Post by Old Bucks Admin on Jan 2, 2009 8:28:35 GMT -5
Week 15 saw the lowest turnout of the year with 16 skaters and two goalies—just enough for benches three deep on each side. The day itself saw last minute developments like Vinnie being upgraded from questionable to probable and Saunders being downgraded from questionable to probable. Kip Thomas wasn’t sure whether to play hockey or watch the Dallas-Eagles game so he cast his horoscope and it read, “Disdain the beaten path. Bitter are the dregs. Get some exercise.” He chose to play hockey.
With skaters scarce ice time was plentiful and some shifts were so long they would have put Mike the Czech to shame. Craig Allen, for example, having just read an article on fluorescent lights and how they last twice as long by using less energy, discovered that he could make his shifts last twice as long by skating half as hard as he normally does. Bill MacDowell was even more creative. Whenever he wanted to backcheck he’d simply hook the nearest Blue player and allow himself to be dragged up ice in the manner of an Eskimo mushing a team of dogs. Tony V. didn’t even notice him and thought his sluggish pace was due to the warm weather and soft ice.
The first half of the game was hotly contested and low scoring. Red had a 6-3 lead at the forty-five minute mark and their course toward victory seemed set. They even had an anonymous ringer, someone who showed up with nothing else to recommend him except that he caught Kenny’s eye and swore undying devotion to the Red cause. What proved Red’s undoing in their ultimate 13-11 defeat was their inability to keep pace with a Blue squad that was better conditioned for the long haul. Red simply didn’t have the legs to endure. As the second half of the game unfolded, they began to skate with the forced gait of jaded nags and labored to control the puck as if it was a weekend chore, like weedwhacking. Hughie used his stick more to prop himself up than contest the Blue offense and Kenny was no better, especially when he fell on top of Brian Urban and didn’t want to get up, so strong was the sensation of reclining upon a soft cushion. Blue scored many goals during this time, some by accident and some by merit. Rich Devlin, for example, picked his way through several players to wrist one past Vinnie, and even Mike Dougherty scored—a key goal toward the end of the game that put Blue up for good. But it was son Dan who lit the lamp most—five goals in all that had Mike beaming with paternal pride.
Back in the locker room team distinctions no longer existed and everyone intermixed over beers. Kenny took out a bottle of Blarneystone Dew and passed it around, along with a tower of little plastic pill cups he had filched from work. Soon Mrs. Kenny, who had been on hand to watch the game, poked her head in the door and excusing herself with some such pretext or other, wheedled an invitation inside. Complimentary murmurs greeted her, along with a few offers for cold beer, which she politely declined. No sooner had she sat down than Rich Devlin emerged from the showers displaying a part of himself that should have been sacred from public scrutiny. Surprisingly nonchalant, Mrs. Kenny asked him what the N stood for on his monogrammed towel. “Not Nancy,” came the barely audible reply. Amidst peals of laughter Saunders dispensed with the plastic pill dispensers and drank straight from the bottle, finishing it off in one pull. The only person not amused was Kenny who somehow blamed Rich for the contretemps. He did a slow burn that lasted until he got home and then his retribution was swift—he “unfriended” Rich on his Facebook page.
With skaters scarce ice time was plentiful and some shifts were so long they would have put Mike the Czech to shame. Craig Allen, for example, having just read an article on fluorescent lights and how they last twice as long by using less energy, discovered that he could make his shifts last twice as long by skating half as hard as he normally does. Bill MacDowell was even more creative. Whenever he wanted to backcheck he’d simply hook the nearest Blue player and allow himself to be dragged up ice in the manner of an Eskimo mushing a team of dogs. Tony V. didn’t even notice him and thought his sluggish pace was due to the warm weather and soft ice.
The first half of the game was hotly contested and low scoring. Red had a 6-3 lead at the forty-five minute mark and their course toward victory seemed set. They even had an anonymous ringer, someone who showed up with nothing else to recommend him except that he caught Kenny’s eye and swore undying devotion to the Red cause. What proved Red’s undoing in their ultimate 13-11 defeat was their inability to keep pace with a Blue squad that was better conditioned for the long haul. Red simply didn’t have the legs to endure. As the second half of the game unfolded, they began to skate with the forced gait of jaded nags and labored to control the puck as if it was a weekend chore, like weedwhacking. Hughie used his stick more to prop himself up than contest the Blue offense and Kenny was no better, especially when he fell on top of Brian Urban and didn’t want to get up, so strong was the sensation of reclining upon a soft cushion. Blue scored many goals during this time, some by accident and some by merit. Rich Devlin, for example, picked his way through several players to wrist one past Vinnie, and even Mike Dougherty scored—a key goal toward the end of the game that put Blue up for good. But it was son Dan who lit the lamp most—five goals in all that had Mike beaming with paternal pride.
Back in the locker room team distinctions no longer existed and everyone intermixed over beers. Kenny took out a bottle of Blarneystone Dew and passed it around, along with a tower of little plastic pill cups he had filched from work. Soon Mrs. Kenny, who had been on hand to watch the game, poked her head in the door and excusing herself with some such pretext or other, wheedled an invitation inside. Complimentary murmurs greeted her, along with a few offers for cold beer, which she politely declined. No sooner had she sat down than Rich Devlin emerged from the showers displaying a part of himself that should have been sacred from public scrutiny. Surprisingly nonchalant, Mrs. Kenny asked him what the N stood for on his monogrammed towel. “Not Nancy,” came the barely audible reply. Amidst peals of laughter Saunders dispensed with the plastic pill dispensers and drank straight from the bottle, finishing it off in one pull. The only person not amused was Kenny who somehow blamed Rich for the contretemps. He did a slow burn that lasted until he got home and then his retribution was swift—he “unfriended” Rich on his Facebook page.