Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Exposing a secret society

I've really done it this time.

I suppose my life is in terrible danger now, having hereby exposed to the world the dark goings-on of the highly secret organization - the SHL - of which, I'm loathe to confess, I'm a member - but only of eight years or so. This has been going on for more than sixteen years.

There's actually no official rules guarding confidentiality. There's no blood-oath swearing 'What is said in the SHL stays in the SHL' but what goes on here is so shamefully outside the boundaries of normal Judaio-Christian new-world behavior that such a pact surely exists unwritten and unspoken.

So if I dissappear suddenly, you'll know why.

The cast, in alphabetical order, followed by the community they represent (very little has been done to protect their true identities):

AT: Angry Tom (who is hardly the angriest among us) - Pawtucket [PAW]
CP: Crazy Pat (who is probably the least crazy among us) - Heyden [HEY]
FBT: Fuzzy Butt Tubby (who is actually the slimmest among us) - Roanoke [ROA]
FWG: Yours truly (who is actually the tubbiest) - Ybor City [YBO]
LBJ: Little Baby Joel (who is actually the most mature among us) - Kamloops [KAM]
NB: Neiley-Bob (who is ipso-facto neiley-bobbish being the genuine origin of the entity) - Kingston [KIN]
PK: Porn King (who in fact does not watch porn) - Winfield [WIN]
SW: Skeeter Willis (who is not particularly skeeterish) - Port Credit [PTC]
TB: The Bastard (who is actually most certainly a bastard) - Nipissing [NPG]

What follows is a perfectly true-to-life audio representation of a typical five minutes in the life of the SHL - the 'Strat-o-matic Hockey League'. The actual physical goings on shall be left to your imagination. Words in italics are sang, not spoken. Brace yourself…

PK : Face-off!
FBT : In my end - WHOO!!
PK : I'm a plus-one.
FBT : We's even, weezie.

CP : Left wing, intimidation right D. Kaberle.
AT : Kobberslob… Boof!
CP : Fuck.
AT : Opponent defense eleven.
CP : Cocksucker. Two minutes to Souray.
FBT : I'm souray… so souray…
AT : Go to the box and feel shame.

NB : Outside, Arnott.
FWG : Is too!
NB : He'll pass.
FWG : Against five.
NB : Damn. He'll pass.
FWG : Six. Loose puck… Outside shot home left wing.
NB : Lemieux.
FWG : Pepe Lemieux.
NB : He'll super douper pass.
FWG : Geek.

SW : Oppenent defense six.
TB : Inside 'i' opp.
SW : Seven… No! Niedermayer inside.
TB : Oh I wish I was Niedermayer weiner… Goal one to sixteen!
SW : Oh!
TB : Seventeen! NO!
SW : Ping ping!

FBT : In the town where I was born…
AT : Drake with it.
FBT : Lived a ma-a-an who sailed to sea…
CP : Hate the Drake.
FBT : And he told us of his life…
AT : Love the Drake!
FBT : In the la-a-and of submarines…
FBT/SW/FWG/NB/TB : We all live in a yellow submarine! Yellow submarine! Yellow submarine! We all…
PK : Shut up, people.

TB : Guys, we need a rule clarification.
PK : Shut up, Dave.
NB : Rules!

PK : Murray outside.
FBT : Oh Murray!
PK : He'll pass… Palffy inside!
FBT : Palfally Alfally!
PK : Goal one to two!
FBT : No way.
PK : Scores!
FBT : Unbelievable.

FWG : Chara bringing it in.
NB : Cootchie cootchie coo!
FWG : Why do you people always say that?
NB : Zsa Zsa Gabor.
FWG : What does that mean?
TB : You don't know who Zsa Zsa Gabor is!
PK : Shut up, Dave.

SW : Hedge-duck bringing it in…
TB : Quack quack.
SW : Passing A! Inside Nasloon, 'I' opp.
TB : No tickie, no booey!
SW : Nasloon...! Goalie rating…! Oh!
TB : Save and a face-off… possible injury.
SW : Visitor left D plus one. Oh, Hedican.
TB : Brent Head-again. How many games?
SW : Sixty-two… Uh-oh. Fourteen times five.
TB : Fifty… Seventy. He's gone!
SW : Oh man!
TB : Sucker.
PK : Shut up, Dave.
TB : Body part!
SW : Head.
TB : Hey Joel, has Head-again had 'head' before?
All : [falling-down laughter]
LBJ : Hang on. Checking…
LBJ : ... Head-again has not had head before.
All : [more falling-down laughter]

FWG : Possible Breakaway.
NB : Left D.
FWG : Schneider-weiner. He's my breakaway man.
FBT : He's my breakaway man!
FWG : He's my breakaway man!
FBT : He wears breakaway pants!

