As I may have mentioned occasionally, I play rec hockey.
You should know that by “rec” hockey, I don’t mean ice hockey, a standard men’s “beer league.” The players in my rec league have the beer part down just fine, but the skating, not so much. This is deck hockey – we’re all on foot, running around like idiots. Laugh if you must – we do – but it’s all in fun and exercise.
I am a goalkeeper by trade, but for a few years I’ve played defense for a lower division team, and we made our first division finals this season. Since several of them are fellow Islander fans, I hatched a plan. I took the standard playoff beard and modified it to amp up the team for our winner-take-all Game Three showdown:
Now, did it work? …
Nah, not so much. We were in the game until I wound up screening my goalie (and I really should know better), and then the wheels came off. Lost 6-1.
In hindsight I see several area of concern with my plan. Area the First: when I get my Gillies on, it’s not CLARK Gillies.
For one thing, I can’t grow the awesome ‘fro that Jethro was famous for. My guys wouldn’t care one way or another about that, but I don’t have Hall of Fame playing skill, either. The best I can manage is the Trevor Gillies. And that brings us to Area the Second: I can fu the manchu all I like, but it doesn’t look at all like this:
On an intensity scale of 1 to Trevor Gillies, I’m about a Doogie Howser. In fact, there’s a reason I’m a goalie – and not in the Battlin’ Billy Smith mode, either. This is more my speed:
Goalies are just weird, y’all.