Counting Down the Top Ten Moments of 2009- #1: Fisting the Shockers

It is no secret that Barry Melrose does not write this blog. Sure, the idea is funny (hilarious to me, actually) but everybody knows it is not the ESPN analyst spending countless hours a year documenting the trials and tribulations of an adult league roller hockey team. He doesn't have the time, or so he said in a very cordial email four Aprils ago.

It is I, Mark Hendricks, who sits down and writes articles, selects three stars of the game, and covers phony award ceremonies held in various Scandinavian cities in the two-week off seasons. Why am I lifting the veil? Well, just once, just this one time, I want to ignore the journalistic responsibilities of a beat reporter and report on the number one story of 2009 as a player, a fan, and a brother. Also, I want to curse a few times. So, stop reading now if you want to spare yourself the muses of #18, but please know that your click has probably already added another few cents to the Digest's bank account. Daddy's gotta eat.

Now, I must preface this post by saying that I am always confused when I hear other teams refer to the Red Army as dirty. What constitutes dirty? Fighting? Do three fights over two years classify us as dirty? I don't think so. Do we play physical? Sure, occasionally there are some scrums in front of the net, but does that make us dirty? I don't think so. See, it is tough to understand the impetus for calling my team dirty when the comments I read say things like this: "HA clean game and red army go together like hippies and haircuts". Okay, a decent analogy, and I'm certainly glad the author was able to incorporate a group of people still relevant today, but where are the reasons? Maybe next time anonymous wants to comment, he can cite a few examples of Soviet brutality and also treat us with a flapper reference.

Alas, after talking of how the Red Army is not dirty, I must admit that the number one moment of 2009 centers around violence. I am not for fighting or hitting in roller hockey. It's not a contact league, we don't have the protective gear on, and most of the skaters don't even know how to properly (or cleanly) hit or fight. Still, there are extenuating circumstances when I think it is okay to drop the gloves. One of those situations arose on July 9, 2009 in a game against, shocker, the Shockers.

The Red Army and Shockers have a history of physical games. Lately, the games have become more and more physical, and things took a sour turn a little more than a year ago when my younger brother Brian was boarded from behind into the end wall, causing his knee cap to break in two places. His running career suffered a major set back, he was on crutches for several months (including during my older brother's wedding), and he still suffers from knee pain and may require an additional surgery later in life. Still, after the hit the asshole who committed the act went on laughing and continued talking shit even as he skated to the penalty box for a two minute tripping penalty. At the time, we didn't know the extent of the injury, so vengeance wasn't sought. In the coming days I realized I would have traded all ten of those goals to punch the lights out of any of those certified douchebags. But, the opportunity never arose.

I spent a few seasons playing at the Box in a gold league, abandoning my Comrades after being frustrated by another losing season at Dulles, and formed new rivalries at the rink in Chantilly. But, since no one wants to read about my awesome championship winning season and obviously just want me to get to the ass kicking parts of the story, I'll skip ahead in this saga again. After three seasons I returned to my roots, to my original project, or as many affectionately refer to her as, Mother Russia. I soon realized that not much had changed in the Shockers/Red Army relationship. Physicality reigned supreme, and I was met, as were all my Comrades, with slashes, hooks, and frothing insults that lacked in originality and delivery.

But things were changing as well. For one, the Red Army didn't suck anymore. Steve Hand, Tony Horton, Pat King, and Andrew Schram all had continued their evolutions as hockey players, and Ryan Odell and Ben Breiterman had returned for the second and third terms, respectively, for the Red Army. The Shockers, who used to easily dispose of the Soviets, now had to earn two points. As it turned out, they also earned a few stitches that fateful July when they ran their mouths.

(NOTE: if you haven't yet, I suggest you put on some rock music right now. My personal preference is Audioslave's Show Me How to Live. You won't regret it.)

Let's pick it up in the 3rd. It's 8-6 Red Army and the intensity is picking up. Loges and I, as always, have engaged in a few pushes and shoves, and have each already sat two minutes for roughing. Moments after being released from the box, we collide near the benches (by no accident). He gave me a cross check in the back as he skated to the loose puck, and circled back into our zone. I watched him take it wide on the defense and saw him skating towards the far post. By no accident, that's where I was going too. He had his head down, I had my shoulder cocked, and I connected. I drove through the NAMBLA card holding member and sent his body flying into the boards. He got up, tried to act tough, but behaved like a nice bitch when Tony stepped in his way. I sat my two minutes.

Now it's getting late, real late. With almost no time left on the clock, Loges pushes Ben into the boards from behind. Now, Loges has every right to be pissed off because he got rocked twice by me earlier in the period. His dildo also ran out of batteries so it hasn't been a very good day. Still, he felt the need to provoke Ben, and that's one mother fucker you don't provoke.

History books quote famous last words like, "I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country", to honor the sacrifices made by men. So, I will give Loges the honor of quoting his last words before his face became a hang out for both of Ben's fists. "Do something," the dickweed said.

Ben did.

With the grace of someone who played collegiate hockey at Stony Brook, Ben lifted up the cage of the suddenly cowardly Shocker, and began laying a beat down. Right fist, left fist, right fist, left fist. Loges' knees buckled, he collapsed as blood streamed down his cheeks. A few feet from the defeated Loges, his teammate was getting worked by Schram, who had also taken offense to the countless liberties the Shockers had taken all game over the years. Schram worked the body and took his dance partner down with a textbook wrap up and tackle. Hand, who was patrolling the rink, celebrated at center. We had just kicked their ass.

Do yourself a favor and take a trip down memory lane, here.



So, number 1 worthy? I think the only acceptable answer is fuck yes.

Also, we beat them in the playoffs last season. God I hate those guys.