Post by Jim H. on Feb 13, 2023 19:52:48 GMT -5
Eli Reid was thrust back into the Old Bucks spotlight in Week 20, called on to play goal for the absent Vinnie. The glare of the spotlight was accentuated by the empty bench reserved for him in the locker room as game time approached and still no Eli. Ed Conrad said that, in a pinch, he could play for both teams. Asked how—he replied, “I’ll skate really fast.” Eli finally bustled in, out of breath, and slung his bag on the floor. He apologized saying he had had his hands full all day moving from one apartment in Ewing to another. We told him the next time he moves let us know and we will help him—to stay put.
It’s a good thing Eli was late because during warm-ups an Unidentified Meyer Object was seen floating through center ice with a metallic-looking skin and tethered payload. The club scrambled two fighters, one Canadian and one American (Paul Egan and Jim Heffern) to engage and destroy. As of this writing recovery efforts are underway and Dave Grohl has taken to Twitter to write, “Thank you Canada. And thank you America too!”
Finally both teams positioned themselves for hockey with two goalies in net. Red looked formidable indeed. Without Joe Tona in his maroon Broncs jersey, its bench was a solid sea of Red with only a faint pink blush where Mark Herr sat. The puck was dropped and veritable clank-fest ensued as pucks aimed for nets found posts instead. One slap shot by Brian Urban was so hard it dislodged the net and we coined a new phrase: “peg popper”. Blue jumped out to a 3-0 lead by adopting the personality of its best player, Bob Freiling. This meant that it not only projected confidence but projected that it was going to back check too. Red countered with furious rushes up ice with its bench yelling, “We got numbers! We got numbers!” only because it was much easier to yell that than “We got Bobby Jr.! We got Bobby Jr.!” Red drew even, 3-3, with two goals by Junior and one by the new guy whom, for lack of a name we’ll call in honor of his Canadiens jersey, “Have Habs—Will Travel”.
Benches were as full as in Week 19 so getting on the ice was a little like waiting in line at the DMV. This encouraged long-winded conversations about everything except hockey. We listened to Paul Egan and Bob Freiling go on and on about finance, their chatter so jargon-laden we couldn’t tell our daily dividends from our net asset values. We were trying to focus on the game, tied 4-4 with Red buzzing the Blue goal like hornets. One of these hornets was Mike Valenzano whose buzz has a very distinctive New York accent. His hands, withal, are as soft as his instincts are savvy—two qualities gleaned from duking it out with Hell’s Kitchen street toughs during the Great Depression. He tiptoed up to Eli’s crease, got the puck on his stick and sold shot so convincingly Eli flopped down on the ice in defiance of everything goalies are taught not to do. Mike still had the puck and an open goal and tapped it in so easily he could have used Rich Devlin’s chest-anchored long putter and still scored. Meantime Paul Egan was asking Bob, “How many shares do you own? If you don’t mind sharing…” At least he wasn’t talking about the snow pack in the Sierra Nevadas. That’s where we draw the line.
Neither team had the edge as the teams were all squared at eight goals apiece. At least not until Andrew Tona lost an edge and fell down while Red was cycling the puck around the Blue zone. Andrew was slow getting up, not because he was hurt, but because the game’s tempo induces slowness in other facets too. He was down so long Bob Freiling had time to think up a good joke, so it must have been at least a minute.
“DOWN GOES FRAZIER!” Bob shouted, and Brian Urban started cracking up. Then three things happened, almost instantaneously. The puck came out into the neutral zone, two Blues came off, and Bob and Brian went on. They picked up the puck at the blue line and fused into a two-on-one, beating Ed Conrad not with the tic-tac-toe, but with the the tic-tac-tic—a very distinct difference. Moments later Bob Freiling went solo and scored; and then Frankie teed one up at the point and launched the puck with so much heat Ed Conrad was too spellbound--or blockerbound--to pick it up. In a flash it was 11-8. The tide of battle had turned. How fitting that Bob Jr.’s red Musketeers jersey has Roto-Rooter as a sponsor. Because from then on the drain was swirling and gurgling with Red’s game reduced to a black, slimy hairball wrapped around a toothbrush.
