprawling Leak, late in the game, as the puck was slowly trickling across the goal line.
Up front, it was all out effort all the time. Warrin’Peace, strung out on the patch, scored the game’s first goal, a snapshot that he ripped over the goalie’s left shoulder into a space smaller than that occupied by the Butcher’s brain. Dr. Thug tallied the second marker for the Strawbs, a soft hands goal that caused women’s hearts everywhere to beat just a little faster. MagPie, the team’s pepperpot and self-proclaimed wit (he is only half right on the latter point), delivered the coup de grace, the team’s third goal late in the third period, sealing the victory for the Strawbs. Archilles Perron, still recuperating from a vacuum attachment injury to his lower body, skated like he was 40 again. Slickery Mac was at his tricky slickest, ragging the puck like Eddie Shack during penalty kills, weaving expertly through oncoming traffic and making excellent choices on every part of the ice surface. Pyjama Boy, with his enamoratta looking on in full swoon, played a fine brand of feisty hockey, never losing his cool, always an offensive threat.
And let’s not forget the contribution of the Ice Marshal. He had duties both as player and coach. He juggled lines, worked penalty kill pairings, directed traffic in and out of the penalty box and still managed to create havoc when havoc was needed. “I just wanted to contribute in any way I could, what with my broken foot, severed aorta and post nasal drip. The trick is to never give up. I attribute my never-give-uppedness to the excellent upbringing I had at The Broda, the orphanage I grew up in, just across the street from the Carlton Cashbox. You can learn a lot from good nuns in such a fine place, especially from the older ones who take a liking to you, if you know what I mean. Thank you Sisters of Perpetual Suffering, and mostly you, Sister Vava Voom. ”
After the game, the Strawbs dressing room was a veritable zoo, with Scotch flowing, butts being towel whipped, hairs mussed and general anarchy reigning supreme. The festivities carried over to the Terminal Tavren, where the Teeter Kennedy Room was commandeered by the victors and their rabid fans. The party continued into the wee hours, with the lies growing more unbelievable, the insults more hug-like and the patrons more pissed. The Leak’s imminent departure was dutifully rued, the fans thanked and then thanked again. Teammates were toasted and roasted. Backs were slapped and funny handshakes exchanged. All in all, it was sublime.
407 Stella, 2 Appletinis, 354 Bass, 5692 and a half Guinness, 321 pounds of chicken wings, 1 celery stick and the sweet elixir of success were consumed.
Killer Strawberries 2008-2009 Champions
Here is the complete team, including Sean who was in Florida last night - photoshop is a great tool.
Seal the Deal Goal
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R75P86ysDHE
Monday, March 16, 2009
Championship Up For Grabs
Pre-game report
March 16, 2009
Well, it has finally come down to the nitty gritty. Tonight, in the confines of the beautiful Pete Palangio Arenas, the Killer Strawberries hope to put the finishing touches on a difficult season by winning their 2nd Canadore Ice Hockey Intramural Championship in 3 years.
The team is ready and has been ready since day 1 of the season. Except for Shiny Sean, who is attending The PeeWee Herman Wrestling and Clown School in Orlando, Florida, it is expected all Strawbs will be suited up tonight to slay the obstreperous little bastards who toil for the EVIL Redstripes.
The slick playmaking and opportunistic Shiny will be greatly missed and the Strawbs will have to turn it up a notch in order to reach their season-long goal. Fortunately, over the last couple of weeks, every Killer Strawberry has been energetically engaged in improving one or more aspects of their games. P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third has limited his beer consumption to 6 pints per day and has not had a French fry or an impure thought since March 11. The Vice has been parking his car at the top of his driveway each day for a month and walks both ways, up and down, carrying small boulders and cases of empties to improve his stamina. Freight Train Laronde has cut out his daily afternoon nap to empty the dishwasher and thus flex his already oversized supraspinitises. Archilles Perron has taken to vaccuuming and has shovelled all the snow off his front lawn. Dr. Thug has been living in a anti-barimetric bubble to speed his physical and mental recovery. Warrin’ Peace now walks the full 5 minutes to Tim Horton’s everyday, twice a day, smoking only on the return leg. Pyjama Man has been living in the back seat of his car, avoiding the relentless come-hither overtures of his girlfriend, the seductive Loans Jones, which overtures have, in the past, hindered his on-ice production. MagBoy, in the last month, has climbed Mount Kilimanjaro, crossed the Gobi Desert on his bicycle and circumnavigated Antarctica in a converted bathtub. The Ice Marshall has been conserving his energy at the Aloha Baby Compound, passing his time playing nude badmington and Twister with the locals. Slickery Mac has been busily making himself a new pair of skates, using the deer hide, bone and sinew he culled by hand from a carcass he found lying abandoned in MagBoy’s living room. Dr. Bonehead Butcher Brophey has undergone extensive counselling and was graduated, Magna Cum Gaga, from the world famous Miss White Go Go Boots Wife School, in Emasculation City, Ohio. He is expected to be as mad as hell and not gonna take it anymore. Jesse The Leak has spent the last 8 days, psyching himself up with the aid of herbal teas and crumpets at the small tea parties he has been holding in his parents' basement with all his bobblehead action figures. This will be the Leak’s last game with the Strawbs. The squad fully expects him to stand on his head.
Anyone planning to attend the match tonight at 9pm is advised to show up early to ensure themselves of a good seat. Officials with The Office of Great Sporting Events Worldwide is predicted a Standing Room Only Crowd of over 5 fans. Rumours have been flying that She Who Must be Obeyed, the very fortunate life consort (so far) of Ice Marshall Walpole, will be showing up for the very first time in 21 years to one of her beau’s Canadore hockey league games. “I’ve put this day off for as long I could” stated the soto-voce beauty. “I know my man is virile and I always fear for his opponents. I was sure that one of these days he would be charged at the rink for being so brutally handsome and manly and hurting his lesser opponents. He has been talking of retirement lately and this may be the last time I can ever see him weave his on-ice magic. I just have to go.
The Strawbs promise their fans a real barn burner. They are, to a man, committed to victory.
March 16, 2009
Well, it has finally come down to the nitty gritty. Tonight, in the confines of the beautiful Pete Palangio Arenas, the Killer Strawberries hope to put the finishing touches on a difficult season by winning their 2nd Canadore Ice Hockey Intramural Championship in 3 years.
