Post Killer Strawberries Golf

 The gang outside the Moose for the Killer Strawberries Plaid Jacket presentation.

3/4 of the Plaid Jacket winning team, missing Marquis.

Butcher Brophey Replaces Own Knee

In one of the final Strawbs' games of the season, the Butcher left the game early after his 3rd infraction attempting to acquire the last part he needed to re-build his more than wonky knee.  With some spare parts found in his garage behind his hockey equipment and beer stash, he was able to carve up his knee with his trusty Sherwood 5030 and install the new-to-him parts.  Aside from a few minor setbacks due to, among other things, a quick squash game followed by a local pick up game of Roller Derby, the Butcher is on the mend.

The Pain Is Over

Game Report

Killer Strawberries   3    Rams    4  

March 7, 2013

It was a rather fitting end to a season with little passion. The Strawbs were eliminated last night from playoff contention after putting up a good fight against the Rams, a team against which it was well matched.

The Strawbs finished the year with a .500 record, which put them in 6^th place in a 10 team division. It was a season of injuries for a squad with over 600 years of life experience and over 500 years of hockey experience, most of this spottled experience thankfully filed away in memory’s vault of impossible recollection.

This year, if you weren’t injured, you were the exception. For the 10^13th time in his illustrious career,   Dr  Phelonius Thug sustained a season ending concussion. Of course, it was off-ice, he having run into his own car door after too long a session in the company Dr. Laphroaig, his medication of habit. Dr. Bonehead Butcher, who put together an impressive streak of “three penalties and you’re out”, was constantly plagued with bi-shoulder injuries, bad knees and questionable on-ice judgment. The Vice showed up almost every game, beset by rotator cuff woes and, most recently, with an alleged concussion he claims to have picked up from sharing medication with Dr. Thug during some unspecified wellness retreat on his back porch.

The Ice Martian missed half the games with a terrible case of untreated hypertension. IMW attributed his condition to his kids, his dog, his wife, his neighbours, his friends, his financial advisor, his sleep diagnostician and poor goaltending, in that order. Sir Gumbington Pettigrew III, aka Gawdawful Gumby or, more simply, Gawd, was hobbled from November onward with what his psychiatrist described “Anomie Hockeyus Severe-us”. While the symptoms were many and varied, the most noticeable of them was the one where he would pass the puck up the middle through his own end, as he peewee coach screamed in his head “don’t do that, you prepubescent putz!”. On top of that, the Gumster had a never ending head cold, picked up at the Brass Rail over the Christmas holidays. Rumours abound that that was not the only thing he picked up there.

MagBoy was never himself, much to the delight of his main squeeze, the indomitable MagGirl, yet a true disappointment to his team. It was not his fault. He laboured for months with a post-genital hernia which slowed down both his infamous whilybirding and his thought processing.

Shiny Sean Brightly, principal at Our Lady of Perpetual Nagging and a Packers fan, had the best season of all Strawbs, health-wise. He managed to finish out the season in the best shape of his life physically. Mentally, he was a mess. He had to resort to having his son, C., age 5, tie his skates for him before he left home, lest he forget to do them up in the dressing room before each game.

Mayor Maynot, the fastest skater ever to don the Strawbs’ colours, was also plagued with a disease of the mind. As the season progressed, he increasingly hung around the opposition’s blue line, screaming for the puck, and refusing to enter his defensive zone. It got so bad, he started to do this during every pre-game warm up. He did not make a pass since November 22, 2012.

Slickery led the team in goals for and against. Near the end, he physically resembled the bulbous Ice Martian, something he vowed would never happen. His wife has enrolled him in Weight Watchers, Herbal Magic, Yoga and Dr. Oz’s Online Forum For Guys Who Now Look Like Their Fathers.

And what the hell was going on with Warrin’ Peace. Here is a fellow who doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, works out 16 times a day and trains others to be Olympic athletes. Early in the season, he must have pulled something in the bathroom or elsewhere in a dark corner. He brought to each game the same amount of energy and elan that a 90 year hooker brings to her old-age home’s Talent Night.

Freight train Laronde missed more than half the season with what he termed “an acute, season-ending, laceratory, hyper-contusionary, fracture of the fifth left-medial metatarsus.” In addition to spending too much time reading his daughter’s medical school texts in search of the juicy parts, wethinks he may have taken one too many pucks to the pre-frontal occipital lobus minimus.

