Post by Old Bucks Admin on Jan 19, 2012 6:35:28 GMT -5
Week 15 coincided with the MLK holiday and benches were once again teeming. Notably absent was Bob Freiling, the pillar of Red’s offense, causing the impossible—a Blue victory—to now seem manifestly possible. Otherwise the lineups were normal, except that relative to Week 14, Craig Allen and Hughie had swapped places, with Hughie skating Blue and Craig back on Red (Hughie only skates with Blue during leap years). Blue did not trust Hughie to play defense and put him on offense where he pined away for his cushiony job on Red and said he felt like he was being sentenced to hard labor.
Red had a substitute goalie, Jamie, because Kenny G. had strained some ligaments making a save during Week 14. Marty was in net for Blue and nerving himself for the inevitable Red onslaught. It didn’t take long as Blue came out flatter than pancakes. First Skupe camped out in front of the net unmolested and batted one in, putting Red up 1-0. Red led 2-0 before Blue counterpunched, repulsing a Mike Robbins drive deep into their zone, whereupon Jim Heffern pushed the puck up to a streaking Andrew Bassert, who got the breakaway and scored. But Blue soon hit a rough patch: first Larry Johnson (for Red) scored on an open net—one-timing a rebound when Marty—pelted with five successive shots—got yanked from the crease. Then Jonathan Millen scored twice in thirty seconds, flashing his trademark grin both times, irritating Blue to no end. Blue was now in complete disarray, down 5-1 and the game hardly 20 minutes old.
Saunders got uncontrollably loud, denouncing his teammates in a manner that recalled his first grade report card: “Does not play well with others”. Blue played harder if only to shut him up. They chipped away at the lead with two goals by Bill Hamill, one by Rich Cerbone, and then Jim Heffern fortuitously bounced a wrist shot off Craig Allen to make the score 6-5 Red. But Red, undaunted, continued to score, retaining the lead. As usual they excelled in all three phases of the game: offense, defense, and incredibly cheap goals, like sending George Schott barreling into Marty so George, Marty and the puck would cross the goal line together. Indeed, Marty was put through his paces; the dark gray sweat stain that usually stops half way down the jersey was almost at the hem and his back looked a subway grate from which clouds of steam rose. Between the holiday and his previous absences, Marty had forgotten what a trial it is to play for Blue. Now his memory was being jogged and he didn’t like it one bit.
Blue went to their bigs, the Bassert boys, who sprung for two goals and kept them in the game while Bill Hamill got the hat trick and tied it at nines (to celebrate Saunders threw his toupee on the ice). But Jim Heffern, in Red’s zone, got careless with a dump back to the point, and Greg Wright intercepted, setting up a two-on-one going the other way. Greg made a pinpoint pass to Skupe, who made a pinpoint shot inside the far corner, putting Red up 10-9. Outwardly Blue feigned indifference; inwardly they were all determination. Old Blue tenacity now came to the fore, driven by a hunger for victory that was now at a gnawing stage. In quick succession, Dave Bassert scored, tying the game at tens; then Mike Robbins put Red up again, exploiting a complete breakdown in front of the net with bodies sprawled all over the ice to flip the puck past Marty. But Brian Urban emerged from his decoy role just long enough to beat Jamie and tie the game again.
Now things for Blue got really providential. With the game clock ticking down, Alex Cerbone assaulted the Red goal only to be denied by Jamie. He corralled his rebound, only to have Red defensemen descend on him like a pocket collapsing on a quarterback. Unable to keep his footing, his fell to the ice, the puck still on his stick and his gimlet eye catching sight of Hughie making for the front of the goal. He dumped the puck off—a perfect pass that Hughie one-timed into the net, scoring what turned out to be the game winner. The Blue bench was elated. They closed out the game standing up, some watching the game, others exhorting the zamboni driver to open the doors and sound the buzzer early. Saunders scored in the final minute and Blue notched their first win in five weeks, 13-11.
The after party was raw and cold with the mercury in the range of 22 degrees. John Lupisella had to be prevailed upon to sit outside; he had no hat and no gloves and no inclination to do so. The party was ill attended; only one pizza was order to accommodate John, Mike Robbins, Tim White and Jim Heffern. Jim brought a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc; by the marsupial on its label we inferred it was from Australia. It had a twist-off lid and the bottle was three-quarters full—dubious signs by any standards of vinology. Everyone else stuck to their beers. After the pizza had been consumed Hughie showed up. He had gone to Pete’s Liquors in Ewing—one of his old haunts from his Trenton State College days—to get a six-pack of Coors. The party got a degree livelier, the bone-chilling cold notwithstanding. What the conversation lacked in Eganian pithiness or Saundersian bombasity, it made up for with Hughie’s spellbinding discourse on how to properly repair plaster walls—mixing compounds, graduating blade lengths according to what coat you’re on, where to buy the wide rolls of mesh tape, etc. John Lupisella left just prior to the conclusion: how to sand. Either he knew this already or felt pressed by the onset of hypothermia.