The team is ready and has been ready since day 1 of the season. Except for Shiny Sean, who is attending The PeeWee Herman Wrestling and Clown School in Orlando, Florida, it is expected all Strawbs will be suited up tonight to slay the obstreperous little bastards who toil for the EVIL Redstripes.
The slick playmaking and opportunistic Shiny will be greatly missed and the Strawbs will have to turn it up a notch in order to reach their season-long goal. Fortunately, over the last couple of weeks, every Killer Strawberry has been energetically engaged in improving one or more aspects of their games. P. Gumbington Pettigrew The Third has limited his beer consumption to 6 pints per day and has not had a French fry or an impure thought since March 11. The Vice has been parking his car at the top of his driveway each day for a month and walks both ways, up and down, carrying small boulders and cases of empties to improve his stamina. Freight Train Laronde has cut out his daily afternoon nap to empty the dishwasher and thus flex his already oversized supraspinitises. Archilles Perron has taken to vaccuuming and has shovelled all the snow off his front lawn. Dr. Thug has been living in a anti-barimetric bubble to speed his physical and mental recovery. Warrin’ Peace now walks the full 5 minutes to Tim Horton’s everyday, twice a day, smoking only on the return leg. Pyjama Man has been living in the back seat of his car, avoiding the relentless come-hither overtures of his girlfriend, the seductive Loans Jones, which overtures have, in the past, hindered his on-ice production. MagBoy, in the last month, has climbed Mount Kilimanjaro, crossed the Gobi Desert on his bicycle and circumnavigated Antarctica in a converted bathtub. The Ice Marshall has been conserving his energy at the Aloha Baby Compound, passing his time playing nude badmington and Twister with the locals. Slickery Mac has been busily making himself a new pair of skates, using the deer hide, bone and sinew he culled by hand from a carcass he found lying abandoned in MagBoy’s living room. Dr. Bonehead Butcher Brophey has undergone extensive counselling and was graduated, Magna Cum Gaga, from the world famous Miss White Go Go Boots Wife School, in Emasculation City, Ohio. He is expected to be as mad as hell and not gonna take it anymore. Jesse The Leak has spent the last 8 days, psyching himself up with the aid of herbal teas and crumpets at the small tea parties he has been holding in his parents' basement with all his bobblehead action figures. This will be the Leak’s last game with the Strawbs. The squad fully expects him to stand on his head.
Anyone planning to attend the match tonight at 9pm is advised to show up early to ensure themselves of a good seat. Officials with The Office of Great Sporting Events Worldwide is predicted a Standing Room Only Crowd of over 5 fans. Rumours have been flying that She Who Must be Obeyed, the very fortunate life consort (so far) of Ice Marshall Walpole, will be showing up for the very first time in 21 years to one of her beau’s Canadore hockey league games. “I’ve put this day off for as long I could” stated the soto-voce beauty. “I know my man is virile and I always fear for his opponents. I was sure that one of these days he would be charged at the rink for being so brutally handsome and manly and hurting his lesser opponents. He has been talking of retirement lately and this may be the last time I can ever see him weave his on-ice magic. I just have to go.
The Strawbs promise their fans a real barn burner. They are, to a man, committed to victory.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Grampas Ganch Gang of Grumpy Gen-Whiners
Game Report
March 9, 2009
Killer Strawberries 7 Redstripes 4
Gawd knows it must be hard to lose to a bunch of geriatric go-getters judiciously seasoned with just the right amount of youth. Just ask the Redstripes, who, despite their excellent trash talk, hormone-fuelled bravado and general sulkiness, were unable to subdue a squad of Killer Strawberries hell-bent on capturing their second crown in 3 years.
The game started out on a difficult note. P. Gumbington Pettigrew the Third, a man of immense self-professed talent and an ego to match, was told he would not be allowed to play because he had neglected to pay off a $20 fine incurred 3 matches previous. It took several shady attempts at truthiness and a last minute intervention by the Pope to get him permission to play. But play he did, leading his team in on-ice treachery, the proffering of dubious advice and endless heartfelt exhortation to anyone who would listen to his incoherent rants.
The team was further handicapped on the evening. Dr. Felonious Thug, unplugged and reeling from a homemade concoction of codeine, morphine and grape Kool-Aid, donned his best Punch Imlach fedora and took over bench duties. He was unable to play on the evening, having once again injured himself in a non-hockey mishap. Apparently, after the last game, he severed a tendon in his right thumb while attempting to operate a TV remote without teenage supervision.
Warrin’ Peace was, for the twentieth time this season, noticeably absent. According to his first and current wife, the gorgeous (pregnant?)Samarra Dessert, Warrin’ could not make the game owing to some prior commitment with his sports psychiatrist, or sports hairstylist or some other sports related human.
None of this, however, was able to knock the Strawbs off the mission they had set for themselves after a devastating playoff loss in March 2008: regain the coveted Canadore Intramural Hockey “D” Cup. To this end, The Killer Strawberries scored often and early in the match, much to the chagrin of the whiny little Redstripes who truly believed they deserved to beat a pile of wizened veterans who were so ripe they still remember firsthand when the Montreal Maroons ruled the hockey world. Magboy led the team in enthusiasm and gusto. This whirling dervish bedeviled the opposition with his energy and flying limbs and actually scored on one of his many breakways/penalty shots.
Freight Train Laronde ratcheted up his game to 1961 levels. He tallied two beauties and even succeeded in making the Ice Marshal look respectable. Shiny Sean was a stalwart, moving between offence and defence with the fluidity, grace and repertoire of a Kama Sutra master.
Not all went smoothly however. The Strawbs were forced to overcome a 7 minute mid-game spurt of brainfartitis, when, leading 4-0, they managed to let the Redstripes re-enter the game. The opposition somehow managed to make the score 4-3 before the Strawbs were pounded back to reality by the quick scores and relentless juvenile Redstripe taunting (the words Grampa, old man, old timer, ancient piece of dog feces etc. were being tossed around like midgets in a dwarf bowling contest). From that point on, the juggernaut, reawakened and angry, kicked it up a notch. The Killer Strawberries revved up their engines, slammed the petal to the metal and grinded their way into passing gear, leaving their rivals grasping for any straw to slow the juggernaut down: all to no avail. Final score: Killer Strawberries 7 Redstripes 4.
