Playing another top-flight team, the same team that handily defeated the opponents that crushed us 8-2, would be a true test of our meddle and how much we've improved.
Sadly, I decided to be an absolute moron the night before our game, jeopardizing whether I would even suit up at all.
My roommate and I decided to go to a new pizza/bar joint across the street from us to watch the Cleveland Cavaliers game. Our other roommate had just moved out a few days prior; she was a recovering alcoholic. So, in a show of solidarity, us two male roommates had nary a drop of alcohol in our own home to show support and avoid further tempting her. Now that she was out of the picture in a sense, it seemed like a good idea to catch up on lost time.
I began downing Sam Adams Summer Ale like Stephen Curry was three pointers in the fourth quarter. After the Cavs suffered what I suspect to be a backbreaking loss, we went back to our home to cap off the evening with a glass of wine Matti had bought. That was supposed to be it. After he went to sleep though, his bottle of wine got progressively emptier as the night went on. Yours truly may have played a small role in that.
Boy did I pay the price the following morning. My head was throbbing. I felt paralyzed but willed myself to the porcelain throne to empty the contents of my stomach. It was easily the worst hangover I ever had. Mixing beer and wine when you've barely touched alcohol for the better part of three years is a bad combo.
It wasn't likely I'd be seeing any ice. But I slammed as much water and V8 as possible and felt vaguely human again about three hours before the puck dropped. I opened up my laptop to tell the team who would be on which line and some general strategies. To my horror I came to find four of our better players all had last minute cancellations. One's son was running a 104 fever. Our stud goalie was the recipient of a dirty cheap shot in separate league game the night before. I certainly wasn't going to be 100%. We'd be fielding something of a skeleton crew against the league's top team.
After getting geared up and hitting the ice, my stomach felt like a washing machine on a perpetual spin cycle. I was praying I wouldn't puke. In a stroke of karmic justice to further punish me for my over imbibing, our opponents team name ... the Jagrbombs. Bleh.
The game itself was fun to watch and play in. My boss working across the street came over to take a peak and really enjoyed himself. He was surprised by the speed. Both teams were relatively fleet of foot, especially for a lowly E League game. There was decent end-to-end action. "Pretty sweet!' my boss exclaimed. 'A lot faster than I expected."
Unfortunately the results weren't as good as our speed. We lost 4-0. Their goalie stood tall and we made too many unforced turnovers. Our backup goalie was clearly experienced and played exceptionally well. More help clearing rebound would have done him a lot of good, but it wasn't meant to be.
I did pretty well personally. I was hurtin' for certain, as my drill sergeant would say. I pushed through the nausea and made some stuff happen, but not enough to change the scoreboard.
However, we played them better than the score would indicate. We've improved leaps and bounds. People are battling for pucks and not playing so passive. It was, believe or not, their closest game thus far. We pot one or two goals in the first two frames, could have been a whole new ballgame. Alas, the W eluded us on this night.
Two of our younger players lived within a stones throw of the ice rink and were nice enough to invite us to their swinging bachelor pad to have a few drinks -- which I respectfully declined -- and watch the Chicago Blackhawks bring home the Stanley Cup. Everyone who attended had a great time.
Not the morning or result I wanted, but it was a pretty good evening all and all.
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