Pyjama Man did even get out the gate in October, the victim of an off-season plumbing repair mishap. The team hopes he will be shooting better next year.

Which brings us to the biggest injury of all, a psychological injury which ensured that the Strawbs would be mired the whole season languishing in a state of unaccustomed mediocrity. When he was drafted in 2010, the Marquis DeSap came highly recommended by his mother. The scouting crew were impressed which his high school hockey credentials and his scathing dressing room wit. His first 2 seasons with the Strawbs were superb. Night after night he stole games away from a frustrated opposition. But in the 2012-2013 season, something happened  to the grey matter ensconced between his rather large ears. The Marquis began to resemble, in MagBoy’s immortal words, “a thin slice of Swiss cheese standing helpless on the goal line”. There were evenings when he couldn’t stop a beach ball with a butterfly net. He began to wear industrial strength sunblock to shade his exposed neck region from the red light behind his net. The quality of his dressing room banter descended to depths frequently seen in the final hours of a Gumbytown soiree. In short, he wrote his own ticket to Buttface, Alaska, home to the Strawbs’ farm team’s farm team, the Nasty Cupcakes. Perhaps, he will show up ready next year.

All in all it was good year. 

Strawbs Win. Goaltending Woes Continue.

Killer Strawberries   8      Scoregasms    5

Game Report

February 13, 2013

Record: unknown yet respectable

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

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

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

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

A Serendipitous Delight

Killer Strawberries    7    Turbo Pussies    5

Game Report

February 11, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Killer Strawberries    5    Rams    5

Game Report

February 7, 2013

Record: ?-?-41

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

Barn Muckers 5 - Killer Strawberries 3 
(the briefest of reports)

A short handed Strawbs team, in other words, those players who felt like showing up for the game, mucked it up quite well with the Muckers.  With surprising few squabbles about whose turn it was to sit on the bench, the team sucked it up and made the opposing team a tad nervous.  Down by a goal early twice in the game, the Strawbs fought back to end the 1st half tied 2-2.  With 14 minutes left in the game, the Gentlemen's Club was ahead 3-2.  The final 10 minutes of play were tight and competitive with both teams pressing.  The Muckers were forced to work for their win.
The usual Killer Strawberries post-game ensued ... blah blah blah.

Having completed his epic quest, your humble servant, the Butcher is
seen seeking wisdom for the executive, healing for Freight Train's
ankle and a better game plan

A Commendable Defeat

Killer Strawberries    1    Barn Muckers    7

Game Report

Record:  3-7-3

With most of their team mates serving time as the result a small weekend fete which got slightly out of hand when invited professional workers refused to leave at sunup, the unincarcerated Strawberrian remnants put up a valiant defence in the face of highly talented enemy onslaught. The Barn Muckers, fast, nimble and cocky, were relentless in their pursuit of individual glory. Out the 8 shots allowed by the Strawbs’ patented “Muskox Defence”, only 7 found the back of the net. With a little better goaltending, the score would have been a lot closer.

The Strawbs had a seven man bench and a pretend goalie. By the last period, Freight Train Laronde, a pillar of solid play, had to leave because of a broken ankle sustained while blocking a rocket. He was adamant he would continue to play, a la Bobby Baun, but the team doctors had to order him to the dressing room. Down to 6 skaters, the team dug deep as the gasping noises from the exhausted remains almost peeled the temporary Target wallpaper from the boards. Even though they lost, the Strawbs were, to a man, paragons of courage, determination, grittiness and the je ne sais quoi of je ne sais quoi.

After the game, the team, sans Freight Train who was undergoing self-administered, anaesthetic-free ankle surgery in the parking lot, reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to catch their breaths and to lament a terrible first half to the hockey season. “At least were still playing” commented a philosophical Gawdawful Gumby, “unlike those NHL candy asses who won’t play unless they get their minimum $2 million per game. Whatever happened to playing for the love of the sport? Oh look boys, it’s one of the ladies from last week’s party. See ya!”

44 gallons of Frog’s Butt Ale, 3 pounds of chicken wings, and a lot of free oxygen were consumed.

In and Out of Trouble ... Again!

Strawbs win 6-4 against a rambunctious under-manned team of Predators.