The Strawbs now await the victor in Thursday night’s game between the Free Agents and the Redstripes to see who will play them in the Championship. The final is already sold out, and the broadcast blackout has not been lifted. It will be a barn burner.
Following the match, all able minded Strawbs and the 10 others who played, met up at the Terminal Tavren to bulk up and to plot strategy. It can be reported that they succeeded beautifully in one of those endeavours.
4 Stella, 7 Guinness, 3 Black and Tan 2 Blue, 3 Sterling, 5 Steamwhistle, 4 pounds of seasoned wings, a low-fat poutine and some Oil of Juggernaut were consumed.
March 9, 2009
Killer Strawberries 7 Redstripes 4
Gawd knows it must be hard to lose to a bunch of geriatric go-getters judiciously seasoned with just the right amount of youth. Just ask the Redstripes, who, despite their excellent trash talk, hormone-fuelled bravado and general sulkiness, were unable to subdue a squad of Killer Strawberries hell-bent on capturing their second crown in 3 years.
The game started out on a difficult note. P. Gumbington Pettigrew the Third, a man of immense self-professed talent and an ego to match, was told he would not be allowed to play because he had neglected to pay off a $20 fine incurred 3 matches previous. It took several shady attempts at truthiness and a last minute intervention by the Pope to get him permission to play. But play he did, leading his team in on-ice treachery, the proffering of dubious advice and endless heartfelt exhortation to anyone who would listen to his incoherent rants.
The team was further handicapped on the evening. Dr. Felonious Thug, unplugged and reeling from a homemade concoction of codeine, morphine and grape Kool-Aid, donned his best Punch Imlach fedora and took over bench duties. He was unable to play on the evening, having once again injured himself in a non-hockey mishap. Apparently, after the last game, he severed a tendon in his right thumb while attempting to operate a TV remote without teenage supervision.
Warrin’ Peace was, for the twentieth time this season, noticeably absent. According to his first and current wife, the gorgeous (pregnant?)Samarra Dessert, Warrin’ could not make the game owing to some prior commitment with his sports psychiatrist, or sports hairstylist or some other sports related human.
None of this, however, was able to knock the Strawbs off the mission they had set for themselves after a devastating playoff loss in March 2008: regain the coveted Canadore Intramural Hockey “D” Cup. To this end, The Killer Strawberries scored often and early in the match, much to the chagrin of the whiny little Redstripes who truly believed they deserved to beat a pile of wizened veterans who were so ripe they still remember firsthand when the Montreal Maroons ruled the hockey world. Magboy led the team in enthusiasm and gusto. This whirling dervish bedeviled the opposition with his energy and flying limbs and actually scored on one of his many breakways/penalty shots.
Freight Train Laronde ratcheted up his game to 1961 levels. He tallied two beauties and even succeeded in making the Ice Marshal look respectable. Shiny Sean was a stalwart, moving between offence and defence with the fluidity, grace and repertoire of a Kama Sutra master.
Not all went smoothly however. The Strawbs were forced to overcome a 7 minute mid-game spurt of brainfartitis, when, leading 4-0, they managed to let the Redstripes re-enter the game. The opposition somehow managed to make the score 4-3 before the Strawbs were pounded back to reality by the quick scores and relentless juvenile Redstripe taunting (the words Grampa, old man, old timer, ancient piece of dog feces etc. were being tossed around like midgets in a dwarf bowling contest). From that point on, the juggernaut, reawakened and angry, kicked it up a notch. The Killer Strawberries revved up their engines, slammed the petal to the metal and grinded their way into passing gear, leaving their rivals grasping for any straw to slow the juggernaut down: all to no avail. Final score: Killer Strawberries 7 Redstripes 4.
The Strawbs now await the victor in Thursday night’s game between the Free Agents and the Redstripes to see who will play them in the Championship. The final is already sold out, and the broadcast blackout has not been lifted. It will be a barn burner.
Following the match, all able minded Strawbs and the 10 others who played, met up at the Terminal Tavren to bulk up and to plot strategy. It can be reported that they succeeded beautifully in one of those endeavours.
4 Stella, 7 Guinness, 3 Black and Tan 2 Blue, 3 Sterling, 5 Steamwhistle, 4 pounds of seasoned wings, a low-fat poutine and some Oil of Juggernaut were consumed.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Fans Turn Out In Droves To First Playoff Match
Strawberries 3 Free Agents 1
Game Report
February 27
Extra seating had to be brought in last night to accommodate the pumped up Jaegermeister/Lysol fuelled throng of fans which showed up to cheer on their beloved squad of Strawberry delights. The noise was so great that the Killler Strawberries could barely think, not that anyone watching would have known the difference in cogitation levels between this game and any other Strawbs’ game for that matter. Led by award winning videographer and recently “fiftied” Gawdawful Gumby Scorcese, the fans chanted, stomped and clapped their squad to a 3-1 victory over a very determined and ornery bunch of Free Agents. For his work on the evening, Gawd has been invited to spend an afternoon this summer at the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu, Hawaii so that he can record, on tape for posterity, some selected Executive wisdomisms. He will also be allowed to clean out the stables with the Olsen twin of his choice.
The game itself was a ragged affair. Of the 40 minutes of playing time, various members of the Killer Strawberries were asked to spend a total of 18 minutes and thirty six seconds in the company of the scorekeeper, a reformed pederast from Kingston Pen. On 3 occasions the Strawberries had to kill off a 5 on 3 disadvantage. It did so with aplomb, grit and lotsa luck.
It may have been a sign that the team, like a forgotten container of yogurt in an abandoned fridge, has been around the league well beyond its best before date. Near the end of the game, an exhausted Dr. Felonious Thug was attempting to corral a loose puck in front of the Strawbs' bench. With Dr. Thug’s back exposed, a Free Agent thought it would be good fun to slam him face first into the top of the boards. Felonious collapsed like a cheap suitcase. When he finally came to, he demanded of one of the Zebra’s to explain why no penalty was called on the play. The Zebra’s response: “Write another letter to the league”. It is true that the Executive has used pen and paper to excoriate the league's big foreheads for their lax supervision and repeatedly poor choice of certain bumbling officials. Officials can make or break a game. Officials need to be good. The league needs to use good officials.
