Strawbs 7 Turbo Powered 2
Game report
November 1, 2010
If one were to somehow quantify the remarkableness of a single dog fart as it contributed to the overall air quality at a canine chilifest, then divided that number by the number of times Sir Gumby has been on time for any outing, ever, you would exceed the remarkableness of last night’s game by a factor of 7 factorial plus 5 to the power of a googleplex.
Not only did nothing happen in the first matchup since last year’s final game between the Strawbs and their erstwhile arch-enemies the Turbo Powered Sphincters (known then as the Aviation Aholes), nothing happened anywhere else in the universe for the 2 days following. The game was a black hole of black holes.
Perhaps, the above description is a little hyperbolic. The Marquis DeSave did put his face in front of some rubber. The Butcher was less of a threat on defence than he would have been on offence. Pyjama Man did utter a couple of vituperative epithets at the bozo who butt-ended him on a faceoff. Archilles Perron continued to patrol the blueline with all the enthusiasm of Lindsay Lohan at an AA reunion. Shiny may have scored a goal or perhaps thought he had. The IMW should have continued his pre-game nap elsewhere. The Vice skated like a 90 year old over-concussed Dr. Thug on Prozak spritzers. Slickery was absent by his very presence. Mayor Maynot, the team’s newest rookie and Astroglide provisioner, was so underwhelming that the referees asked that his name be removed from the scoresheet at game’s end.
The one bright moment (assuming we round up the moment to the nearest scintilla of brightness) came a the end of the match, when MagBoy, in full Guy Lafleur-like flight, descended alone upon the opposing goaltender intent on ramming the puck through the poor fellow with all the momentum he could muster at his top speed of 13 knots per hour. As he was readying to unleash his shot/bodycheck, a stick was thrown from the stands by his mistress, the unalloyed MagGirl. A penalty shot was called. MagBoy doffed his helmet, adjusted his boys, slicked back his hair and once more attacked the Turbo’s goaler. CRRRRACK! The puck found its way to the back of the net and thus was MagBoy assured some physical comfort later in the evening.
Post game, the lads headed off to their new watering hole, the New terminal Tavren, with a very excited MagGirl in tow. Black holes and tailspins of both varieties were discussed, created, admired and imagined.
Cheap beer (totaling more than 36 litres), several gross of chicken wings and a cup of aphrodisiacal cocoa (for MagGirl) were consumed.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Strawbs Go A Little Rough on Beavers
Killer Strawberries 5 Turbo Beavers 1
Game Report
October 28, 2010
For the first time this year, the Killer Strawberries iced a full complement plus Gumby as it faced a squad of meatheads, otherwise known as the Turbo Beavers. They were more like Turbo Cleavers, given these dolts’ propensity for spearing, butt-ending and cross checking. Somehow they managed to have only 2 of their players ejected for being egregious monuments to fatuity.
The Strawbs started off slowly . For significant moments early on, they were handcuffed in their own zone and had to rely on the stellar play of the Marquis DeSave, who had to handle more rubber than a Bourbon Street hooker on the first night of Mardi Gras. Normally, a Strawb would welcome a little light handcuffing but things are different at the rink. Somehow the Strawbs shook off the shackles of ineptitude and finished period one strongly.
The first period ended in a 1-1 draw. It was in the second that the team awoke. Led by a rejuvenated Shiny Shone Brightly, the squad quickly began to light up the board and did not look back. Well, almost all did not look back. There was Sir Gawdawful Gumby living down to his moniker. Apparently, a short shift for him consists in floating inside the opponents’ blueline, no matter the location of the puck anywhere on the ice surface, and waiting for 2 and one half minutes to elapse before sauntering back to his bench for a well earned earful. Apparently his sustained fit of pique at being commandeered into an offensive role has got management talking about returning him to his preferred perch on defence….or to Buttface, Alaska, home of the team’s farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottom Feeders.
The final score was 5 to 1 Strawbs. They now get to play the Turbo Beavers’ dumber cousins, the Turbo Powered Aholes next Monday. Lovely.
Post game, the squad shuttled off to the Loose Moose, a local watering hole named after one of the current Strawb’s former girlfriends. It will become the New Terminal Tavren, the team having abandoned the old Terminal Tavren, whose new ownership refuses to subsidize any of the Strawbs’ multifarious vices. So long and thanks for all the fish (and nips).