 

Monday night’s game instilled hope in an otherwise deflated Killer Strawberries team. With the return of Marquis de Saviour and Gawdawful Gumby, the football-like scores from the previous weeks were reduced back to wins. One of these two players may or may not have had more of an effect on the outcome, and I’ll leave it to the reader to make his/her own assumptions.

Freight Train Laronde set the bar high even before the game began, dropping his bag in the vacated seat next to the Vice. The reverberating “thud” brought to everyone’s attention the recent void in The Strawbs' once bulletproof executive committee, now being questioned by veterans and recent acquisitions alike. The demotion of Ice Marshal to the Buttface Bottomfeeders after the team’s recent woes is seen as a surprise to some, a no brainer to others, and irony to all, as he receives the short end of the stick.

Butcher Brophy, rumoured to be absent due to a scheduled trip to North Korea after being recognized for his torturing techniques in front of the net, made an appearance at Pete Palangio, and an appearance was about the extent of his contribution to the team Monday night. The bruised legs of the opposing team beg to differ.

The final score was 6-4.

3 pints of Guinness, 2 pitchers of Steamwhistle, 10 pounds of wings, and a sweet and forgotten taste of victory were consumed.

Looking In The Mirror

Killer Strawberries    4    Casey’s    10

Game Report

November 29, 2013

Record: 3-5-3

Despite the lopsided score of the last night’s game against Casey’s, the Killer Strawberries acquitted themselves well. The squad skated hard, generated numerous scoring opportunities and made its opponents earn their victory. It should be noted that Casey’s is made up almost entirely of Chancre College’s Varsity hockey team. From the Strawbs’ bench, it was like watching a younger, less handsome version of themselves, sort of.

The goaltending was vastly different from end to end. While he played a little better than the Marquis DeSave had in his two most recent outings, the Strawbs’ pickup goalie, tending the pipes for his second consecutive game of the evening, looked tired and more interested in the cold poutine he had placed on the top of his net. Casey’s goalie was stellar, robbing Strawb after Strawb with a quick glove hand or a well placed skate, or so contended Dr. Thug. Perhaps it was the Oxycontin talking.

The best play of the night belonged to Dr. Bonehead Butcher Brophey, a competitor so fierce, he once gnawed off half his own ass to streamline his body for more speed... unsuccessfully, of course. As an unsuspecting Caseyer came screaming down the ice, one on one, the luckless speedster attempted to beat the Butcher to his right. The attacker did not properly anticipate the well-placed hip which sent him flipping to the rafters and the Butcher to the Personality Box. The Strawbs captain asked the referee to increase the penalty to 6 minutes to mark the splendour of Dr. Brophey’s achievement.

Although he specifically asked this reporter not to mention it, the Ice Martian scored two goals and had one denied because of poor referee placement. "It's a team game" saideth the IM. "Wish we had one."

After the game, the squad reassembled at the Terminal Tavren to fete the Butcher and to decide whether to recall its hapless goaltender, now languishing in Buttface, Alaska. The Executive has reserved judgment.

4 Hops and Bolts, 5 Steamwhistle, 2 Guinness, 2 Granville somethings, 7 pounds of soggy wings, a large flying saucer of nachos and memories of youthful speed and dexterity were consumed.

Almost Unforgettable

Killer Strawberries    3    Turbo Beavers    9

Game Report

November 26, 2013

Record: 3-4-3

It would have been better if Butcher Brophey had not scraped the halls of Pete Palangio Arenas to find a replacement goalie nuts enough to suit up for the Strawbs, as the Zamboni completed its last swipe of the ice just prior to  the 11pm game time. At least, the team could have defaulted and gone home early rather than suffer a humiliating defeat. It might also have saved the Executive the time and effort required to defend the squad against incomprehensible accusations of dressing room impropriety.

After the game, everyone went home to bed. Nothing was consumed but the bitter taste of an old fashioned whoopin’.

Killer Strawberries at the Grey Cup

Freight Train and the Vice enjoy the Grey Cup on behalf of the Strawbs.