All any team ever expects from officiators is a modicum of competence and accountability. Too often, neither is received. The Zebra’s response last night indicated, among other things, a total lack of impartiality bordering on retribution. Mr. Zebra, hockey is not a one way street. We make mistakes and we pay by way of goals against or by time spent in the sin bin. Your mistakes, when egregious enough, need to be pointed out to those who pay your stipends. We suck it up most of the time and so should you.
When they weren’t killing penalties, the Strawbs played very well on offence. The team was led by the torrid Slickery Mac who tallied twice, the second on a beauty featured later that evening on Sportsline or whatever Gumby’s new videography show is called. The third goal, which sealed the victory was lovely as well. Shiny Sean, who was born without kneecaps in a New Orleans brothel, picked up a feed just inside the Free Agent blueline and lobbed a gorgeous saucer pass to a waiting MagBoy who one timed the puck into the upper recesses on the net, much to the satisfaction of his enamorata, the beautiful MagGirl who was in attendance. She is said to have swooned.
The defence, strengthened by the continued absence of the Butcher and Gawdawful Gumby, was stellar. Warrin’ Peace, shanghai’d into a defenceman’s role, stepped up his game and proved himself admirably in the unaccustomed position. Freight Train also played back and used his size, reach and halitosis to great effect. The Vice, hampered by home cooking and memories of a recent bloodless yet life changing palace coup at the Compound For Minor Vice, hooked, tripped and grabbed his way, Brophey-style, to the game’s fifth star. His new old boss, Madame LaChaise, also in attendance, did not swoon but is said to have moderately approved of his play.
The Leak was solid in net. He had to be, given the amount of time the Strawbs spent short-handed. This will be the Leak’s last season, having accepted a position this April with Revenue Canada, College and University Professor Audit Division. The team will certainly miss his dexterity, urbanity, compassion and ability to overlook his teammates’ shortcomings, both on the rink and during tax filing season. Did we mention he was handsome to boot?
After the match, the team and its rabid fans, including some chick named Terry or Sherry or Bloody Mary or something like that, reconvened at its favoured den of iniquity, the down at the heels Terminal Tavren to celebrate the hard won victory. Zebras were calumniated, Canadore Hockey Central aspersed, fans’ love reciprocated, and gritty play recounted with glee.
18 Stella, 2 Appletinis with the little red umbrellas, 2 Sterling, 15 Keiths, 3 Steamwhistle, 2 pounds of Italian perogies ,4 pounds of chicken wings and some bitter recollections of penalties left uncalled were consumed.
Game Report
February 27
Extra seating had to be brought in last night to accommodate the pumped up Jaegermeister/Lysol fuelled throng of fans which showed up to cheer on their beloved squad of Strawberry delights. The noise was so great that the Killler Strawberries could barely think, not that anyone watching would have known the difference in cogitation levels between this game and any other Strawbs’ game for that matter. Led by award winning videographer and recently “fiftied” Gawdawful Gumby Scorcese, the fans chanted, stomped and clapped their squad to a 3-1 victory over a very determined and ornery bunch of Free Agents. For his work on the evening, Gawd has been invited to spend an afternoon this summer at the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu, Hawaii so that he can record, on tape for posterity, some selected Executive wisdomisms. He will also be allowed to clean out the stables with the Olsen twin of his choice.
The game itself was a ragged affair. Of the 40 minutes of playing time, various members of the Killer Strawberries were asked to spend a total of 18 minutes and thirty six seconds in the company of the scorekeeper, a reformed pederast from Kingston Pen. On 3 occasions the Strawberries had to kill off a 5 on 3 disadvantage. It did so with aplomb, grit and lotsa luck.
It may have been a sign that the team, like a forgotten container of yogurt in an abandoned fridge, has been around the league well beyond its best before date. Near the end of the game, an exhausted Dr. Felonious Thug was attempting to corral a loose puck in front of the Strawbs' bench. With Dr. Thug’s back exposed, a Free Agent thought it would be good fun to slam him face first into the top of the boards. Felonious collapsed like a cheap suitcase. When he finally came to, he demanded of one of the Zebra’s to explain why no penalty was called on the play. The Zebra’s response: “Write another letter to the league”. It is true that the Executive has used pen and paper to excoriate the league's big foreheads for their lax supervision and repeatedly poor choice of certain bumbling officials. Officials can make or break a game. Officials need to be good. The league needs to use good officials.
All any team ever expects from officiators is a modicum of competence and accountability. Too often, neither is received. The Zebra’s response last night indicated, among other things, a total lack of impartiality bordering on retribution. Mr. Zebra, hockey is not a one way street. We make mistakes and we pay by way of goals against or by time spent in the sin bin. Your mistakes, when egregious enough, need to be pointed out to those who pay your stipends. We suck it up most of the time and so should you.
When they weren’t killing penalties, the Strawbs played very well on offence. The team was led by the torrid Slickery Mac who tallied twice, the second on a beauty featured later that evening on Sportsline or whatever Gumby’s new videography show is called. The third goal, which sealed the victory was lovely as well. Shiny Sean, who was born without kneecaps in a New Orleans brothel, picked up a feed just inside the Free Agent blueline and lobbed a gorgeous saucer pass to a waiting MagBoy who one timed the puck into the upper recesses on the net, much to the satisfaction of his enamorata, the beautiful MagGirl who was in attendance. She is said to have swooned.
The defence, strengthened by the continued absence of the Butcher and Gawdawful Gumby, was stellar. Warrin’ Peace, shanghai’d into a defenceman’s role, stepped up his game and proved himself admirably in the unaccustomed position. Freight Train also played back and used his size, reach and halitosis to great effect. The Vice, hampered by home cooking and memories of a recent bloodless yet life changing palace coup at the Compound For Minor Vice, hooked, tripped and grabbed his way, Brophey-style, to the game’s fifth star. His new old boss, Madame LaChaise, also in attendance, did not swoon but is said to have moderately approved of his play.
The Leak was solid in net. He had to be, given the amount of time the Strawbs spent short-handed. This will be the Leak’s last season, having accepted a position this April with Revenue Canada, College and University Professor Audit Division. The team will certainly miss his dexterity, urbanity, compassion and ability to overlook his teammates’ shortcomings, both on the rink and during tax filing season. Did we mention he was handsome to boot?
