An Open Letter To The League Convenors

Dear HURL,

Let's assume it was an honest mistake that you had scheduled for us to play last night on a field that does not exist anymore - as it has been fenced off and excavated, looking more like a motocross track than a woman's field hockey pitch or speed skating oval or patch of usable public space. Yes, let's assume you had entered the wrong field code into the schedule, or misspelled "Wanderer's Grounds", or were distracted by the annual parade of dead-eyed Shinerama participants, or something similarly careless. Know, however, that you robbed us of our chance at redemption against the universally loathed Dirty Discs, aka the only team that baited our Captain into a shouting match, and embarrassed us in the hushed presence of Hammer Royalty, King Dr. Wiggy.

Know this, and feel shame.

But know also that your failure to function competently gave us our first second near-full-team practice of the season, and just before the playoffs at that. It was also our introduction to new ringer Marcie "H-Mac" Balch - who gives us renewed hope in our season-long quest to destroy the short, bearded and relentless Discs Of Fury - our arch nemeses. The immediate future looks bright for the Hammers - a spike in confidence the result of your idiocy.

I will forgive you this time, HURL, but know that behind my professional smile and courteous handshake lies a frothing ocean of suppressed anger and disappointment - a tempest that can only be quelled with ample amount of free alcohol, hand delivered in gaudy neon cooler bags this Saturday afternoon.

Know this also, and consider thyself forewarned. Ball is in your court, or more aptly, disc is in yr hands.

Sincerely,
AA

PS: Playoff field location is below:

Here's What You Missed

At some point during our surgical disembowelment of the undermanned and (frankly) outclassed Sloppy Joes squad last night, I turned to McKim and asked if we should be feeling guilty about the lopsided score, to which he replied "maybe a little". Some time later, maybe at Freeman's, I asked the same question to Derek, whose response was as far from McKim's as Crocodile Dundee is from being able to pay off his tax debts (confusing AND topical!) - "ab-so-lute-ly not".

It is 11 hours later, and I'm still not sure which side of the fence I sit on. While the final score was truly horrific (15-1), our play, albeit virtually untested, was a thing of beauty. Last night, team, we were an army of hammer-wielding swans - pounding the aptly-named Sloppy Joes into even finer ground hamburger, splattering bloody, spicy sauce all over our majestic white plumage, which we happily shucked clean over delicious beers and pizza, and also their gamey corpses (too much?). More specifically, save for a few early dropsies, we caught everything: Tim, Derek, Sarah, and Matt all made ridiculous catches. Derek's Pete Townsend-esque windmill grab to snag a long hammer from Tim for the score was particularly noteworthy, as was Sarah's highlight grab to score her first point of the season.

Accordingly, the Sloppy Joes - in an impressive bit of post-game spirit - awarded their Big Rock Grasshopper Wheat Ale Players Of The Game to Derek and Sarah. No argument here.

Beer Beer Beer! Bed Bed Bed!

Hey all - solid effort by everyone last night, despite the loss. Bolstered by the return of former Hammer superstar Chantelle Rapchuck (aka, "Heather MacDonald" if anyone asks) - the BoH fought back from an early deficit and defiantly delayed halftime for a good 20 minutes while our jittery opponents smoked nervously on the sidelines.

As Derek proclaimed during our time-out cheer - we are indeed getting better by the minute. For perspective, recall that the last two times we faced Discs Of Fury, we were spanked 13-1 (unofficially) and 12-1 (officially). Zone defense seems to agree with us; players are makings cuts with more confidence; handlers and handling; the disc seems to be hitting the ground less and less each game; and I continue to enthusiastically high-five everything in sight. Ahh, yes... I would hereby like to apologize for any activity unbecoming in my over-stimulated and adrenalized state last night: bossiness, excessive mumbling, clipped conversations, bum slapping, crazy eyes, etc. I believe I "shushed" McKim at one point, and I may have french-kissed some muscley-faced guy dressed in red. Then I made inappropriate jokes about 9/11 and groped myself on the car ride home. *blush*

Moving on - specific highlights include Sarah's huge run and catch on the goal line, Cruddick's mocking of their disc-flipping "traveling midget", and a few more of Matthew's now-expected physics-defying catches, with an added give-and-go off of Michelle's upper torso (illegal, but creative nonetheless). And I'mma go ahead and award the Armview Cupcake Martini Player of The Game award to Captain Tim for a few long sprints, good D, and because he'll never give himself player of the game. Huzzah.

Until next week Hammers…
-AA

Almost Famous

So, so close to a Hollywood ending - but as I prefer indie flicks anyway, I'd have totally paid $9.50 to watch us in a theatre last night.

When we were down 6-0 in a matter of minutes, I felt shame. But when we rallied to tie it late in the second half, I felt something else entirely. (Turned on? No, that's not it. Well, maybe I was a little bit turned on. "Proud" is probably the more accurate word, though.)