Mongeese (and Gazelles) Get Goosed

Killer Strawberries    4    Mongeese    1

Game Report

November 22, 2012

Record:    3-3-3

As the Zamboni finished its last swipe of the ice, the Strawbs were in a quandary...or perhaps they were facing a dilemma. In any event, with the absence of the Marquis DeSave who was washing jocks in Buttface, Alaska as part of his rehabilitation, the team was without a goalie. Up and down the fungus-filled halls of the venerable Pete Palangio Arenas they went, knocking on doors, begging for help. While the dressing room of the showering Gorgeous Gazelles, a visiting cheerleading and hockey squad from Malmo, Sweden, did not immediately relieve the Strawbs of their goaltending conundrum, it did result in a rather interesting post game get together at the Terminal Tavren. (more on this later).

Luckily, as the puck was about to drop, the Ice Martian located a goaltender willing to face the opposition despite the well-known weaknesses of the Strawbs defence (indiscriminate drinking, prolific swearing, unfair seducing, tobacco chewing etc.). The Strawbs scored early and the outcome was never in doubt. The Vice, fresh from three weddings and a funeral, had all the zip of a pubescent teenager in the throes of his first near-conquest. Unlike the results of that occasion, he scored on this one. Mayor Maynot claims he scored too but his recollection is doubtful, given his constant inhalation of the noxious fumes from the gobs of styling gel he thinks make him handsome.

Slickery, his skates sharpened for the first time in 2 years, was the epitome of something yet to be determined. MagBoy and Warrin’ Peace did something too, probably unrelated to hockey but still important nevertheless.

The defence was muskox-like, in the bad breath department. They had pep, vim and vigour and are to be congratulated on their efforts. Shiny Shone Brightly was the most creative playmaker on the ice. Butcher Brophey was back to his old ornery and delusional self, hooking a Mongoose so thoroughly under the armpit that the Mongoose’s forward motion caused the Butcher to cross the wake several times as he hitched a ride around the rink. It must also be mentioned that Sir Gawdawful Gumby showed everyone just why he was the third star of the game on March 10, 2004. With the score a very close 4-1 and the clock nearing expiry, our donkless hero sacrificed his body twice to preserve the near shutout for a goalie who, quite frankly, couldn’t have cared less. For his efforts, Gumby received a gigantic (his words) gash just above his left ankle and had to be transported to the Terminal Tavren under the close care of three nurses from the Malmo squad. Poor bugger.

Post game, the team joined the Gorgeous Gazelles at the Strawbs’ favourite watering hole. Bon mots and surreptitious knee squeezes were exchanged and the women drank the Strawbs under the table, as planned. Frivolity and merry-making ensued.

15 gallons of Snapps, 3 gallons of Aquavit, 2 bottles of Gameldansk  and some international bonhomie were consumed.

Strawbs Enjoy A Little TNA

Game Report

November 19, 2012

Killer Strawberries    3    TNA    1

Record: 2-3-2

With Freight Train Laronde, The Vice and The Marquis DeSave safely demoted to either the Nasty Cupcakes or the Buttface Bottomfeeders, the Strawbs cranked down their intensity to fondle a small victory against an enthusiastic squad of TNA advocates.

Not a single drop of sweat was wasted for the win. The press awarded only one Star of The Game, a third place nod to Shiny She Brightly whose fabulous pass to Slickery ensured 2 points for his underachieving team. For the rest, it was evening of sleepskating. Even the Butcher’s two trips to the Personality Box were half-hearted.

Most blamed the hockeytorial lethargy on the pre-game team meal served up by that underappreciated gastronome, Gawdawful Gumby at his summer palace on Mystery Bay. The victuals consisted of potato chips, Scotch and an unusual frozen puff pastry dessert prepared by the 4-Star chef himself. After the repast,tThe team limo was summoned to take the boys to the arena where they put on a masterful display of inertia.

After the game, the limo dropped off each player one by one. Nobody had the energy to make it to the Terminal Tavren for the normal post game debriefing. Yet, from all reports, everyone slept well.

Limper Than Mr. Hefner In the Morning

Game Report

November 15, 2012

Killer Strawberries    4    Scoregasms    4

Record:  1-3-2

Exit polls from last night’s hockey tussle between the Killer Strawberries and the Scoregasms were absolutely clear in their message: the game was crap.

Of course, there were moments of brilliance. Unfortunately said moments occurred in the parking lot and at the Terminal Tavren following the game. On ice, the performances were reminiscent of Mr. Hugh Hefner’s escapades at the last Strawbs Executive Christmas Party at Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu, where, without his ED medication, he attempted what should not have been attempted in polite company. Suffice it to say that Hugh retired empty handed.

