Your Weekly HURL Match Was Post-Poned For This:

Hammers, last night the GRAMMY AWARD WINNING Arcade Fire played on the Dartmouth Waterfront and as one might expect, it was solid - spectacular even. They played everything you would have expected them to play, from the opening track of The Suburbs to Tunnels to Power Out to Lies to Keep The Car Running and Wake Up and Sprawl II. And more. There was much earnest "ohhhhhhh ohhhhh"-ing and dancing and clapping and people swaying and singing along to the chirping/droning string arrangements. Propulsive beats. Depressing lyrics. Noisy codas. Megaphones. Theremins. Flashing lights. Sparkly dresses. And Will Butler screaming, running and bouncing around the stage like an indie rock Flavour Flav. They was tight, and the crowd of thousands expressed their appreciation accordingly (but not too much - this is Halifax after all). And the venue, Alderney Landing, is perhaps the most perfectest place to watch a concert in HRM... unless you are short, as Terri and I are (fortunately we navigated our way stageward, past lanky Captain Tim fairly early on).

Now, reading the above you might think that Aaron left the concert happy and satisfied and exhausted, and you would be mostly right, but you would also be about... 3% incorrect. See, I had fairly lofty expectations for this show, which had been steadily building (my expectations, that is) since Pitchfork broke the band in the early aughties. Frankly, I wanted nothing short of a religious experience. I wanted shivers and goosebumps and tears and transcendence - and if any band is currently capable of providing such an experience, it is Arcade Fire. For all the times I have shamelessly screamed along to the wordless chorus of Wake Up, alone in my car; for all of the hyperbole heaped upon the band and their live show over the years; for all the Youtube performances I have watched in envy... it was as if my entire post-Napster life had been building to this one evening, and one could not help but be a little underwhelmed. I wanted CATHARSIS, and I wanted to experience this catharsis with hundreds of other like-minded, equally-stressed fanboys and fangirls. Perhaps we were standing too far away. Perhaps the crowd of unfunky white folks with weird body shapes and second hand eyeglasses and fitted plaids with pearly snaps (mine is navy blue) weren't up to the task. Maybe I was too self-aware. Maybe I was trying to force it. Maybe, just maybe, my expectations were too high.

IN CONCLUSION, on a scale of "barely competent" to "pants-shittingly awesome", Win & Co. were only able to provide a concert experience of "moderate incontinence-inducing excellence", which puts them somewhere between Truthfully-era Plaskett and Neil Young & Crazy Horse (i.e. the gold standard in pants-shitting awesomeness). Temper your expectations accordingly (it will be amazing on the U2 stage).

But really, it was great. Highlights: Lies, Rococco, and (durr) Wake Up ("Hold your/mistake up" - kills me every time)...

-AA

One Trick Pony

Ever wonder what happened to that douchebag you went to high school with? You know, the guy that wandered the halls, spiked hair and chest puffed out. Perhaps even donning that AAA hockey jacket (despite the fact that it was June and super hot in that stuffy old school). Because those jackets got you laid in high school (apparently). By super hot chicks. Well after last night's game, I can most definitely say he is not playing in the NHL and is still, in fact, a douchebag.

Last night was a night of introductions for the Hammers. First, the team welcomed newest member Erin. Erin made her presence immediately known by giving an unsuspecting lady on the other team a full on embrace. I mean most of us love a good surprise hug but this lady was a bit taken aback. No worries though, she walked away with a bit of a grin on her face which I am sure will be reflected in our spirit points. Thanks Erin - I can see you are already very much a team player!

Second, and perhaps most importantly, the team saw the introduction of Flappy Running Shorts. Just in case you forgot (as if) what it looked like when Flappy made his appearance (their appearance?) please click here http://www.break.com/index/who-wears-short-shorts.html Now Flappy played a very important role last night. Clearly there was the distraction element – I mean how could we really have expected that blond ‘roid monkey to learn the actual rules of the game and do something other than huck it deep when all he saw as he looked to the field for a play, was Flappy. And legs. Lots and lots of legs. But in addition to the distraction, Flappy provided the Hammers with a whole new pre-game cheer. And the benefits of the pre-game cheer are really immeasurable. So essentially, player of the game must go to Flappy. We hope you return dear friend.

Incidentally, this blog writer/wanna be sports journalist had a chance to speak with Flappy about his work last night and he said:

"So Numbnuts decides to wear me during ultimate (even though I'm specifically advertised as running shorts) on the windiest day of the summer. People are making fun of me as soon as we reach the field and I'm thinking 'Holy Christ, could this get any worse?!?' I hold out hope that Tim has a great game, thinking this could minimize attention coming my way. Fat fucking chance. Cocklips drops everything coming his way, throws ill-advised pass after ill-advised pass and makes both of us look like shit. I tell you... if I weren't an inanimate piece of nylon, I'd bail on that idiot faster than he bails on good judgment."

