Post by Old Bucks Admin on Jan 20, 2013 23:01:01 GMT -5
Red came into Week 18 with an 8-game unbeaten streak, which threatened to make Old Bucks as big a sham as the world’s leading environmentalist, Al Gore, selling his TV network for a half-billion in petrodollars. But sham environmentalists aside, it was still MLK Day eve, a big draw for Old Bucks even with the Pats-Ravens game “coincident”. Mike Robbins turned out, a huge Pats fan, perhaps having some inkling that skipping hockey would not be worth the spectacle of Bill Belachik in a hoodie coach a quarterback who on 4th-and-4, with the game on the line, throws the ball away rather than risk getting tackled by a linebacker. Mike stood out in an authentic Oilers jersey he had got by trading a baseball signed by Wayne Gretsky’s cousin. He was joined on Blue by Paul Egan, who had missed the last two weeks, first with flu and then with soy-poisoning after eating a gluten-free cupcake. Looking but a shadow of his former shadow, Paul was fortunate to believe hockey to be 90% mental; otherwise there would be no reason for him to be on the ice. Rounding out the Blue squad were the likes of Mark Herr, Fred Diaz, Brian Urban, Rich Devlin, Alex Cerbone and Steve Souza—with Rich Cerbone in goal. They were charged with the task of taking Red’s unbeaten streak and shoving it where the Florida sun that monthly induces Kenny to hop on JetBlue Flight 683 bound for Naples—don’t shine. Toward this end they acquitted themselves with proper abandon, exploiting uneven matchups to the hilt and giving Marty a 12-hour head start on Monday morning grumpiness. The Red team they faced was more a caricature of Red with all its foibles horribly exaggerated, from Craig Allen and his “Chariots of Fire”—themed slow-motion skating to Hughie who desperately seems to need grooves cut in the ice to know when he’s falling asleep. Not that this is any small consolation to Red, but they were without their enforcer, George “You want a piece of this, Blue?” Schott who from his living room’s barcalounger was unable to deflect the variety of blows under which Red fell. In short, it was a Day of Reckoning for Red, summed up best by Nick Swift, who realizing his team was down 12-7 with minutes to go, drawled, “I reckon we’ez whupped.” There was no after party.