Post by Jim H. on Feb 20, 2015 6:59:35 GMT -5
Freezing temperatures and drifting snow kept many away from Week 24, a measure of the extent to which weather and hockey don’t mix when you’re in a beer club and not under compulsion to play every game. Scott McCann was back after his six-week work-related hiatus, although he almost didn’t come after reading Kenny’s e-mail and thinking that because he still gets carded at Wegman’s he was one of the "kids” referred to. He went over to Blue where he became one of only three defensemen (that’s how shallow the benches were) sharing the position with the club’s acknowledged symbol of venerability Doug Rendell, and the grandfather of the youth movement, Rich Cerbone. Kenny G., incidentally, guarded the Blue goal while Brian Urban, between the pipes for Red, rounded out a lineup that, boasting the likes of Doc Millen and John Lupisella, left nothing to be desired, except maybe a kid or two, in addition to Kenny’s two kids, Alan and Ben, who played offense and defense respectively. With the troops mustered and the stage set, the puck was dropped—and the battle joined. The game seesawed from the outset with Red taking a 3-1 lead mainly on goals from Tim White who, jacked up on a diet of raw cookie dough and jello-straight-from-the-box, took advantage of Paul Egan’s absence from Blue to throw his huge bulk around with impunity. What Blue lacked in bulk, however, it made up for in the wiry veteran of two Boston Marathons, Scott McCann, who diffused his excess energy all over the ice, crease-to-crease so to speak, springing into action Bobby Orr-style and racking up three assists in a row, one to Rich Devlin and two to Dan Dougherty, before scoring himself and guiding Blue to a solid 5-5 tie after 30 minutes of play. Then violence struck. Where the blue line meets the Blue bench Tim White and Rich Devlin converged on the puck and Tim got both forearms up and positively leveled the scratch golfer while he had his head down in the attitude of someone “addressing the puck”. “I was just trying to protect myself,” Tim said later—as if Shaquille O’Neal has to protect himself against Spud Webb. Safe to say that because of the incident the two players, who’ve shared over the years if not a friendship at least mutual esteem, have pretty much ditched the “esteem” part too. Doc Millen snapped the tie with a sneaky wrap-around that caught Kenny G. unawares, but Mark Timmons and Jim Heffern struck back to give Blue the 7-6 lead. Then the Red D hit a rough patch and Blue enlarged their lead to 11-6. As goal succeeded goal we fully expected Brian Urban to let fly at least one “C’mon!” at his defensemen in honor of his dad, but he maintained his composure throughout. We’ll give him another five years, and perhaps a couple more kids, before that ornery Urban temperament, so deeply embedded in his genes, really begins to assert itself. But what a game Doc Millen had! The professor, endowed with the kind of weaponized testosterone that is so lethal in clutch situations, went on an eye-popping three-goal tear, scorching the net with a hot stick and getting Red back in the game, down just 11-9 with minutes to play and the whole team (except Craig Allen who left early) vowing to fight to the last gasp. Red shrugged off a subsequent Jim Heffern goal, knowing a three-goal lead in Old Bucks is about as tenuous as a one-point lead in basketball (or eight-point lead if you’re North Carolina playing Duke). First Eddie scored to make it 12-10 and then all the wrangling over kids in Old Bucks was completely forgotten as Kenny’s two kids, Alan and Ben, each scored to tie the game at twelve’s. Scarcely had Red finished celebrating their comeback, however, when they inadvertently stuck out their glass jaw and Blue shattered it. It was on the heels of an offsides call on Red. Forward Jim Heffern, on Blue, secured the puck in the Blue zone and started to rush up ice, Rich Devlin in tow, without waiting for Red to complete their slow-as-molasses line change. Red’s guard was down—way down. Jim coasted through the neutral zone, uncontested, but had to take a weak, off-balance shot in the Red zone as Eddie challenged him. Brian Urban easily repelled the shot; then everyone converged on the bouncing puck and in the ensuing melee Rich Devlin flicked it in the net for the apparent game-winner. But Red erupted in protest, claiming that after offsides calls the puck is supposed to go back to the defensemen who are supposed to wait until the team who committed the infraction has properly reset itself, not excluding substitutions. Blue rolled its collective eyes, this kind of dialectical splitting of dogmatical hairs not their brand of hockey at all. Yet they silenced Red’s complaints by waving off the goal, but not without shooting the Red bench such withering looks of scorn that every player from Eddie right down to Tim White had to avert his eyes with shame. The game ended in a tie and a lighter-than-normal crowd repaired to TJ’s for the sweet repast of pizza and beer. If the motto “In beerum veritas” has any validity, Brian Urban admitted over bottles of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale that he thought the goal was legit.