I don’t know about the rest of the team, but I sure hope Flappy gets over these feelings of animosity because even if there were some dropsies and errant throws (which I don’t recall but see above reference to the benefits of distraction), Flappy and Cocklips were a highlight for all.

Finally, and not to be forgotten amidst the other important introductions, the Hammers introduced the art of cupping last night. I mean most of us have cupped before – here and there at least. But last night our ever present and all encompassing Zone D, saw almost every member really master the cup. And with a strong cup, you are bound to have a rocking good night, and a rocking good night we had. Highlights for me were huge grabs in the end-zone (where we learned to clear out from thanks to Marcie and her soothing words of wisdom) and great hucks by our kickass handlers. Oh and I think Jason is up for “Mid Mid” of the year. True story. Get your votes in soon.

That is all for now homies. Peace.

For Whom The Bell Tolls

As the eerie mists drifted across the harbour, to the faint swirling echoes of Coheed and Cambria, small groups of spandex- and cleat-clad individuals huddled in shivering masses in Halifax's north end. "Game on... really?", they muttered, pelted with rain and wind and wet grass and errant Frisbees from slippery hands, "… really?"

Really.

And so the Hammers steeled themselves for adversity - see: the rain, the wind, the wet grass, the slippery hands... and the hoarse horse-legged Monkey captain and his band of young runners. Let's call them McLovin' & The Monkeys. McLovin' & The Monkeys showed up with one female, successfully took advantage of our lax and sympathetic nature, and negotiated a temporary 5/1 line-up instead of, y'know, a forfeit. Two quick Monkey-points later, and the Hammers were maybe regretting that concession a little bit. But the Hammers - steeled, as I mentioned earlier, and led by Marcie and Tim's ample handling hands and Cruddick's crazy cuts - roared back and handed McLovin' & The Monkeys a trophy loss to hang on their dorm walls, next to their Tarantino posters and recent high school diplomas. It was, I daresay (and did say probably 5 times last night), an immensely satisfying dismemberment of a short-roster team. Yay!

Last night's game was very reminiscent of our match last year against the Dirty Discs (see http://bag-of-hammers.blogspot.com/2010/07/dirty-discs-won-dirt-cheap.html), save for the result. Both were matches against young, brash, athletic opponents; both featured "confrontations" between captains; annnnd both got kind of rough. I, for one, am embarrassed at how frustrated I became over the course of last night's game - having been subject to McLovin's lanky arms and knobbly knees seemingly every point. To both teams - I apologize for my spirit-less retribution foul(s).

Michael's "Becky's Berries" Player of the Game goes to Marcie, for those looong minutes of solid handling, with honourable Michael's Bud Light mentions going to Lynn for her great shoestring catch, and Becky, for providing the Schneider's Juicy Jumbos umbrella to keep our shit dry. And for having a great game.

Until next week, this blog has been brought to you by Michael's, Schneider's and Buuud Light. Shtay thirsty, my friends.

-AA

Violation!

Well folkz, the Hammers (Bag of) have come back down to earth. After starting the season with an inspired 3-0 run, we have dropped the last two like so many of my panicked pizza cutter flicks. Despite the narrow margins - 2 points and 4 points - this sudden about-face brings to mind the rapid ascent and equally rapid descent of the Toronto Maple Leafs and their Canadian sports media cock tease of a start to the 2010-11 NHL season. Recall that they sat atop the Eastern Conference after a quick and meaningless start before remembering that they were the Toronto Maple Leafs and began acting appropriately (i.e. losing). I am always loathe to draw parallels between my life and that of the Leafs (but quick to jump at every opportunity to mock the Leafs and their aggressively-optimistic-despite-all-logic fans**) so I hope this depressing smugly-satisfying anecdote does not turn out apt. Hammers - may we bounce back like the 2008-09 Penguins.

** Sincere apologies to all Leaf fans on the Hammers. If you'd like some ammunition for retaliation, know that (a) my Habs are equally dysfunctional and over-rated, albeit marginally more successful of late, and (b) I have the bulk of the Coldplay and Counting Crows discographies on my iPod. Use at your own discretion.

Right. The game.

Some days our laid back and unconfrontational (real word?) nature proves to be a detriment (see: here as well). While not solely to blame for our loss last night, it maaaay have been a contributor. For example, witness the first point the Querks tallied, which probably could have been called back on account of a travel (one of many), a pick (maybe?), or an out-of-bounds (as viewed from the sidelines). Now maybe I don't "know the rules" or am a "sore loser" or am "struggling to find an angle", but I suspect that, collectively, we would rather lose with relative dignity than engage in a long-winded and ultimately fruitless argument with some sweaty, mouthy, anal dude in a head-band. Which I am okay with. What am I trying to say here…? Jesus, I don't know. As you were.