After the match, the team and its rabid fans, including some chick named Terry or Sherry or Bloody Mary or something like that, reconvened at its favoured den of iniquity, the down at the heels Terminal Tavren to celebrate the hard won victory. Zebras were calumniated, Canadore Hockey Central aspersed, fans’ love reciprocated, and gritty play recounted with glee.
18 Stella, 2 Appletinis with the little red umbrellas, 2 Sterling, 15 Keiths, 3 Steamwhistle, 2 pounds of Italian perogies ,4 pounds of chicken wings and some bitter recollections of penalties left uncalled were consumed.
Gutsy
Game Report
Killer Strawberries 5 Jetfires 1
February 21, 2009-02-28
Note: The writer would like to apologize to all regular followers of the infamous Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen's Club for the late filing of this game report. He has been in Kiev negotiating a new gas treaty between Russia and the Ukraine, which treaty is needed to ensure that the 200 million people in Europe do not freeze this winter. The negotiations were intense and the agreement was not concluded until 9 hours before the start of the first playoff game. The writer had to dash to the Strawbs' private Gulfstream which was waiting to transport him to Jack Garland Airport in North Bay so that he could play for his beloved team. He also had to slough off the effects of the 807 vodka toasts he was forced to consume at the treaty ratification ceremony which ended but minutes before his flight. He was also forced to forego the highly anticipated company of Olga and Tatiana who eagerly await his return to Kiev so that they may resume their discussions of the roles of women in Turginev and Tolstoy.)
It was a move which caught a severely shorthanded Killer Strawberries squad by surprise. Apparently, the sloping foreheads at Canadore Intramural Hockey Central allowed the Spitfires to amalgamate overnight with the Jet Rangers to form a new Jetfires team replete with sloping foreheads of its own. Not only that, but by some form of indecipherable alchemy, the new combination was awarded the same amount of season points as the Strawbs, turning last night’s game into a battle for first place and its concommitant bye in the first round of the playoffs. The alchemic additions, deletions and other mathematical legerdemain involved, among other things, involved not counting one of the Strawbs’ victories during regular league play. One can only hope that none of the officials involved ever works as a dispensing pharmacist or other profession where numbers, numerals, decimal points and exponents are used in life threatening situations.
The Strawbs, however, were undaunted. Well, at least the 7 skaters and 1 goalie who bothered showed up to the game were. The circumstances were so dire that Canada’s team was forced to use the Ice Marshal on defence, a position he hasn’t played since priests used to say mass in Latin with their backs and fat asses turned to the congregation.
Our 8 intrepids played excellently against its 14 gung ho opponents, scoring 5 times while allowing only 1 goal against. The Leak was superb between the pipes and will be allowed to start the next game (barring of course a blockbuster trade at the deadline).
The victory propelled the Strawbs into undisputed first place. They are itching for the playoffs to start so that they can claim the ultimate prize in all of hockeydom: the right to brag about past exploits for a whole year.
Post game, the few Strawbs who toiled against the Jetfires, save for Archilles Perron who had to go home to brush his teeth and finish dusting his wife’s toilet paper roll collection, reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to toast victory and slag those other Strawbs who did not contribute on the evening. The only absentee with a good excuse was P. Gumbington Pettigrew the Third, who was serving game 1 of his recent suspension, a suspension which resulted from his having used the inflammatory phrase “c’mon ref” in his questioning of a dubious call in last week’s game. And, despite the suspension, he came to the arena to support his colleagues, the sign of a gentleman, team player and desperate bachelor with nothing better to do at 11pm on a Thursday night.
4 Stella, 2 Sterling, 3 Guinness, 2 Keiths, 2 Blue and the satisfaction of a gutsy first place finish were consumed.
Killer Strawberries 5 Jetfires 1
February 21, 2009-02-28
Note: The writer would like to apologize to all regular followers of the infamous Killer Strawberries Hockey and Gentlemen's Club for the late filing of this game report. He has been in Kiev negotiating a new gas treaty between Russia and the Ukraine, which treaty is needed to ensure that the 200 million people in Europe do not freeze this winter. The negotiations were intense and the agreement was not concluded until 9 hours before the start of the first playoff game. The writer had to dash to the Strawbs' private Gulfstream which was waiting to transport him to Jack Garland Airport in North Bay so that he could play for his beloved team. He also had to slough off the effects of the 807 vodka toasts he was forced to consume at the treaty ratification ceremony which ended but minutes before his flight. He was also forced to forego the highly anticipated company of Olga and Tatiana who eagerly await his return to Kiev so that they may resume their discussions of the roles of women in Turginev and Tolstoy.)
It was a move which caught a severely shorthanded Killer Strawberries squad by surprise. Apparently, the sloping foreheads at Canadore Intramural Hockey Central allowed the Spitfires to amalgamate overnight with the Jet Rangers to form a new Jetfires team replete with sloping foreheads of its own. Not only that, but by some form of indecipherable alchemy, the new combination was awarded the same amount of season points as the Strawbs, turning last night’s game into a battle for first place and its concommitant bye in the first round of the playoffs. The alchemic additions, deletions and other mathematical legerdemain involved, among other things, involved not counting one of the Strawbs’ victories during regular league play. One can only hope that none of the officials involved ever works as a dispensing pharmacist or other profession where numbers, numerals, decimal points and exponents are used in life threatening situations.
The Strawbs, however, were undaunted. Well, at least the 7 skaters and 1 goalie who bothered showed up to the game were. The circumstances were so dire that Canada’s team was forced to use the Ice Marshal on defence, a position he hasn’t played since priests used to say mass in Latin with their backs and fat asses turned to the congregation.
Our 8 intrepids played excellently against its 14 gung ho opponents, scoring 5 times while allowing only 1 goal against. The Leak was superb between the pipes and will be allowed to start the next game (barring of course a blockbuster trade at the deadline).
The victory propelled the Strawbs into undisputed first place. They are itching for the playoffs to start so that they can claim the ultimate prize in all of hockeydom: the right to brag about past exploits for a whole year.