Slickery MacMillan was positively snakebitten. He had at least 8 excellent shots from the slot and many others from the periphery. Only one found the back of the net. “Don’t tell my Dad” was all he could muster by way of apology.

Warrin’ Peace, recently returned from a visit to Betty Ford, whom he claims is his auntie, finally turned it up in the last 10 minutes to score a beauty on a breakaway. This doubled his goal output for the season. The rest of the team managed to torque it up to mediocre on the performance scale, except for the Marquis De Save.

The Marquis is right now on the bus to Buttface, Alaska, where he will undergo a series of psychological and physical tests to see whether or not he has been invaded by lazy, brain-impaired aliens. It is hoped by the Executive that his minimum two week stint with the Bottomfeeders  will re-energize him. In his absence, applauded by more than one team veteran (#3 and #4, among them),  the team is negotiating with the league to have alumnus extraordinaire, Jesse The Leak, owner of two Championship rings, come back to turn the sinking ship around. The Leak, according to the resume he has posted on Facebook, is game ready and leaner than Ashley Olsen on diuretics and Bulemiaprophen. His leadership and narcissism is perhaps something the team could truly use at this point in a very disappointing season.

Following the game, most of the squad reassembled at their favourite watering and storytelling hole to celebrate two matters of significant significance. The first matter was Freight Train 444’s fifty fifth shade of grey which officially hit at midnight. The second matter, of much greater importance, was the four jugs Freight Train was required to buy the team in the event of a the 4-4 tie,  pursuant to a rash and irrevocable promise  he made in 2006. What fabulous way to celebrate someone else’s birthday.

4 jugs of the most expensive ale on tap, 35 chicken parts lathered in chemical baths and the pleasure of demoting a slacker were consumed.

Socks Appeal

Game Report

November 8, 2012

Killer Strawberries  2                Barn Muckers  5

Record: 1-3-1

It was almost universally agreed upon by the two Barn Muckers fans who attended last night’s tussle between their team and the Killer Strawberries that the Strawbs’ new hockey socks were a lovely addition to the overall team outfit. “The colours were spectacular” gushed Muffy Black, a lifelong Barn Muckers puck bunny. “I really liked the way the red, green and white details flowed into an amorphous mass of unparralled sartorial pulchritude, accenting the lovely lower limbs of even the least handsome of their players...#4  I believe.” Mittens Basel-Johnson, another Muckers follower was not quite so effusive in her praise but did venture to say that “the new socks were pretty-ish but I’m afraid they looked a little too busy to me...a bit like something a meretricious woman of elastic morals might wear for an evening out across the tracks. Can I get pantyhose in that design?”

Unfortunately, the new socks were the only highlight in an otherwise dull outing by the Strawbs. The squad is off to its worst start in 15 years. According to a scathing press release sent out while the team was showering after the match, “The Executive will closely examine last night’s game tapes to help determine what actions need to be taken to ensure that the Killer Strawberries regain some semblance of their previous gloriousness. There has been far too much off-ice tom-foolery which, obviously, has translated into on-ice ineptitude. We thought that the gift of new Stevie Wonder/Madonna-designed socks might revitalize the players, something which the Hawthorne experiments of the 1930s seemed to suggest. Either we or Hawthorne or both were wrong on this one. Perhaps a couple of demotions to the Nasty Cupcakes are in order instead. Suggestions on who might benefit from a change of scenery have been pouring in from fans and team mates alike. Once Aloha Baby Compound Playdates, Pamela Anderson and Sophia Vergara, have been consulted, a decision in this matter will be forthcoming. No one is safe here except the Ice Marshall.”

After the game, a coterie of undaunted Strawbs reconvened at the Terminal Tavren to discuss fashion and other topics of urgent concern. Butcher Brophey was toasted on his 63^rd birthday and voted “Most Likely To Pull Up His New Socks If He Can Reach Them.”

2 Coors Light, 17 Guinness, 1 Granville Island Ale, 6 pounds of shaped poultry parts and a whole bunch of Movember fashion suggestions were consumed.