But enough whining, let's make with some positives. Last night saw the Hammers employ sound defensive strategy with a zone D into the wind, which might have been our undoing, but was certainly the right idea. We also had more stacks on offense than ever before, and a pretty good run of handling against their zone D (which they totally copied from us). We had a few excellent sequences of short quick passes up the field (Becky -> Aimee -> Marcy -> Dan, I think), and some truly selfless play from both Matt and Derek, who sacrificed both face and several layers of forearm skin to ensure the game remained within reach. The Freeman's Bottled Heineken Player Of the Game, though, goes to Dan for not only being in attendance and providing me with spare cleats after my $30 Canadian Tire jobs disintegrated, but also for the fantastic, inadvertently-dirty pre-huck advice of "go in slow and out fast!"

Huzzah!

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to both Marcy and Maria for repeatedly getting your names mixed up (know that I do in fact know who's who), and also to Disc Array whom I greeted at Freeman's last night as Random Fling. But I blame Michelle and Matt for that one.

Until next week,
AA

PS: also to consider/discuss:
- should we reschedule the July 28th game on account of vacations and Arcade Fire concert attendance?
- July team BBQ/dance party anyone?
- Are Hall & Oats truly deserving of their Number One Pop Artist (1980-83) designation, per Casey Casem?

Belated Wrap Up

"What’s your angle?" Aaron queried immediately after I accepted his challenge to compose the now thoroughly outdated blog posting about the Hammer’s inaugural defeat on Thursday. My answer, though unspoken at the time, remains unchanged over a long weekend of periodic pondering; I don’t know.

The outcome notwithstanding, there was much to like about the contest, which saw our somewhat understaffed squad pitted against our evenly matched, and better staffed rival, Random Fling. By way of observation, I found them to be far less anal and stodgy on the rules whilst playing with the lead, and as a result, more pleasurable to play against. Indeed, it was difficult not to be inspired by the tireless french braid chick, who continued her relentless running despite playing a double header, and her relentless smiling, undaunted by the accumulation of spattered insects on her teeth and gums.

As was true in our first game against this team, they leapt to an early lead. Owing in part to some key (though far from blameworthy) absences on our team, we were somewhat delayed in staging our comeback. The foundation was laid in the half time huddle, when our slender Lombardi brought forth the well-received suggestion of a zone defense. Ignoring the first half score as an irrelevant number associated with a valuable learning experience, the score in the second half, on the strength of a well-executed* zone, was 5-2 in our favour.

Whether it is my call or not, I award player of the game honours to Marcie, whose insights into the proper role of the mid-wing positions helped me to finally find a niche in the zone where I can genuinely contribute after ten years of relative futility. The Quercizans had best be crisp with their swing passes this week my friends, as I have ten years of incompetence for which to atone. That said, given their meager spirit scores, methinks that they are unlikely to approach foul calls with the same reluctance as Random Fling, so I could once again be setting myself up for failure.

I was reminded of my bride’s inquiry after our first game this year, when she asked "Who’s your Ivan?" She wondered who on our team was capable of standing out at any given moment as the best player on the field, capable of going several games without a drop or a failed throw, and of becoming a blur in pursuit of a floating disk on defense. "Me." I offered feebly, though I felt no shame at joining her in laughing at the notion seconds thereafter.

Not to suggest for a moment that we are better off without that kind of player, but frankly, I think we are better off than the historical Hammer squads that have relied on that type of player. Where some teams rely on Ivanesque peaks to overshadow the valleys of far less able players, I see our team as a relatively flat plateau of ability. I think we showed on Thursday that every one of us can throw well, catch well, and play solid defense. There are no holes in this lineup*. In short, I could scarcely be happier with the team that Aaron has assembled.

That said, in the absence of an Ivan, conditions are occasionally ripe for the proverbial arse to fall right out of the proverbial her, as occurred during the final seventeen minutes of Thursday’s game, which saw the two teams cover every inch of the field, struggling against fatigue and sweaty hands to end what I hope will be the longest point of the season, as two spent swimmers who choke their art. Though we were down by a single point, by the end of that marathon, it hardly mattered to any Hammer on the field whether the game ended in a tie or a loss: they just wanted someone to score. One wonders whether either side would have had it in them to play another point had we tied the game. Unfortunately, we will never know.

Post game honours go to Aimee for her stand against the grievous injustice of charging $7.99 for sweet potato fries, to Becky for ordering a white wine and asking the server to "make it a double", to Maria for integrating us into her incredibly busy social calendar, and for generously nachoing our end of the table, to Chris for leaving his musky scent on so many of the aforementioned nachos, to Tim for making cider, a spinach salad, and the announcement "I gotta pee" look so damned masculine, to Matt, for maintaining a staunch defense of his childhood affection for professional wrestling, rivaled only by the savagery of his defense on the field, to Aaron, for the mysterious, quiet brooding that has induced so many of our opponents to refer to him as "the sexy one", and finally, to Lynn, for losing interest in her freshly ordered second beer at precisely the moment at which I found myself in need of one last sip.

Good work all around Hammers. As always, I can’t wait for Thursday.
　
　
*It would be appropriate to credit the Hammers with a 5-1 score, and me with an 0-1 defeat in opening the half with what could well be the most abysmal attempt at playing the deep cover position in the storied history of the 3-3-1 zone.