A New Season

Alas the new season of the greatest sport on the face of the planet arrives once more. Suiting up for the first time in the stanky crouded dressing room, praying that all of the equipment still fits; it does.Now standing at the gate waiting for the zamboni driver to finish the final laps I size up the other team, when all of a sudden I hear a pounding screach of a falcon! I frantically turn around to look; oh it's just Quinn makin' a fool out of himself, we all laughed... at him; he was oblivious. Then the zamboni doors closed and for many of us this was our first ice time in several months so we awkardly stood on to the ice. We all skated around trying to make sure that you were not the first one to eat it face first into the ice. After the vigorous warm up with the... um' well, poor shooting and the atrocious passing, we skated to the benches to set the lines, where we learned that between the 12 of us there was as many defensemen as goalies, a whopping duece. After a thorough examination of the players we decided that the other two players to play defense were the one kid at the back and we volunteered someone who wasn't listening, he wasn't too happy about it but he was line one D with myself. Now as we line up for the puck to drop we realize there are no referees and one of us is going to have to drop the puck at centre ice, when all of a sudden our left wing "Neeko" began to gush blood out of his index finger; he was not taken off on a stretcher but the next best thing, his own power; mainly because we didn't need a stretcher, just soem tape for his finger to stop the bleeding. He later explained that this happened due to his lack of sensibility by wiping snow off of his newly sharpened skate blades. After a series of unexciting events the puck is finally dropped, in heavy favor of our team though as it was our player to drop the puck. As the duration of the first period lags on we klutzily scramble all over the ice trying to impress the the evaluators.  Finally one of the coaches calls for a short stop in play for the goalies to change to the backups; and even though we had a substantial lead, probably 12 goals for 1 against we were speculating a loss coming our way with the backup coming in. He is not a butterfly, hybrid or stand up goalie, merely a fall down goalie; you would've thought that even though he was a bit shorter than the cross bar the many years of experience and new pads almost seasonally(even though he was always the same height) would've made him an average house goalie. The puck drops marking the begining of the end, their best player get the puck, he maneuvers his way past the fowards and quickly accelreates to the wide side of the ice inside of our blue line, takes the shot, and *PING* *THUD* *ripple*. Did that really just happen? He shot it off the cross bar, off the goalie's head and into the mesh. Now we were sure that nothing good could come from having Chris in net with the exception of a few good laughs. Nearing the end of the ugliest scrimmage I have ever taken part of, we still managed to slaughter them, leaving many of them undressed crying like babies on the ice.