Post game, the few Strawbs who toiled against the Jetfires, save for Archilles Perron who had to go home to brush his teeth and finish dusting his wife’s toilet paper roll collection, reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to toast victory and slag those other Strawbs who did not contribute on the evening. The only absentee with a good excuse was P. Gumbington Pettigrew the Third, who was serving game 1 of his recent suspension, a suspension which resulted from his having used the inflammatory phrase “c’mon ref” in his questioning of a dubious call in last week’s game. And, despite the suspension, he came to the arena to support his colleagues, the sign of a gentleman, team player and desperate bachelor with nothing better to do at 11pm on a Thursday night.
4 Stella, 2 Sterling, 3 Guinness, 2 Keiths, 2 Blue and the satisfaction of a gutsy first place finish were consumed.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Sad Event
It's pretty sad that the "poet" lordiette of the Killer Strawberries can't post a write up to the last regular season game, also a fan appreciation night, where the Strawbs clinched 1st place in the division. Even more sad, is that this non-posting continues on the day of the first game of the playoffs. What is happening?
Sunday, February 22, 2009
See Mike, I do catch fish
This fish was a sleeper. He didn't start fighting until I told him his next best friend was basil.
Still no decent pikerel yet.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Grampa Takes Junior To The Woodshed
Killer Strawberries 10 Free Agents 3
Game Report
February 12, 2009
Just as the moon and the sun raise all boats with their pull of the tides, so competition raises the level of play in all sports. Hockey is no exception. It is this competitive aspect, coupled with large dollops of comraderie which make the game of hockey , at the professional level as much as at the pickup level on a lightly snow covered side street, such a pleasure to play, no matter the age of the participants.
Speaking of age, it is no secret that the Killer Strawberries are not getting any younger. The team’s average age is somewhere around 47 with a median age of 52. These figures used to be much higher in the days when Moses McLean carelessly patrolled the right side. Mr. McLean (Canadore College student number: XIII) now rests comfortably in his Barcolounger on Decrepit Lane, staring aimlessly out his picture window, reminiscing about the days when he ran with dinosaurs. We almost miss him. With Moses’ forced retirement, Dr. Billy Goat (Thelonius) Thug is saddled with the difficult task of ensuring the team’s median age never drops below 50. So far, the aging, dementia-prone puck handler has carried out this duty efficiently, effectively and with aplomb. The Strawbs have nothing but a deep, abiding respect their senescent teammate. Moreover, they respect their opponents because they realize that competiton tainted with disrecpect is really nothing more than savagery.
The Strawbs' respect for the aged and for opponents is, of course, no accident. Since our first taste of mother’s milk, we have been learning and relearning that respect for our elders and fellow competitors is a cornerstone upon which civilized society is founded. Apparently the content of mother’s milk has changed in the last 20 years. The change of 20 years ago was in evidence last night. With the score 7-3 in favour of the Strawberries, an obviously bottle-suckled Free Agent had the temerity to lay upon the Ice Marshal a vituperative and ugly version of the epithet “Grampa”, as in “Hey Grampa, you suck.” The result: Grampa and his teammates went on to take Junior Bottle-Breath and his ilk out to the woodshed for a final 10-3 whoopin’. Gotta hurt when your Grampa kicks your ass in a young man’s game.
The whoopin’ was a full team effort. The defence was solid. Butcher Brophey attributed the defence corps’ excellent play to Gumby’s pre-mature ejaculation (or is it ejection?) from the game at the 4 minute mark of the opening period for asking the referee if he wouldn’t better enjoy himself having sex elsewhere (or words to that effect). It was said in a very sincere, caring and respectful way. Despite the diplomatic delivery of Gumby’s gentle suggestion, he was forced to hit the showers early and had to watch from the sidelines as his team dismantled its foe. Jesse The Leak was superb, as he repeatedly flustered the Agents, especially on the 3 minute, 2 man-advantage power play they were awarded upon Gumby’s unexpected exit from the game.
With 10 goals, it is obvious the Strawbs were firing on all offensive cylinders. The offence was led by the Ice Marshall himself, who executed a rare triple hat trick: 3 goals, 3 assists and 3 penalties. It should be noted that he did not deserve any of the penalties. He took them all in stride, Zen moments of quiet resignation in the face of an unfair universe. Pyjama Man, unchaperoned by his babysitter, notched 2 goals. No one remembers who scored the other goals. Doesn’t matter cause they weren’t really needed.
After the game, all the Strawberries, save for Warrin’ Peace who had to hightail it home to finish putting away the dishes before his wife/ruler got home from her week-long spa visit, reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to refuel. The memory of Moses McLean was toasted and teammates hugged each other with insults: the perfect ending to an ass-whoopin' evening.
10 Guinness, 6 Stella, 2 Sterling, 3 Keiths, 4 pounds of chicken wings, a plate of ersatz bologna-flavouted perogies and recollections of woodshed justice were consumed.
Game Report
February 12, 2009
Just as the moon and the sun raise all boats with their pull of the tides, so competition raises the level of play in all sports. Hockey is no exception. It is this competitive aspect, coupled with large dollops of comraderie which make the game of hockey , at the professional level as much as at the pickup level on a lightly snow covered side street, such a pleasure to play, no matter the age of the participants.
Speaking of age, it is no secret that the Killer Strawberries are not getting any younger. The team’s average age is somewhere around 47 with a median age of 52. These figures used to be much higher in the days when Moses McLean carelessly patrolled the right side. Mr. McLean (Canadore College student number: XIII) now rests comfortably in his Barcolounger on Decrepit Lane, staring aimlessly out his picture window, reminiscing about the days when he ran with dinosaurs. We almost miss him. With Moses’ forced retirement, Dr. Billy Goat (Thelonius) Thug is saddled with the difficult task of ensuring the team’s median age never drops below 50. So far, the aging, dementia-prone puck handler has carried out this duty efficiently, effectively and with aplomb. The Strawbs have nothing but a deep, abiding respect their senescent teammate. Moreover, they respect their opponents because they realize that competiton tainted with disrecpect is really nothing more than savagery.