Wall-O-Berries

Killer Strawberries        1                    Rams    1

Game Report

November 5, 2012

Record 1-2-1

For the first 3 minutes of last night’s tussle between the veteran Killer Strawberries and its testomoronic opponents, the Rams, the Marquis DeSave had to deal with more rubber than a professional Las Vegas streetwalker on Bill Clinton Day. And like a good, high quality Trojan ribbed tickler, he stretched but did not break. His strong performance in nets allowed the Strawbs to effectuate its patented Wall-O-Berries defence until the team could regroup and finally apply pressure of its own at the other end of the rink.

The Rams scored first as the Butcher and his Corbelian neighbour from hell, the inimitable Gawdawful Gumby, roiled about in their own end chasing shadows and ejaculating the latest in swear words learned, no doubt, on their adventures through the sewers of the internet. Their insipid play continued for the whole of the match and almost cost the Strawbs a much needed point. Fortunately, the rest of the squad had come to play, unlike the bonesprockets from Corbeil who were content to wallow in the narcosis of mediocracy all night long. The Executive has ordered a Royal Commission to report on their futures.

Dr. Thug, showing increasing signs of decreasing mental acuity and fashion sense, showed up to the game with one hockey glove and one very nice black leather evening glove of the type worn by Prince Philip when he tours the Arctic. Neither glove was of an adult size. “Just cause the glove don’t fit, don’t mean I quit” he informed anyone who would listen. Needless to say, he did not score on the evening, attired as he was in ill fitting equipment.

The most impressive Strawb, non-sartorially speaking, was Slickery McMillan. He was a gad-about on the ice, skating harder and with more purpose than he has in years.  Although he did not score, he was awarded the game’s First Strawberry, a prize which has eluded him for much too long.

MagBoy, who showed up with three hockey gloves and a jug of something he called South of The Blueline, tied the game up with just over 10 minutes left to play. It was a gorgeous solo effort, reminiscent of the antics of another Strawb, not to be named, who was found in the throes of self-induced ecstasy at the back of Galaxy Theater #3 on August 10 of this year.

The rest of the Killer Strawberries were solid, playing excellent defense when necessary but not necessarily excellent defense. The forwards generated many scoring chances but were unable to convert the tie into a victory. Extra practice time has been ordered.

After the game, Gumby and the Butcher were verbally crucified, but in a fair way. Most of the Strawbs showered quickly and returned immediately to the bosoms of their heated homes. An intrepid foursome sped off to the Terminal Tavren to squeeze out fu from the last minutes of a long and rewarding day.

2 Guinness, 4 Hops and Gops and the satisfaction of a well earned tie were consumed.

Killer Strawberries 2012-2013

We were all present, so a photo was in order.

Meaningless Longitude

November 1st 2012 - Strawbs 4 other team 6 (me thinks)

Way way up near the geodetic true north saddened fans, some frozen solid, are seeking refuge in igloos and DC8 carcasses awaiting a match-up that will never happen. Fans say "Our compass is spinning and we just want to see this game."

It was reported early this week, by the Tidewater Times, that pending the signing of the Ice Marshal, the Nasty Cupcakes were scheduled to play their South Pole rivals, the Bonner Braves a team sponsored by The Rothera Research Station, Antarctica. The Braves are know for dominating hockey south of the equator but now they are directly aiming north, in Cupcake territory. 

Though try-outs went well IMW's agent placed heavy contractual conditions ultimately preventing the deal from going though.   Not all the details are known but a few conditions were leaked to the press.   First off, money was a big deal.  Cupcake management pays per goal, a clause that would bankrupt IM.  His agent reportedly demanded payment for fanned shots, ghost shots (where your stick never touches the puck), fake shots and asked that the clause be removed where a player is penalized for scoring on his own net.  Under this new amended contract the Ice Marshal stood to earn 4.2 million over 2.1 years.  

There was also uncertainty about the deal tweeted by the Ice Marshal himself....

"The deal is tricky but I'm worried about those south pole dancers calling me a Fairycake. I mean I'll lose it." 

IMW

The South Pole Bonner Braves, based out of Rothera, a commonwealth territory, tweeted this....

"What's a bloody Cupcake. "

BB

With the match-up cancelled, and IMW on his way back to southern-southern northern Ontario, there is no chance for those frozen fans to see their star shoot for millions.
Until the Cupcakes sign a player worthy of a north vs south Pole match-up fans and frozen puck bunnies can be found cold and sad at 90 degrees north latitude with a longitude that's meaningless.

In other news.....