By Wyatt Earp | June 24, 2007
Fish (in blue) fighting for the puck in the corner.
Well, after a twelve-day hiatus, our ice hockey team was back in the rink tonight. (If you’re searching through the archives to see the write-up of our last game: don’t bother. Long story short: we lost to a team with only five skaters (no subs) by one goal. Goodbye undefeated record. Now you’re caught up.) Tonight we played the first place team, The Death Dealers. Coming into the matchup, they were 5-0, with only 2 goals against all season.
Now we know why. This was a “C” League team like I am a 28-inch waist.
No one on this squad was older than 22. No one on this squad was slow. No one on this team was an average player. They all kicked ass. Correction: they all kicked our ass! And they crushed us by a score of 7-0. Not cool.
Vinnie (white helmet) and Ronnie during a break.
But what was even more uncool was our lackluster play. No one hustled for a puck. No one crashed the opposing net. No one gave Badger and help clearing his crease. What’s worse is that most of the guys had their heads down on the bench after the first period. As if the game were already over. If Randal were playing, he would have called us all “pussies.” And he would have been right.
I was so mad at the way we were playing – and the possibility of my two-game goal streak, and three-game point streak ending – that for the first time in weeks, I was sitting on the bench muttering, “Get me the f**k on the ice!” I had a confidence not seen in a while, and I believed that I could light a spark under everyone’s ass. I didn’t score, but I had two chances in front, and stole the puck from their defenseman in their zone. It was eerie. And I hope it is the start of the new me.
I swear to you: on Tuesday, our opponent is going to be my bitch!
Me (with the new number: 2) before the face off.
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