Post by Old Bucks Admin on Dec 22, 2011 7:12:35 GMT -5
Week 13 had more story lines than Tim Tebow versus Tom Brady. For one, Kenny was in Naples; hence Blue had lost its villain and had to fall back on Bob Freiling for the role of arch fiend. Secondly, Blue had lost two games in a row and rumors flew that it would take advantage of Kenny’s absence to stack the teams in its favor and run roughshod over a depleted Red squad. This did not happen, however, as Blue pride refused to approach anyone on Red for the purpose of asking them to defect. In fact the very notion made them sick to their stomachs. So they let the teams make themselves, ignoring the dispiriting observation that the Bassert brothers were no-shows while Red had its full complement of Tier I players—and Sarah Herr to boot. All the odds-makers cast their lots with Red. A Blue victory, it seemed, would require a leap of faith of “Tebowian” proportions.
Blue struck the first blow as Jim Heffern, in signature style, hung out in neutral zone until Steve Souza rifled a pass to him and gave him the breakaway. Brooks Herr then scored and Red was in the hole two-zip. Jonathan Millen scored first for Red and then others followed suit, most notably his son Jason. Soon the ice was tilting in Red’s favor, so steeply in fact that it propelled a lumbering Craig Allen its entire length, allowing him to beat Rich Cerbone for his first goal since Halloween. Mark Herr thought if Craig Allen can score so can he and he punched a rebound past Kenny G. to make the score 5-3 Red. Diaz then scored what fatefully turned out to be Blue’s last goal of the game, making it 5-4 Red.
A comparative lull ensued—the slack before pandemonium. No one scored but the teams still fought hard and in the heat of the action Saunders gave Jonathan Millen a chicken wing to the ribs. He did not forsee that Jonathan would seize him by the shoulder pads and hurl him to the ice like a ragdoll, but that’s what happened, as if Jonathan intended to measure the ice using Saunders as a ruler. Saunders, in turn, seemed hardly put out by the drubbing, masking his shame with a smile of dismissive hauteur. In no time at all he was back to his old self, berating the Blue bench like a Colonel Klink berating a team of Schultzes.
The 5-4 stalemate finally ended when Mike Robbins flung a soft wrist shot from the point that Rich Cerbone did not see until it was in the net. He chewed out his son, Alex, for not clearing the burly Tim White from in front of the net. Red broke it open with multiple goals by the Millens, both Jonathan and Jason. Between them they had nine goals on the night—a feat that left Jonathan beaming with a combination of paternal pride and self-adulation. It was offense like this that made the game look like a Marianas Turkey Shoot where Red guns blazed away, their infallible eye feasting on the wealth of targets. Humorously, the last goal of the game provided a fit emblem for Blue’s ineptitude. Jim Heffern picked up the puck behind the Blue goal line and turned to make his break out. Thinking he’d fool Red by cutting right past the left goal post he pivoted sharply and crossed the goal line. John Lupisella, however, read the play perfectly; the instant Jim crossed the goal line John stuck his stick out and tapped the puck in the net for Red’s 16th goal. John could not contain himself, laughing out loud, while a chagrined Jim, without a backward glance, hit the showers.
After the game the club repaired to TJ’s for an impromptu Christmas party. The number attending was double Week 12’s turnout with Dave Hunt, Eddie, Bob Freiling, and Hughie adding to the collegial atmosphere. The weather was a chill 27 degrees; thankfully, Jim Heffern’s truck was loaded with drop cloths which made excellent insulators between cold seats and warm posteriors. Three pies were ordered and the bounty of Paul Egan and Kevin Saunders ensured the wines were choice and copious. There was also beer and spirits: Rich Devlin brought Johnnie Walker Black, Mike Robbins brought Jack Daniels Single Barrel, and Paul Egan brought a single copper pot still Canadian whiskey. Paul said he had been nursing the bottle for eight years; it took Old Bucks less than an hour to empty it. The conversation crackled and laughter rent the air. Hughie was a veritable encyclopedia of off-color jokes and delivered them with the staccato bursts of a machine gun. He also summed up the evening best, surveying the table crowded with bottles of beer, wine and liquor and quipping, “This is like duck hunting without the guns.”
Blue struck the first blow as Jim Heffern, in signature style, hung out in neutral zone until Steve Souza rifled a pass to him and gave him the breakaway. Brooks Herr then scored and Red was in the hole two-zip. Jonathan Millen scored first for Red and then others followed suit, most notably his son Jason. Soon the ice was tilting in Red’s favor, so steeply in fact that it propelled a lumbering Craig Allen its entire length, allowing him to beat Rich Cerbone for his first goal since Halloween. Mark Herr thought if Craig Allen can score so can he and he punched a rebound past Kenny G. to make the score 5-3 Red. Diaz then scored what fatefully turned out to be Blue’s last goal of the game, making it 5-4 Red.
A comparative lull ensued—the slack before pandemonium. No one scored but the teams still fought hard and in the heat of the action Saunders gave Jonathan Millen a chicken wing to the ribs. He did not forsee that Jonathan would seize him by the shoulder pads and hurl him to the ice like a ragdoll, but that’s what happened, as if Jonathan intended to measure the ice using Saunders as a ruler. Saunders, in turn, seemed hardly put out by the drubbing, masking his shame with a smile of dismissive hauteur. In no time at all he was back to his old self, berating the Blue bench like a Colonel Klink berating a team of Schultzes.
The 5-4 stalemate finally ended when Mike Robbins flung a soft wrist shot from the point that Rich Cerbone did not see until it was in the net. He chewed out his son, Alex, for not clearing the burly Tim White from in front of the net. Red broke it open with multiple goals by the Millens, both Jonathan and Jason. Between them they had nine goals on the night—a feat that left Jonathan beaming with a combination of paternal pride and self-adulation. It was offense like this that made the game look like a Marianas Turkey Shoot where Red guns blazed away, their infallible eye feasting on the wealth of targets. Humorously, the last goal of the game provided a fit emblem for Blue’s ineptitude. Jim Heffern picked up the puck behind the Blue goal line and turned to make his break out. Thinking he’d fool Red by cutting right past the left goal post he pivoted sharply and crossed the goal line. John Lupisella, however, read the play perfectly; the instant Jim crossed the goal line John stuck his stick out and tapped the puck in the net for Red’s 16th goal. John could not contain himself, laughing out loud, while a chagrined Jim, without a backward glance, hit the showers.
After the game the club repaired to TJ’s for an impromptu Christmas party. The number attending was double Week 12’s turnout with Dave Hunt, Eddie, Bob Freiling, and Hughie adding to the collegial atmosphere. The weather was a chill 27 degrees; thankfully, Jim Heffern’s truck was loaded with drop cloths which made excellent insulators between cold seats and warm posteriors. Three pies were ordered and the bounty of Paul Egan and Kevin Saunders ensured the wines were choice and copious. There was also beer and spirits: Rich Devlin brought Johnnie Walker Black, Mike Robbins brought Jack Daniels Single Barrel, and Paul Egan brought a single copper pot still Canadian whiskey. Paul said he had been nursing the bottle for eight years; it took Old Bucks less than an hour to empty it. The conversation crackled and laughter rent the air. Hughie was a veritable encyclopedia of off-color jokes and delivered them with the staccato bursts of a machine gun. He also summed up the evening best, surveying the table crowded with bottles of beer, wine and liquor and quipping, “This is like duck hunting without the guns.”