The Strawbs' respect for the aged and for opponents is, of course, no accident. Since our first taste of mother’s milk, we have been learning and relearning that respect for our elders and fellow competitors is a cornerstone upon which civilized society is founded. Apparently the content of mother’s milk has changed in the last 20 years. The change of 20 years ago was in evidence last night. With the score 7-3 in favour of the Strawberries, an obviously bottle-suckled Free Agent had the temerity to lay upon the Ice Marshal a vituperative and ugly version of the epithet “Grampa”, as in “Hey Grampa, you suck.” The result: Grampa and his teammates went on to take Junior Bottle-Breath and his ilk out to the woodshed for a final 10-3 whoopin’. Gotta hurt when your Grampa kicks your ass in a young man’s game.
The whoopin’ was a full team effort. The defence was solid. Butcher Brophey attributed the defence corps’ excellent play to Gumby’s pre-mature ejaculation (or is it ejection?) from the game at the 4 minute mark of the opening period for asking the referee if he wouldn’t better enjoy himself having sex elsewhere (or words to that effect). It was said in a very sincere, caring and respectful way. Despite the diplomatic delivery of Gumby’s gentle suggestion, he was forced to hit the showers early and had to watch from the sidelines as his team dismantled its foe. Jesse The Leak was superb, as he repeatedly flustered the Agents, especially on the 3 minute, 2 man-advantage power play they were awarded upon Gumby’s unexpected exit from the game.
With 10 goals, it is obvious the Strawbs were firing on all offensive cylinders. The offence was led by the Ice Marshall himself, who executed a rare triple hat trick: 3 goals, 3 assists and 3 penalties. It should be noted that he did not deserve any of the penalties. He took them all in stride, Zen moments of quiet resignation in the face of an unfair universe. Pyjama Man, unchaperoned by his babysitter, notched 2 goals. No one remembers who scored the other goals. Doesn’t matter cause they weren’t really needed.
After the game, all the Strawberries, save for Warrin’ Peace who had to hightail it home to finish putting away the dishes before his wife/ruler got home from her week-long spa visit, reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to refuel. The memory of Moses McLean was toasted and teammates hugged each other with insults: the perfect ending to an ass-whoopin' evening.
10 Guinness, 6 Stella, 2 Sterling, 3 Keiths, 4 pounds of chicken wings, a plate of ersatz bologna-flavouted perogies and recollections of woodshed justice were consumed.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
As The Habs Nosedive, The Strawbs Soar
Game Report
Strawbs 10 ALU Warriors 3
February 9, 2009
It is fortunate that the smarter Strawbs have stopped watching the Habs play in recent weeks, as Gumby’s team of underachieving Russsians, Finns, Yanks and Canadian Canadiens continues to spiral toward an ignominious 9th place finish in the Campbell Conference: fortunate because the Strawbs have not picked up the same bad habits which have plagued Les Glorieux since mid-January. Certainly, the Killer Strawberries are proud of the other bad habits they have picked up but thank Gitchigoomi they refuse to emulate the tanking Canadiens.
Last night’s matchup, a 10-2 victory over a stunned ALU squad, brought the Strawbs’ record to 5-1-2 since the new 2009 season began. Much of the consistent good results can be parked at Slickery Mac’s doorstep as he continues the same type of torrid scoring pace he once set in an obscure men’s league in San Francisco in the early 90’s. He has even become a post game regular at the Terminal Tavren, where the wait staff have fondly nicknamed him Handsome or Piss Tank or something or other.
Dr. Thug, his dementia in partial remission, played an excellent game, scoring a beauty on a one man wrecking crew play. After having niftily tucked the puck behind the startled goaltender on a partial breakaway, his inertia propelled him, face first, into the equally startled end boards. He was "with it" enough after his close encounter with concusssion number (n+1)x100 to look back to see what had happened to the puck he left behind. He screamed “Hallelujah” when he noticed the exasperated goaltender fishing out the good Dr.'s deposit from the back of the cage. Another notch for his bedposts or whatever else he notches.
Jesse The Leak made a solid, tail-between-his-legs return to the Strawberries after his disastrous try-out with the Thinkin’ Drinkin’ Stinkins of the now defunct C.R.A.P. hockey league. He made numerous good saves on the evening. He did however forget to carry the Ice Marshal’s equipment to his car after the match, pursuant to the terms of his new(post-Stinkins) contract with his beloved squad.
Butcher Brophey showed up to the arena with a new set of gently used equipment after his old equipment was put into emergency quarantine by the Centre For Disease Control. He picked up the almost spotless equipment at a mid-week yard sale lorded over by the Dictator By The Lake at the Compound For Minor Vice. Apparently, the Vice (aka The Dictator, Rob The Torch etc.) had won a minor lottery somewhere and had used the proceeds to update his old equipment. The equipment was about 5 years old on average but it had nary a scratch, material pull,drop of blood or sweat mark upon it: gently used indeed. And, who knew The Butcher and The Vice had fat asses of the same size and droop.
It was good to see Pyjama Man enter the dressing room 5 seconds before the puck was dropped. He said he would have stayed home but couldn’t get his babysitter to come over. “I knew the Strawbs would need me tonight, and since I hadn’t anything better to do, I brought my girls with me so I could play. I left the car running and they seem to be having fun playing with the lighter.”
Archilles was finally recovered from the horrible blister he has been stoically enduring since the terrible accident he had while drying the dishes at his home. He played poorly on the night but it was good to see him out of his house where unspeakable accidents seem to befall him almost weekly.
The team is struggling to find the right position for Shiny Sean who fancies himself a goal scorer. While he starts all his shifts at defence, he rarely finishes them there. He is forever darting at the opposition’s net, screaming for the puck to be put on his stick. When this inevitably does not occur, he pouts for while, regroups and tries the same stunt again. He is as habitually persistent/hard-headed as Gumby is habitually tardy/soft-headed. Unlike Gumby, however, he does have a goal this year.
And what’s with MagBoy? Again, last night, he slammed himself into the boards, even harder than Dr. Thug had done earlier in the game. It is obvious his skating lessons are not taking. Is he forgetting to take his medication? Are things okay at home? Is his medulla oblongata in a state of disrepair?
And what’s with Freight Train Laronde. There are rumours that he actually has soft hands and some very high tech moves which he uses in the training wheels league he skates in on Wednesdays According to a lowly placed source with new gently used equipment, Laronde can snap the puck into the top corner, through his legs while reciting Byronesque verse. Where is that talent when he plays for the Killer Strawberries? Come on Freight train, show us your stuff. After all, the team’s motto is “Show us your finesse or you get to play defence.”