FBT : Iginla bringing it in. Gettin' Iggy with it… Defense five!
PK : Right wing intimidation centre!
FBT : Shtevie Shullivan!
PK : Knuble one to four!
FBT : You say Kanooble, I say Kanobble…
PK : Takes away...! He's okay!
FBT : Unbelievable!

AT : Possible breakaway
CP : Left wing if it's a three. Jason Blake. The real Blake.
AT : It's a Blake-away!
CP : [grunt] Save… Right D. Klesla.
AT : Klesla girls!

NB : Kariya bringing it in
FWG : Polkareeya!
NB : Lose to opponent.
FWG : Handzoodles bringing it in… Inside any, 'I' opp.
NB : Three, nine, nine, six.
FWG : Six.
NB : No! Lecavalier.
FWG : Lick-a-liver...! Save, rebound!
NB : Any offense, also injury! Can't be Lick-a-liver!
FWG : Sami Kapanen
NB : Oh shammy.
FWG : Save left wing. Dammit.
NB : Ready...? Visitor left D, remainder of period.
FWG : Crap. Schneider-weiner.
NB : Body part.
FWG : Eye. Schneider in the eye.
PK : I schnied her in the eye once.
PK : Oh! Who was that?
SW : Alright, was that Tom or Dave?
AT : It was the dog
LBJ : It was NOT Kurgan.
CP : It was Tom.
PK : Gross, dude.

AT : Mark Wreck-eye bringing it in.
CP : Outside only, Bates.
AT : Master Bates, outside!
PK : What? Never mind what I do in my spare time!
AT : Two! Goal one to four!
CP : [grunt]
AT : Scores!
CP : No fucking way. You sonofabitch.
SW : What's the HEY-PAW score?
AT : Two-one
FWG : Two-one? That's not a score Tom. That's just a pair of numbers,
AT : That's the score!
FWG : It's not a score unless you assign each number to a team.
TB : Yeah Tom. What's wrong with you? No wonder you couldn't hack it as an accountant!
PK : Shut up, Dave.
FWG : AGGHHHH! Stop touching me, dog! Get out from under the table!
LBJ : The dog's over here!
FWG : Alright, who's the wise guy? Robb! Stop touching me!
PK : Tee-he-he-he-hee
NB : Ahh! Hee-hee-hee. That tickles!

PK : Nieuwendyk inside!
FBT : Newandickies!!
PK/FBT : Save, rebound!
PK : Centre if it's a-
PK/FBT : Sundin!!
FBT : Sundin, you'd better take care if I find you been sneakin round my back stair…
PK : Here. Blow on this for good luck!
FWG : No way. I'm not falling for that again!
PK : Come on Mats, you sexy little bitch!
PK/FBT : OH!! Save, rebound!
FBT : Defensive centre! Marleau! Whatcha gonna do with all that Marleau!
SW : I'm gonna make you - make you work!
FBT : Marleau bringing it in!
LBJ : Anyone need a refreshing beverage?
SW : Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?
FWG : I'll have a gold Coke off the floor.
SW : All that Love junk in that trunk?
FWG : Oh Sturmy!
SW : I'm gonna get you - get you drunk
SW : Get you love-drunk on my humps!
SW : My humps. My lovely lady lumps…
LBJ : Hey! No throwing garbage!
SW : Check it out…
FBT : It's not garbage! It's a perfectly good missile!
PK : Excuse me. I need to go grope someone.

Okay. Stop it right there (that's a subtle homage to Howie Meeker by the way). I think you get the idea. I think the lid is sufficiently blown off.

And now I must go into hiding.



Babs Gladhand said...

Sweet mammy of god! I think you may have left me at a loss for words.

Yeah. Like that'll ever happen.

If I had friends, I'd want them to be like yours.

Fantasy Writer Guy said...

No no! You've got it all wrong!

They're freaks!

I just live among these people!

Okay - what do you mean - IF you had friends? How could you not? You're a bundle of wit and charm? Do you mean to say there are no non-red-necks within driving distance? It can't be that bad, can it?

Kathleen said...

I'm glad I follow hockey or I would have given up reading that.

I love Dallas Drake, just for the record. And Marco Sturm sucked completely ass for me in the first half of the season so I dumped his ass.

Babs Gladhand said...

Fwig - Sadly it is that bad. I moved here 3 years ago, and still no friends. I work with all guys/boys and they are all between the ages of 18 - mid 20s. And other than Thomas' family, I don't know anyone else in this god-forsaken part of the world.