Falling a touch short score-wise was minimized by the overall bitchin'-ness of the night. Receiving two cooler bags of booze even before the game started was a great start. Even more encouraging was the fact we outscored and outplayed our athletic opponents after switching to the zone. (Note to self - play more zone defence.) And despite the scoresheet suggesting we lost, discovering the Armview as a post-game drinking venue for games taking us to the roundabout and beyond felt like a big ol' win. In my pants.

Propeller Hefewiezen Player of the Game goes to Heather for providing us the inspiration to dig a little deeper. Heather played through pain, knowing she was bowing out of the HURL scene effective immediately. Congrats on the new gig out west, Heather, and all our best. I've already proposed that HURL re-name Ravenscraig Field the HeatherDome in your honour. I'll let you know how that turns out.

Mad props to everyone for running hard on a hot night and contributing to the most fun game I've had this year.

I love you all.

Let the hate build...

We face Airwolf on Thursday - here's an abridged version of the series plot I can't keep to myself.

The series' protagonist is Stringfellow Hawke (Jan-Michael Vincent), a loner who lives in a cabin ... Hawke is a recluse, spending most of his time alone with his priceless collection of paintings which he inherited from his grandfather, and serenading eagles with his equally priceless Stradivarius cello. His only real friend and mentor is the older, eternally cheerful Dominic Santini (Ernest Borgnine) who raised Stringfellow and his brother Saint John (pronounced "sin-jin") after their parents died. ...

Earlier, Hawke was a test pilot for Airwolf, an advanced supersonic helicopter with stealth capabilities and a formidable arsenal. Airwolf was built by the FIRM, a division of the CIA ... When it is stolen by its twisted creator ... the FIRM's deputy director, whose code name is Archangel, asks Hawke to go to Libya and get it back. Archangel has a blind left eye and walks with a limp ...

Fearing that Hawke would refuse the mission ... the FIRM confiscates his art collection, leaving Gabrielle (Hawke's love-interest) behind to brief him for his mission. ... Hawke finds and recovers Airwolf, but Hawke chooses not to return it. Instead, Hawke and Santini hide Airwolf, booby trapped, in an extinct volcano Hawke calls "the Lair,"... Hawke refuses to return Airwolf until the FIRM can recover his brother, St. John, who has been missing in action since Vietnam. To get access to Airwolf, Archangel offers Hawke protection from other government agencies who will try to recover Airwolf in exchange for flying missions of national importance for the FIRM.

"Stringfellow" and "Sinjin"? A little precious for my liking. What a load of wankers we're facing. No mercy this week, kids. None.

Quest for Fryer

We finally saw Cowie Hill bathed in sunlight last night and we celebrated it with a ton of running and a good-spirited game (for the most part) against a more experienced team.

The 7-13 final was more impressive than it sounds, given the early hole we dug ourselves and our lack of strategy compared to that of our opponents. I mean that - the zone we played in the second half really slowed them down and people kept running hard all evening (in spite of an absence of female subs). Good show. Except for that wanker in the headband. He really needs to work on his tone.

Propellor Bitter Players of the Game to Lynn and Brian, the former for consistently calming the offense and taking charge of the cup on 'D' and the latter for either throwing or catching pretty much every point we scored last night. Especially pretty was the long-distance lob to a sprinting Aaron early in the second half - great touch on the throw and relentless pursuit on what turned out to be a helluva long run.

Post-game returned the crew to Freeman's where Chris's fried pepperoni stole the show. And that ain't a euphemism. Someone suggested that the only way to eat pepperoni is fried. I disagree. While Chris's meaty treat (!) was delicious (!!), especially when dipped in mustard (?!?), I have a hard time picturing a world in which it's wrong to eat raw pepperoni (make it stop!).

Anyone care to weigh in on fried vs. raw?

Smell It!

Like that? It's one of the game shows the small Freemans gathering came up with post-game. Would you watch a show called "Smell It?", involving blindfolded players forced to smell unknown objects? I would, especially if we could resurrect Chris Farley to host it.

The other winner was "Would You Touch It With Your Tongue?" Ditch the blindfolds and let people see what they're about to lick. Kind of "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth-Grader?" meets "Fear Factor".

"Stick Your Finger in It" was immediately panned around the table.

Not much to say about the game itself other than it was great to bring it to a close before the skies opened. Pity the players in later games getting caught in that deluge.

It was a rough start last night, aided in no small part by Moon Throw's tight triple-team. Their tenacious/illegal cup and our increasing lack of patience led to an 8-1 halftime deficit, an embarrassing tally to post in front of Becky's parents. Especially since Moon Throw only fielded six players the entire half.

Things improved in the second half as we went up against a man-to-man and played some zone ourselves. The cup was running hard and there was a lot of tenacity on the 'D'. We also showed spread the disc around and built some nice points. The three consecutive points to stave off their certain victory were encouraging signs for next week.

The Propellor Co-Players of the Game awards go to Alistair for impressing the hell out of me with his sentence structure (kudos, Derek & Jacqueline!) and to the giant Finn McCool on the other side, whose sky-high hucks and effortless defensive snags are the stuff of whispered legend in the Cape Breton Highlands. We'll get you next time, Finn McCool... next time.

Until then, "Smell It!"