There was a wild scramble. There was a loose puck. There was an extra man. There was a goalie sprawled down and out. And there was a dagger. Yes, my dear friends, comrades, loyal readers, and fans, Sunday night's semifinal playoff game between Prestige Worldwide and the Red Army was a nail biter that literally came down to the last second. As it ticked away, the clock struck midnight on Mother Russia's season. She stopped dancing, collected her belongings, and left the ball. It was over in the blink of an eye, bringing a record setting season to a halt, and leaving a bitter taste in the collective mouths of the Soviets, a taste that no amount of Stolichnaya Vodka could remove.
"I don't know what to say right now," Captain Steve Hand said, who played a very solid game. "This is back to back seasons now where we've been eliminated in the final seconds. In the summer it was four seconds, tonight is was one second.... maybe next season we'll force overtime."
Many of the players echoed the captain's sentiments.
"It's definitely a tough pill to swallow," Tony Horton said, who scored a goal in the second period to knot the game at two. "This pill is comparable to a large, sour tasting Advil. Only, it wouldn't be called Advil. It would be called 'Badvil', or 'I want to Die-agra' or 'Die-lynol', or 'I be loafin', or 'Novapain', or 'I'm gonna penikillin someone I'm so angry' or "fuck this shit I can't believe we lost like that- childrens' tablets'".
The game itself was a good game. Pat King, who enjoyed himself a career year, started the scoring in the first. Mark Hendricks took the puck behind the net and took it to the front before feathering a pass over to King. King promptly fired a one timer past the goalie, whose lateral movement was not quick enough for the two offensive maestros.
"It was big," A dejected King said in the locker room. "Early on Mark and I were able to create things, but they really took away our time and space as the game went on. We just couldn't.... we couldn't..." King, who then had to collect himself as tears began streaming down his face, (which prompted Ben Breiterman to briefly stop his post-game fistacuffs and call him a female) solemnly threw up an "L" and in a hushed manner, whispered the words "Labia... we will be back. We will be back".
The lead was short lived, and PW tied the score at 1 later in the opening period on a power play blast that beat Matt Kraus. The period ended tied at one, and both teams wondered if the back and forth breakneck pace would continue.
"I was breathing heavy on the bench," Mark Hendricks said. "I think the rum and cokes from last night may were still in my system. It didn't help that we were playing a good team. Man... I just feel so... so empty right now. Well, I mean I feel full because of the all of the drinking last night and then the big tuna sandwich I had before the game, but on the inside, in a non gastrointestinal sense, I feel empty. Like, I could go and see the most beautiful thing in the world right now and I wouldn't be moved. I could see two beautiful Norwegian lesbians engage in intercourse underneath the northern lights while a family of polar bears plays in the background, and my soul wouldn't be touched. No amount of lesbians, bears, or the beauty of theaurora borealis can save me tonight."
The Prestigious Ones took the lead in the second on a shot that Kraus would like to have back. A slap shot from the blue line beat the Soviet goalie, and put the Comrades behind for the first time of the night. Again, the lead would be short lived. With Hand causing havoc in front, Odell was able to sneak down low and fire a pass over that Horton who shot it home. Moments after tying the game, Odell drew a penalty when he was took a high stick to the face. The abrasion drew blood, and gave the Russians a four minute man advantage. Despite a barrage of shots and nearly the duration of the powerplay spent in the PW zone, Mother Russia couldn't turn on the red light. Again, the period would end tied. It was a now fifteen minute game, though a more apt description might be that it was a 900 second game.
(For the most part) the third period was played smartly by both teams. Pucks were chipped deep, shifts kept short, and shots thrown on goal. The tie was broken midway through the final frame, when PW, again on the powerplay, scored on a slapshot that beat Kraus up high. The resilience that Mother Russia had shown all season, came again. On a powerplay of their own with under five minutes to play, the Soviets capitalized. Breiterman took a pass from King and beat the goalie with a wrister from the high slot. It was three all.
"I knew I had the shot if Pat could get it to me," Breiterman said, still jawing with the opposing players in the hallway. "I took the pass in the slot and- what'd you say? Yeah, do something? Ok, ok, let's go, let's go. Oh, now you're backing down? You tuxedo wearing- Wait, sorry, yeah I fired the shot low and it went in. Looking back on it now, it was the Labia Line's last goal of the.... of the... " Breiterman's eyes began to well up. "God damn, I think playing with Pat has made me more feminine... oh no oh no oh no! Easy Ben, easy... just got to regain my composure here. Ahhh..." The defenseman wiped his eyes and took a sip of water before continuing. "Ah, okay. Yeah, it was a great pass from Pat and then we were able to tie it up. Wow, that was tough to talk about."
At that moment, Hendricks walked past Breiterman. Breiterman, trying to reaffirm his man status, quipped at Hendricks' affinity for baths.
"You gonna go take a bath you gay, gay little boy?"
"No," A calm, defeated looking Hendricks responded. "Not even a bath can wash away the feeling I feel right now. No amount of bubbles, or scented candles, or Kidz Bop albums can cleanse me." As Hendricks walked away, Breiterman, moved by his countryman's words, extended the olive branch.
"Wait man. I'm sorry. It sucks, it really does. Let's get a beer and hang out and talk about the memories." Hendricks paused, and looked up at Double B.
"I'm spending my offseason in Norway. When I'm back, if I have rediscovered my groove, we will hang. Something tells me I will have stories."
Strange, documented teammate conversations aside, the game continued tied at three. As I type this... no... no I won't. We all know what happened. They scored with 1 second left in the game while on the powerplay (nullifying a great defensive effort by Scott Hoefer, whose play tonight may have been the best of his career). Simply put, PW deserves much credit for the game they played. Maybe they can assist the mourning of the Comrades by having the loss they suffered tonight have been to the best team.
Well, I covered this team for three months. I said at the outset of the season it was third round or bust. In that regard, it was a success. And even though the thoughts clouding the minds of Mother Russia's Boys tonight may be of regret and what could have been, everyone, and I mean everyone, can take solace in the fact that for over 40 days in September and October, they did nothing but kick ass. So I end this blog post, and this season, with a toast to everyone who laced them up this autumn. A toast to the wild comebacks, the overtime wins, and the non gay love that was experienced twice a week at a blue rink in Dulles. Cheers, Comrades. You had a great season, and you drastically altered next Winter's expectations.
THREE STARS:
3:
2:
1: Ben Breiterman, Steve Hand, Mark Hendricks, Scott Hoefer, Tony Horton, Pat King, Matt Kraus, Ryan Odell, Andy Schram
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