Red had a substitute goalie, Jamie, because Kenny G. had strained some ligaments making a save during Week 14. Marty was in net for Blue and nerving himself for the inevitable Red onslaught. It didn’t take long as Blue came out flatter than pancakes. First Skupe camped out in front of the net unmolested and batted one in, putting Red up 1-0. Red led 2-0 before Blue counterpunched, repulsing a Mike Robbins drive deep into their zone, whereupon Jim Heffern pushed the puck up to a streaking Andrew Bassert, who got the breakaway and scored. But Blue soon hit a rough patch: first Larry Johnson (for Red) scored on an open net—one-timing a rebound when Marty—pelted with five successive shots—got yanked from the crease. Then Jonathan Millen scored twice in thirty seconds, flashing his trademark grin both times, irritating Blue to no end. Blue was now in complete disarray, down 5-1 and the game hardly 20 minutes old.
Saunders got uncontrollably loud, denouncing his teammates in a manner that recalled his first grade report card: “Does not play well with others”. Blue played harder if only to shut him up. They chipped away at the lead with two goals by Bill Hamill, one by Rich Cerbone, and then Jim Heffern fortuitously bounced a wrist shot off Craig Allen to make the score 6-5 Red. But Red, undaunted, continued to score, retaining the lead. As usual they excelled in all three phases of the game: offense, defense, and incredibly cheap goals, like sending George Schott barreling into Marty so George, Marty and the puck would cross the goal line together. Indeed, Marty was put through his paces; the dark gray sweat stain that usually stops half way down the jersey was almost at the hem and his back looked a subway grate from which clouds of steam rose. Between the holiday and his previous absences, Marty had forgotten what a trial it is to play for Blue. Now his memory was being jogged and he didn’t like it one bit.
Blue went to their bigs, the Bassert boys, who sprung for two goals and kept them in the game while Bill Hamill got the hat trick and tied it at nines (to celebrate Saunders threw his toupee on the ice). But Jim Heffern, in Red’s zone, got careless with a dump back to the point, and Greg Wright intercepted, setting up a two-on-one going the other way. Greg made a pinpoint pass to Skupe, who made a pinpoint shot inside the far corner, putting Red up 10-9. Outwardly Blue feigned indifference; inwardly they were all determination. Old Blue tenacity now came to the fore, driven by a hunger for victory that was now at a gnawing stage. In quick succession, Dave Bassert scored, tying the game at tens; then Mike Robbins put Red up again, exploiting a complete breakdown in front of the net with bodies sprawled all over the ice to flip the puck past Marty. But Brian Urban emerged from his decoy role just long enough to beat Jamie and tie the game again.
Now things for Blue got really providential. With the game clock ticking down, Alex Cerbone assaulted the Red goal only to be denied by Jamie. He corralled his rebound, only to have Red defensemen descend on him like a pocket collapsing on a quarterback. Unable to keep his footing, his fell to the ice, the puck still on his stick and his gimlet eye catching sight of Hughie making for the front of the goal. He dumped the puck off—a perfect pass that Hughie one-timed into the net, scoring what turned out to be the game winner. The Blue bench was elated. They closed out the game standing up, some watching the game, others exhorting the zamboni driver to open the doors and sound the buzzer early. Saunders scored in the final minute and Blue notched their first win in five weeks, 13-11.
The after party was raw and cold with the mercury in the range of 22 degrees. John Lupisella had to be prevailed upon to sit outside; he had no hat and no gloves and no inclination to do so. The party was ill attended; only one pizza was order to accommodate John, Mike Robbins, Tim White and Jim Heffern. Jim brought a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc; by the marsupial on its label we inferred it was from Australia. It had a twist-off lid and the bottle was three-quarters full—dubious signs by any standards of vinology. Everyone else stuck to their beers. After the pizza had been consumed Hughie showed up. He had gone to Pete’s Liquors in Ewing—one of his old haunts from his Trenton State College days—to get a six-pack of Coors. The party got a degree livelier, the bone-chilling cold notwithstanding. What the conversation lacked in Eganian pithiness or Saundersian bombasity, it made up for with Hughie’s spellbinding discourse on how to properly repair plaster walls—mixing compounds, graduating blade lengths according to what coat you’re on, where to buy the wide rolls of mesh tape, etc. John Lupisella left just prior to the conclusion: how to sand. Either he knew this already or felt pressed by the onset of hypothermia.