“Don’t bust your face!,” my mom would warn me at least 88 times a week.
Bill soon joined in the fun. He played, hard. Ten days before our wedding, he did this to his arm during a game:
|Nothing says "We just got married" like a broken |
arm and a metal goat head.
I blame it all on this guy:
Anyway, it turns out that the Iceholes is filled with fun people. We now play pretty much year-round, go camping, to Flyers games and other shenanigans with these peeps. Fourteen instant friends. Sweet.
In 10 or so seasons, the ‘Holes hasn’t made it out of the first round of the playoffs. Even when we manage to have a winning record we get the boot right away.
Last night was the first round of the playoffs. It was 28 degrees. It was windy. It was snowing. We only had two girls last night, meaning the two of us had to play the entire game. Good exercise, but within 10 minutes my lungs felt like they were bleeding because of the cold air and the sprinting. Ouch.
The I tried to dive for a ball (not a good idea when you don’t actually know how to play hockey) and managed to rip open the booboos on my knee from the bike spill I took a few days ago. More ouch.
We scored first, the other team answered almost right away. But, then, we (and by “we” I mean “other people on the team” because I had nothing to do with them) got three unanswered goals. Iceholes win. Miracle on cement!
Round two is Thursday night. Iceholes, I love you, but I have zero expectations of winning again. If we make it out of the night with no major injuries, I’ll mark it down as a win.
|We are ragtag!|