Post by Old Bucks Admin on Nov 18, 2010 6:45:08 GMT -5
Rumor’s tongue was wagging in Week 7 as word got out that Saunders would rejoin the club and once again grace the Blue bench with his shiny-pated self. Scurrilous falsehoods abounded, like Rich Devlin claiming Saunders would dress in his own locker room and request to be called, “The Artist Formerly Known as He”. All we affirm is that Saunders came to the rink without any beer. His capacity to mooch, at least, was still intact.
Showing his trademark economy on the ice, Saunders scored the first goal of the game, and did little else from then on. In the wake of an Alex Cerbone hat trick (we’re not kidding—the kid was on) Blue led the game 4-0. Then the Red offense flickered to life. Jonathan Millen took one of Hughie’s weak, wide-of-the-mark point shots and converted it to the finest redirection we’ve ever seen in Old Bucks. He basically top-shelfed Marty with his back to the goal and without moving his stick. Then Huck Fairman and Mike Robbins teamed up on a two-on-one and cut Blue’s lead to two, 4-2.
At the game’s midpoint, the score was knotted at sevens, with Red playing catch-up the whole way. Red drew even but couldn’t turn the corner. Alex Cerbone took the puck off a Marty save and began to lope up the ice with it, slowly, methodically, like he was tiptoeing through a labyrinth of Red players, all of whom seemed rooted to the ice, unable to challenge him, except to wave their puny sticks in his direction. He dragged-and-drew around the entire team, and then beat Kenny G. for the go-ahead goal. Thus he validated Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, which suggests that speed is not a quantitative fact, but a matter of perspective. From the Blue bench he looked slow; but from the point of view of Red’s defense, he was hauling ass.
Saunders left the game with Blue up 10-7, less from a want of spirit than a want of refreshment. Word went out to both benches to count their beers after the game. The Red offense enjoyed a short, two-goal spurt and got within one, 10-9. But then Jim Heffern bagged his third of the night with an end-to-end rush that was like Alex’s only faster, and less contested. Now Red was cooked. Shortly thereafter, Rich Devlin out-jostled Craig Allen for a tap-in at the near post, and Dan Dougherty’s friend, Chris scored. Red’s last gasp was a Craig Allen rip from the point that somehow eluded Marty’s glove. Craig had played defense all game for Red and the goal couldn’t have been more opportune. It saved his minus rating from being in the double digits.
Final score: Blue 14 Red 10.
True to form, Saunders dominated the post-game social. Shortly after coaxing a bottle of Blue Moon off Eddie, he was hounded out of locker room 4 with gibes ranging from his feckless play to recollections of the time Kip Thomas gave him a can of Foster’s Lager and a joke snake popped out. This only served to make his air more jaunty as he entered locker room 3. No sooner was he there than Angie Jr., while tugging off an elbow pad, knocked the bottle of Blue Moon out Saunders’ hand. It fell on the floor in a pool of foam. “Aw, Ange! What’d ya doin’?” Saunders carped in his thick, Jersey City accent. The whole room indulged themselves in this amusing spectacle and then howled when Saunders threw the bottle in the garbage can, reminding him it was not allowed by the rink’s Temperance Guild. He had to fish the bottle out again and looked quite flustered doing it.
He recovered his composure just enough to mooch an Oktoberfest off John Lupisella.
Showing his trademark economy on the ice, Saunders scored the first goal of the game, and did little else from then on. In the wake of an Alex Cerbone hat trick (we’re not kidding—the kid was on) Blue led the game 4-0. Then the Red offense flickered to life. Jonathan Millen took one of Hughie’s weak, wide-of-the-mark point shots and converted it to the finest redirection we’ve ever seen in Old Bucks. He basically top-shelfed Marty with his back to the goal and without moving his stick. Then Huck Fairman and Mike Robbins teamed up on a two-on-one and cut Blue’s lead to two, 4-2.
At the game’s midpoint, the score was knotted at sevens, with Red playing catch-up the whole way. Red drew even but couldn’t turn the corner. Alex Cerbone took the puck off a Marty save and began to lope up the ice with it, slowly, methodically, like he was tiptoeing through a labyrinth of Red players, all of whom seemed rooted to the ice, unable to challenge him, except to wave their puny sticks in his direction. He dragged-and-drew around the entire team, and then beat Kenny G. for the go-ahead goal. Thus he validated Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, which suggests that speed is not a quantitative fact, but a matter of perspective. From the Blue bench he looked slow; but from the point of view of Red’s defense, he was hauling ass.
Saunders left the game with Blue up 10-7, less from a want of spirit than a want of refreshment. Word went out to both benches to count their beers after the game. The Red offense enjoyed a short, two-goal spurt and got within one, 10-9. But then Jim Heffern bagged his third of the night with an end-to-end rush that was like Alex’s only faster, and less contested. Now Red was cooked. Shortly thereafter, Rich Devlin out-jostled Craig Allen for a tap-in at the near post, and Dan Dougherty’s friend, Chris scored. Red’s last gasp was a Craig Allen rip from the point that somehow eluded Marty’s glove. Craig had played defense all game for Red and the goal couldn’t have been more opportune. It saved his minus rating from being in the double digits.
Final score: Blue 14 Red 10.
True to form, Saunders dominated the post-game social. Shortly after coaxing a bottle of Blue Moon off Eddie, he was hounded out of locker room 4 with gibes ranging from his feckless play to recollections of the time Kip Thomas gave him a can of Foster’s Lager and a joke snake popped out. This only served to make his air more jaunty as he entered locker room 3. No sooner was he there than Angie Jr., while tugging off an elbow pad, knocked the bottle of Blue Moon out Saunders’ hand. It fell on the floor in a pool of foam. “Aw, Ange! What’d ya doin’?” Saunders carped in his thick, Jersey City accent. The whole room indulged themselves in this amusing spectacle and then howled when Saunders threw the bottle in the garbage can, reminding him it was not allowed by the rink’s Temperance Guild. He had to fish the bottle out again and looked quite flustered doing it.
He recovered his composure just enough to mooch an Oktoberfest off John Lupisella.