Back in the locker room the pending Eagles Chiefs Super Bowl showdown was given short shrift as the prospect of a 3 p.m. TJ’s after party still held promise for a core group of celebrants who didn’t know the idea had already been nixed on WhatsApp the night before. Joe Herbert was probably the most disappointed. “I got four beers out in the car!” he said, intimating that a Canadian cannot watch American football without a little preparation of the kind that’s at least 8% ABV (apathy by volume). Some suggested he go alone. “Just order one pizza,” they joked.
It’s a good thing Eli was late because during warm-ups an Unidentified Meyer Object was seen floating through center ice with a metallic-looking skin and tethered payload. The club scrambled two fighters, one Canadian and one American (Paul Egan and Jim Heffern) to engage and destroy. As of this writing recovery efforts are underway and Dave Grohl has taken to Twitter to write, “Thank you Canada. And thank you America too!”
Finally both teams positioned themselves for hockey with two goalies in net. Red looked formidable indeed. Without Joe Tona in his maroon Broncs jersey, its bench was a solid sea of Red with only a faint pink blush where Mark Herr sat. The puck was dropped and veritable clank-fest ensued as pucks aimed for nets found posts instead. One slap shot by Brian Urban was so hard it dislodged the net and we coined a new phrase: “peg popper”. Blue jumped out to a 3-0 lead by adopting the personality of its best player, Bob Freiling. This meant that it not only projected confidence but projected that it was going to back check too. Red countered with furious rushes up ice with its bench yelling, “We got numbers! We got numbers!” only because it was much easier to yell that than “We got Bobby Jr.! We got Bobby Jr.!” Red drew even, 3-3, with two goals by Junior and one by the new guy whom, for lack of a name we’ll call in honor of his Canadiens jersey, “Have Habs—Will Travel”.
Benches were as full as in Week 19 so getting on the ice was a little like waiting in line at the DMV. This encouraged long-winded conversations about everything except hockey. We listened to Paul Egan and Bob Freiling go on and on about finance, their chatter so jargon-laden we couldn’t tell our daily dividends from our net asset values. We were trying to focus on the game, tied 4-4 with Red buzzing the Blue goal like hornets. One of these hornets was Mike Valenzano whose buzz has a very distinctive New York accent. His hands, withal, are as soft as his instincts are savvy—two qualities gleaned from duking it out with Hell’s Kitchen street toughs during the Great Depression. He tiptoed up to Eli’s crease, got the puck on his stick and sold shot so convincingly Eli flopped down on the ice in defiance of everything goalies are taught not to do. Mike still had the puck and an open goal and tapped it in so easily he could have used Rich Devlin’s chest-anchored long putter and still scored. Meantime Paul Egan was asking Bob, “How many shares do you own? If you don’t mind sharing…” At least he wasn’t talking about the snow pack in the Sierra Nevadas. That’s where we draw the line.
Neither team had the edge as the teams were all squared at eight goals apiece. At least not until Andrew Tona lost an edge and fell down while Red was cycling the puck around the Blue zone. Andrew was slow getting up, not because he was hurt, but because the game’s tempo induces slowness in other facets too. He was down so long Bob Freiling had time to think up a good joke, so it must have been at least a minute.
“DOWN GOES FRAZIER!” Bob shouted, and Brian Urban started cracking up. Then three things happened, almost instantaneously. The puck came out into the neutral zone, two Blues came off, and Bob and Brian went on. They picked up the puck at the blue line and fused into a two-on-one, beating Ed Conrad not with the tic-tac-toe, but with the the tic-tac-tic—a very distinct difference. Moments later Bob Freiling went solo and scored; and then Frankie teed one up at the point and launched the puck with so much heat Ed Conrad was too spellbound--or blockerbound--to pick it up. In a flash it was 11-8. The tide of battle had turned. How fitting that Bob Jr.’s red Musketeers jersey has Roto-Rooter as a sponsor. Because from then on the drain was swirling and gurgling with Red’s game reduced to a black, slimy hairball wrapped around a toothbrush.
Back in the locker room the pending Eagles Chiefs Super Bowl showdown was given short shrift as the prospect of a 3 p.m. TJ’s after party still held promise for a core group of celebrants who didn’t know the idea had already been nixed on WhatsApp the night before. Joe Herbert was probably the most disappointed. “I got four beers out in the car!” he said, intimating that a Canadian cannot watch American football without a little preparation of the kind that’s at least 8% ABV (apathy by volume). Some suggested he go alone. “Just order one pizza,” they joked.