2 Stella, 2 Guinness, 2 Keith’s Dark, 5 Kokanee, 3 Blue Light, one pound of chicken wings and the sweet taste of re-subsidization were consumed.
Game Report
October 28, 2010
For the first time this year, the Killer Strawberries iced a full complement plus Gumby as it faced a squad of meatheads, otherwise known as the Turbo Beavers. They were more like Turbo Cleavers, given these dolts’ propensity for spearing, butt-ending and cross checking. Somehow they managed to have only 2 of their players ejected for being egregious monuments to fatuity.
The Strawbs started off slowly . For significant moments early on, they were handcuffed in their own zone and had to rely on the stellar play of the Marquis DeSave, who had to handle more rubber than a Bourbon Street hooker on the first night of Mardi Gras. Normally, a Strawb would welcome a little light handcuffing but things are different at the rink. Somehow the Strawbs shook off the shackles of ineptitude and finished period one strongly.
The first period ended in a 1-1 draw. It was in the second that the team awoke. Led by a rejuvenated Shiny Shone Brightly, the squad quickly began to light up the board and did not look back. Well, almost all did not look back. There was Sir Gawdawful Gumby living down to his moniker. Apparently, a short shift for him consists in floating inside the opponents’ blueline, no matter the location of the puck anywhere on the ice surface, and waiting for 2 and one half minutes to elapse before sauntering back to his bench for a well earned earful. Apparently his sustained fit of pique at being commandeered into an offensive role has got management talking about returning him to his preferred perch on defence….or to Buttface, Alaska, home of the team’s farm team’s farm team, the Buttface Bottom Feeders.
The final score was 5 to 1 Strawbs. They now get to play the Turbo Beavers’ dumber cousins, the Turbo Powered Aholes next Monday. Lovely.
Post game, the squad shuttled off to the Loose Moose, a local watering hole named after one of the current Strawb’s former girlfriends. It will become the New Terminal Tavren, the team having abandoned the old Terminal Tavren, whose new ownership refuses to subsidize any of the Strawbs’ multifarious vices. So long and thanks for all the fish (and nips).
2 Stella, 2 Guinness, 2 Keith’s Dark, 5 Kokanee, 3 Blue Light, one pound of chicken wings and the sweet taste of re-subsidization were consumed.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Almost Undefeated Again
Game Report
Killer Strawberries 2 Sunnyvale Chargers 3
October 25, 2010
It didn’t take long the Strawbs to toss off the unbearable weight of an undefeated season. Last night, they calmly surrendered a small victory to an excellent Charger squad but not without a fight.
The Marquis DeSave was once more superb between the pipes as he repeatedly erased the potential damaging effects of poor defensive zone play by both the forwards and the somnabulent D.
The offence, in the absence of Slickery Mac who was having his nails done by a temptress of dubious morals, roared back from a 2 goal deficit to tie the game. But like a drunken teenager at his first orgy, there was nothing left in the tank by the end of the outing. Final score: 3-2 for the bad guys.
On a positive note, the Strawbs inked a two way contract with a new player whose age, when added the the pool of all Strawbs’ages, drops the average lifespan of the team by 2.4 years. The new player, who will be monikered at a later date, got off to a rocky start by entering the dressing room before the game and brazenly attempting to sit in the hallowed space between the Vice and the IMW. For a scintilla juris, he basked in the glow of sweet senescence before being rudely relegated to a more appropriate perch near the toilet. Another such faux pas is not expected soon.
After the game, the hardier Killer Strawberries (those with a drinking problem), shuttled off the Terminal Tavren in search of cheap libation. The new owner was not present to dispense with any largesse and, consequently, the attendees were forced to pay full price for their watery sustenance. A new, more cash friendly establishment is being sought with great urgency.
The bitter dregs of a long-time drinking relationship gone sour were consumed with melancholy.
Killer Strawberries 2 Sunnyvale Chargers 3
October 25, 2010
It didn’t take long the Strawbs to toss off the unbearable weight of an undefeated season. Last night, they calmly surrendered a small victory to an excellent Charger squad but not without a fight.
The Marquis DeSave was once more superb between the pipes as he repeatedly erased the potential damaging effects of poor defensive zone play by both the forwards and the somnabulent D.
The offence, in the absence of Slickery Mac who was having his nails done by a temptress of dubious morals, roared back from a 2 goal deficit to tie the game. But like a drunken teenager at his first orgy, there was nothing left in the tank by the end of the outing. Final score: 3-2 for the bad guys.
