Week Ten (Dec. 18)

The 18th saw us reach the halfway point of our clinic journey, the point by which I should probably be able to stop. But hey, no one's perfect!

Our session this week was our second game against an actual league opponent, this time against the Booze Brothers.

Men's league teams are known for some unique names, but  the Booze Brothers had one of the best jerseys I've seen. I tried to find a picture of their logo, but Google let me down. The "Brothers," as they called themselves, had an LA Kings color scheme (white jerseys with purple, black, and silver accents) with a logo featuring two Blues Brothers-looking characters wearing hockey helmets and sporting a black eye apiece. Their shoulder patches featured a black keg with crossed sticks behind it. These jerseys made our teal uniforms look like something you'd find on the discount rack at Target (which is probably where they got ours, actually).

The Brothers' inspiration.

Before our game, the kids from BC High were finishing up their practice, and had commandeered one of the locker rooms. When our team started filtering in, there were only a few people in the other locker room, so we began to dress in there. However, the other team filtered in as well, leaving us to dress with our opponents. Awkward. Imagine the Bruins and their opponents sharing a locker room, except with a lot less talent and a lot more beer guts and shiny bald heads.

Having been early for once, I was ready to go. I'd decided to try something new with my skates, wearing a pair of baseball socks (basically just thick socks) over my skate socks, hoping to make the fit a bit tighter and improve my skating. I stuffed my now-fat feet into my skates and went out to stretch, feeling pretty good about being so early. I was so ready, in fact, that I had time to take about 10 or 15 warm-up shots and more than a few twirls around my own end.

It was at around this time that I ran into a bit of a problem: my left foot was numb. Due to some combination of skates tied tightly and too much hosiery, I had apparently cut off the circulation to my foot. I headed to the bench and began to fiddle with the skate, trying to loosen the laces a bit. Suddenly, the horn goes off and it's game time.

"Crap," I thought. "Looks like I'm skating one-footed tonight."

We had a total of ten skaters, meaning we had two forward lines and two pairs of defensemen. Our goalie was a kid who showed up sporting a powder blue Plymouth Whalers jersey that had to be an eBay score, making him my new best friend.

I was assigned the left wing spot on the second line, and off we went.

Our team's first shift was pretty uneventful, and soon The Power Trio of me and my two linemates headed out for our first shift...

...and then it was 1-0.

I wish I knew how it happened. I was hanging out by the blue line like I was supposed to, and had chased a defenseman, causing him to send the puck in deep. As I made my very, very slow turn back around, one of the Brothers had the puck and rifled a wrist shot on goal. The puck found the top corner, and I was a minus-1 about 30 seconds into the game. Talk about a bad start.

As the puck dropped following the goal, we got possession and headed down ice. We couldn't really do much with it, as we learned pretty quickly that the Brothers are a good skating team. We headed back to the bench down by a goal. Oof.

Our second shift featured much of the same: not much action in their end, and our team deciding to play "let's see how many shots our goalie can face!" Our poor goalie stood on his head for the most part, stopping a barrage of Brothers shots, doing the best he could to keep us in the game.

As I sat on the bench following our shift, one of the Brothers threw a puck on net that was redirected past our poor goalie, giving them a 2-0 lead.

It looked like Team Teal was headed for the first blemish on its record.

Our unit got some traction on our third shift, towards the end of the first period. We managed to keep the puck in their zone for a bit, even tossing a puck towards the net (even though it missed). Towards the end of our shift, one of my linemates went into the corner after a puck, and was followed by a Brother who apparently had too much pregame booze, because he crunched him into the boards and was summarily whistled for boarding.

Yes, he boarded someone in a men's league.

Being the team player I am, I wonder aloud, "what the hell was that?" as the offending player glided by. Clearly intimidated, he offered nary a response. Call me the Teal Enforcer.

Me.

As we headed back to the bench so our power play could being, our coach growled, "should've been four, ref. That should've been four." I had no idea there were such arguments in men's leagues.

Our team's power play started off fairly uneventfully, but then The Power Trio took over and...didn't do much better. Being a younger Mark Recchi, I decided I'd head to the front of the net again. However, this time I was met by a Brother who didn't really want me hanging out in his neighborhood. He gave me a shove or two, so I tried to go around, to no avail. As I was heading back to the side, one of my teammates fluttered a shot on goal. I saw it coming and it was going wide, so I decided to try to tip it.

I got my stick on it and changed the direction successfully, but the puck slid about a foot wide of the goalie, eliciting a few "ohhhh's" from my coach and teammates.

As the first period ended, we were down 3-0, and The Power Trio was a combined minus-6. Yikes.

However, the second period saw us step up our game a bit, as we began to skate and get our legs moving in the right direction.