And what’s with Warrin’ Peace. He continues to rack up his frequent absentee points at an alarming rate. Pretty soon he will be demoted from waterboy to waterwussy.
And finally, what’s with the poetry that has been seeping, like a mangy fox creeping, into an unguarded henhouse on the hill? Well, according to sports psychologist, Ozzie Andharriet, poetry can, if deftly applied, increase performance levels by .08% over the long run ( Note 1). So there.
All in all, the game was an excellent Strawbs outing and helped solidy the team’s grip on first place. To further solidy their grips, most of the players (save for the Vice who had to go home to iron out the wrinkles in his new equipment) ventured out to the Terminal Tavren. Old lies were recounted, new lies freshly minted, and a little Robbie Burns quoted for good measure.
8 Stella, 2 Black and Tan, 3 Guinness, 2 Sterling (huh?), 5 Steamwhistle, one “Hello, Handsome” and some iambic pentameter were consumed.
(1) Dr. Highly Selassie, The Book Of Useful Stats, Dubious Press, 2008
Strawbs 10 ALU Warriors 3
February 9, 2009
It is fortunate that the smarter Strawbs have stopped watching the Habs play in recent weeks, as Gumby’s team of underachieving Russsians, Finns, Yanks and Canadian Canadiens continues to spiral toward an ignominious 9th place finish in the Campbell Conference: fortunate because the Strawbs have not picked up the same bad habits which have plagued Les Glorieux since mid-January. Certainly, the Killer Strawberries are proud of the other bad habits they have picked up but thank Gitchigoomi they refuse to emulate the tanking Canadiens.
Last night’s matchup, a 10-2 victory over a stunned ALU squad, brought the Strawbs’ record to 5-1-2 since the new 2009 season began. Much of the consistent good results can be parked at Slickery Mac’s doorstep as he continues the same type of torrid scoring pace he once set in an obscure men’s league in San Francisco in the early 90’s. He has even become a post game regular at the Terminal Tavren, where the wait staff have fondly nicknamed him Handsome or Piss Tank or something or other.
Dr. Thug, his dementia in partial remission, played an excellent game, scoring a beauty on a one man wrecking crew play. After having niftily tucked the puck behind the startled goaltender on a partial breakaway, his inertia propelled him, face first, into the equally startled end boards. He was "with it" enough after his close encounter with concusssion number (n+1)x100 to look back to see what had happened to the puck he left behind. He screamed “Hallelujah” when he noticed the exasperated goaltender fishing out the good Dr.'s deposit from the back of the cage. Another notch for his bedposts or whatever else he notches.
Jesse The Leak made a solid, tail-between-his-legs return to the Strawberries after his disastrous try-out with the Thinkin’ Drinkin’ Stinkins of the now defunct C.R.A.P. hockey league. He made numerous good saves on the evening. He did however forget to carry the Ice Marshal’s equipment to his car after the match, pursuant to the terms of his new(post-Stinkins) contract with his beloved squad.
Butcher Brophey showed up to the arena with a new set of gently used equipment after his old equipment was put into emergency quarantine by the Centre For Disease Control. He picked up the almost spotless equipment at a mid-week yard sale lorded over by the Dictator By The Lake at the Compound For Minor Vice. Apparently, the Vice (aka The Dictator, Rob The Torch etc.) had won a minor lottery somewhere and had used the proceeds to update his old equipment. The equipment was about 5 years old on average but it had nary a scratch, material pull,drop of blood or sweat mark upon it: gently used indeed. And, who knew The Butcher and The Vice had fat asses of the same size and droop.
It was good to see Pyjama Man enter the dressing room 5 seconds before the puck was dropped. He said he would have stayed home but couldn’t get his babysitter to come over. “I knew the Strawbs would need me tonight, and since I hadn’t anything better to do, I brought my girls with me so I could play. I left the car running and they seem to be having fun playing with the lighter.”
Archilles was finally recovered from the horrible blister he has been stoically enduring since the terrible accident he had while drying the dishes at his home. He played poorly on the night but it was good to see him out of his house where unspeakable accidents seem to befall him almost weekly.
The team is struggling to find the right position for Shiny Sean who fancies himself a goal scorer. While he starts all his shifts at defence, he rarely finishes them there. He is forever darting at the opposition’s net, screaming for the puck to be put on his stick. When this inevitably does not occur, he pouts for while, regroups and tries the same stunt again. He is as habitually persistent/hard-headed as Gumby is habitually tardy/soft-headed. Unlike Gumby, however, he does have a goal this year.
And what’s with MagBoy? Again, last night, he slammed himself into the boards, even harder than Dr. Thug had done earlier in the game. It is obvious his skating lessons are not taking. Is he forgetting to take his medication? Are things okay at home? Is his medulla oblongata in a state of disrepair?
And what’s with Freight Train Laronde. There are rumours that he actually has soft hands and some very high tech moves which he uses in the training wheels league he skates in on Wednesdays According to a lowly placed source with new gently used equipment, Laronde can snap the puck into the top corner, through his legs while reciting Byronesque verse. Where is that talent when he plays for the Killer Strawberries? Come on Freight train, show us your stuff. After all, the team’s motto is “Show us your finesse or you get to play defence.”
And what’s with Warrin’ Peace. He continues to rack up his frequent absentee points at an alarming rate. Pretty soon he will be demoted from waterboy to waterwussy.
And finally, what’s with the poetry that has been seeping, like a mangy fox creeping, into an unguarded henhouse on the hill? Well, according to sports psychologist, Ozzie Andharriet, poetry can, if deftly applied, increase performance levels by .08% over the long run ( Note 1). So there.
All in all, the game was an excellent Strawbs outing and helped solidy the team’s grip on first place. To further solidy their grips, most of the players (save for the Vice who had to go home to iron out the wrinkles in his new equipment) ventured out to the Terminal Tavren. Old lies were recounted, new lies freshly minted, and a little Robbie Burns quoted for good measure.
8 Stella, 2 Black and Tan, 3 Guinness, 2 Sterling (huh?), 5 Steamwhistle, one “Hello, Handsome” and some iambic pentameter were consumed.
(1) Dr. Highly Selassie, The Book Of Useful Stats, Dubious Press, 2008
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