On a positive note, the Strawbs inked a two way contract with a new player whose age, when added the the pool of all Strawbs’ages, drops the average lifespan of the team by 2.4 years. The new player, who will be monikered at a later date, got off to a rocky start by entering the dressing room before the game and brazenly attempting to sit in the hallowed space between the Vice and the IMW. For a scintilla juris, he basked in the glow of sweet senescence before being rudely relegated to a more appropriate perch near the toilet. Another such faux pas is not expected soon.
After the game, the hardier Killer Strawberries (those with a drinking problem), shuttled off the Terminal Tavren in search of cheap libation. The new owner was not present to dispense with any largesse and, consequently, the attendees were forced to pay full price for their watery sustenance. A new, more cash friendly establishment is being sought with great urgency.
The bitter dregs of a long-time drinking relationship gone sour were consumed with melancholy.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Same As it Ever Was
Game Report
October 21, 2010
Killer Strawberries 6 Shortshafts 5
It has been an ironclad rule of the Killer Strawberries’ recruiting braintrust that championships are won from the goal crease out. Over the years, the Strawbs have managed to trick quite a few puck stoppers into being their last line of defence…some might say their only line of defence. Fans will surely remember the exploits of many of them: Dangerous Dan who turned his goalie stick into a baseball bat; Screaming Roy Cocksbreath who loved to whack across the calves any D stupid enough to befoul his crease; 6P Popp, a narcissistic man who watched himself make saves by following his reflection in the glass surrounding the ice surface; Jesse The Leak, an accounting student with many goaltending debits to his credit and Monsieur Le Plug, who managed to finish a championship season while sporting a whopping GPA of .07.
Last night, the Strawbs introduced to their adoring fanbase their 2010-2011 coup de recruitment, the Mark E. DeSave, whose idea of outrage is to utter the word s“Friggin’ Fishbits” under his breath. To distinguish himself from all the other goalies in the league, Mister DeSave has painted his pads a shocking shade of yellow bordering on offensive. Nonetheless, he was stellar between the pipes last night, turning aside the 423 shots peppered at him by a clearly frustrated opposition. He has been asked to continue his tryout with the team this upcoming Monday. A final decision on his Strawberry fate will be forthcoming from the Aloha Baby Compound headquarters immediately following the next game.
The braintrust also tinkered with the non-goalie portion of its roster. Archilles Perron, fresh from a debauched romp in Sin City with the sabbaticalizing Freight Train Laronde, was moved to defence. At least this part of the tinkering worked. To make room for Archilles, Dr. Butcher Brophey, who hopes this year to be elevated to Meat Surgeon Brophey, was placed on a forward juggernaut with the returning Slickery Mac and the handsome yet humble Ice Marshal Walpole. One more performance of this ilk by the Butcher and he will be a monikered Meathead. So ineffective was he on both sides of the centre line and on both sides of the ice that his enamoratta, the infamous Miss White Go Go Boots, surrendered her affections for the evening to a 14 year old be-zitted Zamboni driver rather than be seen canoodling with a limp wristed Lothario.
With the game tied at 5-5, (thanks to some dandy markers by Slickery (2), Pyjama Man (1) and somebody else (1), and a seeing eye knuckleball by the Alzheimeresque Dr. Thug) four Strawbs decided to abandon their defensive zone to 5 Shortshafts and one Vice Ice. (make that 6 shortshafts). Somehow the Vice managed to whiff the puck out of the zone and have it land, gift-like, at the feet of four Strawberries lying patiently in wait on the opposition’s blueline. Into the Shortshaft zone they creeped, manhandling the puck like it was a leaky bag of necrotic pus. Slickery spotted Shiny alone in front of the net and slid him the puck deftly. With 6.3 seconds remaining, Shiny coolly deposited the biscuit into the biscuit jar. Strawbs 6 Shortshafts 5.
Now normally with 6.3 seconds remaining, victory is but a small effort away. And that’s just what Slickery, the Vice, Shiny, Warrin’ Peace and the Butcher put in as they let 2 Shortshafts steal the faceoff and march down the ice to pepper the Mark E. with 7 more shots before the buzzer was mercifully sounded. As Gawd so rightly noted “Same as it ever was.”
Post game, the thirstier Strawbs reconvened at the Terminal Tavren, where the 2 for 1 deal on drinks has been jettisioned with nary a final hurrah. The team is now looking for a new watering hole and is accepting tenders until noon next Thursday.