I had a golden opportunity to score early in the second. As usual, I was tenacious on the forecheck, and a Brother tried to clear the puck from his corner up the opposite boards, breaking the golden rule of "don't clear the puck up the middle." I was towards the top of the slot, and the puck headed my way, about two feet off the ice. I reached out to try to glove it; had I caught it, I could've put it down, dusted it off, made a sandwich, and taken a nap before a defenseman got to me. Instead, the puck glanced off the tip of my finger and skittered away harmlessly.

On our next shift, we had a little more possession, and managed to keep the brothers out of our zone (for the most part). The Brothers had gone offsides, and we lined up for the faceoff. Off the drop, the puck flew up into the air near my head, and I reached out to swat it away like King Kong going after a fighter plane.

Try doing it on ICE, King Kong.

Except Kong wasn't on skates, and he didn't fall and crush Manhattan. I did. I must have taken quite the tumble, because the Brother who lined up opposite me said, "whoa, are you OK?"

As I picked myself up, I laughed and said, "yeah, I'm good," and play continued.

Later in that shift, I collected a loose puck at our blue line and found myself with few options. I decided to chip the puck up and go after it, and I managed to get it past the defenseman. I took a few strides and was close to a breakaway when the Brother clipped my hip. I can barely skate unencumbered, so even that minimal contact sent me to the ice, scoring chance foiled, again eliciting "ohhhh's" from my bench.

As I headed back to the bench, my coach said, "I thought you had that one there, you made a good play. I got money on ya tonight, you're close."

He may as well have said that I was the greatest hockey player in the world, because I don't think I've ever been more flattered in my life.

I decided to bottle up those good feelings and use them as fuel. Good thing, because I used that fuel to chase a 2-on-1 up the ice, and had a front row seat for the Brothers' fourth goal, the third scored with me on the ice. :((((((((((((((((((((((((

Following that goal, we had a few chances in the Brothers' zone, but couldn't break through. Our effort was good enough to earn some plaudits from our teammates as time expired, as they told us to "keep it up" and that we had "good chances, good pressure out there."

The third period started with us down 4-0, needing a miracle to stay undefeated as a big, teal group. My first couple shifts were unremarkable, with a touch of the puck here and there. On my third shift, I gathered a puck that snuck past a Brothers defenseman and headed up ice, a teammate with me. As the Brother back on D closed in on me, I dumped it towards my teammate, but it was just out of reach. Feeling very sorry for myself, I headed to the slot anyways. To my surprise, my teammate ended up with the puck anyways, and threw a shot on goal. The Brother in net stopped it, and the rebound dropped in the crease.

As I spun around to whack at it, the Brother covering me swatted it out of the crease mere seconds before I would've scored and sparked a nationwide celebration. Foiled again.

My reward after the game.

Later in that shift, I got another loose puck, and again headed up ice. This time, I had few options, and decided it was time to unleash the famed wrister, figuring, "what the hell, we're down by 4, might as well shoot."

And shoot I did, and I watched as the puck left a vapor trail, flying past the goalie into the top corner, leaving the poor Brother stunned.

Actually, the puck went wide by about a foot and a half, and the Brother wasn't very troubled by it. I must have gotten my memories mixed up.

As time ticked down, the puck was loose at our attacking blue line. One of our best players, who I'll call Hotshot, scooped it up. What Hotshot should've done is dumped the puck in and chased after it.

Instead, Hotshot, who is a great skater but doesn't really like passing to anyone who isn't Hotshot, decided to take the puck and, inexplicably, skate allllllllllllllllllll the way back to our end, presumably so Hotshot could start an end-to-end highlight reel rush that would end in another turnover. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Predictably, Hotshot was pounced on by two forecheckers and turned the puck over. Also predictably, the puck ended up behind our powder blue goalie seconds later, giving the Brothers a 5-0 lead. I saw all of this happen from the attacking blue line, where I had been waiting to chase after a dump-in that never came.

As the puck went in, I was furious. I threw up my arms and yelled, "what the hell are you going back for?! DUMP IT IN!" I glided to the bench and slammed the door, because clearly that goal was the straw that broke the camel's back in terms of our comeback hopes. Our coach remained silent, and I decided maybe it wasn't worth getting in an argument over a goal that made it 5-0.

I stewed in silence for the rest of the game until I headed out for the handshakes, where the Brothers told us it was a "good game," which must be Brother-speak for "man, that was easy!"

I dressed in silence, with the only happiness coming when I finally removed my numb left foot from my skate. I was still mad about the fifth goal, but actually mad that I hadn't been able to cash in on any opportunities. Hey, 5-1 sounds a lot better than 5-0.

5-0 and a minus-4 rating. I sure hope my coach got his money back.

Sorry, coach.