4 overpriced Guinness, 2 overpriced Bud Light, 1 overpriced Bass, 3 well-named Poisoned Monkeys, 2 overpriced Blue, and 3 pounds of chicken wings were consumed.
October 21, 2010
Killer Strawberries 6 Shortshafts 5
It has been an ironclad rule of the Killer Strawberries’ recruiting braintrust that championships are won from the goal crease out. Over the years, the Strawbs have managed to trick quite a few puck stoppers into being their last line of defence…some might say their only line of defence. Fans will surely remember the exploits of many of them: Dangerous Dan who turned his goalie stick into a baseball bat; Screaming Roy Cocksbreath who loved to whack across the calves any D stupid enough to befoul his crease; 6P Popp, a narcissistic man who watched himself make saves by following his reflection in the glass surrounding the ice surface; Jesse The Leak, an accounting student with many goaltending debits to his credit and Monsieur Le Plug, who managed to finish a championship season while sporting a whopping GPA of .07.
Last night, the Strawbs introduced to their adoring fanbase their 2010-2011 coup de recruitment, the Mark E. DeSave, whose idea of outrage is to utter the word s“Friggin’ Fishbits” under his breath. To distinguish himself from all the other goalies in the league, Mister DeSave has painted his pads a shocking shade of yellow bordering on offensive. Nonetheless, he was stellar between the pipes last night, turning aside the 423 shots peppered at him by a clearly frustrated opposition. He has been asked to continue his tryout with the team this upcoming Monday. A final decision on his Strawberry fate will be forthcoming from the Aloha Baby Compound headquarters immediately following the next game.
The braintrust also tinkered with the non-goalie portion of its roster. Archilles Perron, fresh from a debauched romp in Sin City with the sabbaticalizing Freight Train Laronde, was moved to defence. At least this part of the tinkering worked. To make room for Archilles, Dr. Butcher Brophey, who hopes this year to be elevated to Meat Surgeon Brophey, was placed on a forward juggernaut with the returning Slickery Mac and the handsome yet humble Ice Marshal Walpole. One more performance of this ilk by the Butcher and he will be a monikered Meathead. So ineffective was he on both sides of the centre line and on both sides of the ice that his enamoratta, the infamous Miss White Go Go Boots, surrendered her affections for the evening to a 14 year old be-zitted Zamboni driver rather than be seen canoodling with a limp wristed Lothario.
With the game tied at 5-5, (thanks to some dandy markers by Slickery (2), Pyjama Man (1) and somebody else (1), and a seeing eye knuckleball by the Alzheimeresque Dr. Thug) four Strawbs decided to abandon their defensive zone to 5 Shortshafts and one Vice Ice. (make that 6 shortshafts). Somehow the Vice managed to whiff the puck out of the zone and have it land, gift-like, at the feet of four Strawberries lying patiently in wait on the opposition’s blueline. Into the Shortshaft zone they creeped, manhandling the puck like it was a leaky bag of necrotic pus. Slickery spotted Shiny alone in front of the net and slid him the puck deftly. With 6.3 seconds remaining, Shiny coolly deposited the biscuit into the biscuit jar. Strawbs 6 Shortshafts 5.
Now normally with 6.3 seconds remaining, victory is but a small effort away. And that’s just what Slickery, the Vice, Shiny, Warrin’ Peace and the Butcher put in as they let 2 Shortshafts steal the faceoff and march down the ice to pepper the Mark E. with 7 more shots before the buzzer was mercifully sounded. As Gawd so rightly noted “Same as it ever was.”
Post game, the thirstier Strawbs reconvened at the Terminal Tavren, where the 2 for 1 deal on drinks has been jettisioned with nary a final hurrah. The team is now looking for a new watering hole and is accepting tenders until noon next Thursday.
4 overpriced Guinness, 2 overpriced Bud Light, 1 overpriced Bass, 3 well-named Poisoned Monkeys, 2 overpriced Blue, and 3 pounds of chicken wings were consumed.
Killer Strawberries on Tour 2010 - Las Vegas
Giving some pointers to Jack and Tiger.
Archillies and Freight Train pose with Jessica at the Aloha Baby Compound Las Vegas site.
More shenanigans at Aloha Baby Compound Las Vegas.
Archillies and Freight Train, all set for some well deserved R&R at the Aloha Baby Compound Las Vegas.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.
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