News Flash: There are Hot Women in Ontario (I know, I was shocked too)
Saturday, March 04, 2006
London, ON
Music: Audioslave, “Heaven’s Dead”; Coldplay, “Talk”
Day two starts with a dry mouth and a mild headache. All in all, a pretty soft sentence for yesterday’s abuses. Smitty and I drive to the rink for our game, and we suit up for our first game against Ivey guys. Drew’s also on that team, and though we lose again (6-1), this is way more enjoyable and friendly. Our tally comes from a goalmouth scramble by Brass. I have my own opportunities, but I unsurprisingly fail to connect. That talent thing again. But no one can fault me for heart. I hop on with the ND boys for a jump back to the hotel and a bite to eat. After an unimpressive chicken tenders plate, but a surprise and quite welcome “oops!” moment from our waitress (Leala, pronounced “Lee-lah”), we eventually make our way back for the second game at the main rink, this time against the Ivey alum team that beat Drew’s squad yesterday, and which tied Harvard 3-3 earlier in the day. Quite obviously, they’re gunning for a second consecutive run at the cup, and the general feeling in the room is that they’ll come out swinging with all they’ve got to make up for the large goal differential that Harvard built at our expense. Ben, Drew’s team’s tender, agrees to play for us, which allows Caleb to play out for the first time. As expected, Ivey comes out firing, but something funny happens. Someone overhears them call us the “weak team” before the game, and just as though we collectively decided to show them what heart truly is in the absence of numbers, we also come out firing. DeHond and Karsten are stalwarts on defence, Ben’s standing on his head, and far from just cocooning to weather the storm, we also have our opportunities.
They land the first blow, a cheap fluke goal. But before the period’s out, in a sequence that will be replayed in my head numerous times again before the end of the weekend, we also manage to connect. I’m on defence, and we’re on the powerplay. I keep the puck in at the point by tossing it back to Caleb in the corner. I loop out of and then back into the zone, and Caleb has a clear lane to pass it to me for a one-timer from the high slot, a play that I’m not known for completing with any amount of success. But as though guided by instinct, I skate out to the puck, clench my teeth and lean into the shot as hard as I can—so much so that a last-minute hook by an opposing player has no effect. The stick shudders in my hands: I’ve made hard contact. I lift my head to see the shot go for the far post, hit the inside of it and loop around the inside of the net. 1-1, with 4 minutes to go in the first. We may tie this period which, by the way the tournament’s accounting procedures go, will mean that the Ivey team will not be able to overtake Harvard, no matter the final score.
The minutes tick away, then the seconds. They pull their goalie and throw everything at us, but we hold it down. We tie the period, effectively eliminating Ivey from the final. They are not pleased, and will make this plain for the rest of the game. We hear chatter on the ice about us “falling asleep against Harvard” and showing up unexpectedly for this game, and the chippiness index goes steadily up. Guys are taking runs at Karsten, hooking, slashing, holding and generally acting like idiots. The whole situation finally culminates in a hilarious invitation to “go” by one of their older (and bigger) guys of the last face-off. For the record, I will state that I did decline this invitation, though I’ll confess that I felt nothing but pity for this guy, that he should feel this is an appropriate way to conclude a friendly tourney.
We celebrate this minor victory with lukewarm Buds, and American beer never tasted better. From there, we head back to the hotel for showers, and head back to the rink for the final. Back at the rink, I am entertained by the lovely Kara, who turns out to be quite a find. Bassin’s instincts are right on again: former ATK consultant, now going to BCG with a head full of balanced knowledge and wisdom. Plus, she’s not bad to look at, on top of being a lively conversationalist. So there are interesting women in Ontario after all, not that D. didn’t prove that already. And lo and behold, another interesting woman joins us shortly, the lovely Coille (pronounced “Coyle”), who’s Dutch and quite breathtaking as well. Okay, she’s blonde and hot. As for the game, the ostensible reason for our presence at the rink, those damn Harvard boys won it handily, 4-0. Ivey was never really a threat, making the other Ivey team’s childish rage at us even more laughable.
In keeping with last year’s established “tradition”, we head out from the rink to hit Solid Gold, but it’s a little early to be expecting any real action (8:30). And sure enough, we get there and it’s completely barren, both of talent and customers. Only as we’re getting ready to leave does anything ressembling a crowd form, and DeHond makes a last-ditch attempt at salvaging the evening with a girl who looks as though she just got collagen lip injections. Meh.
From there, it’s off to Bassin’s to begin the real evening: Phoenix. Not much happening there either, though once again, the women of Ontario turn out to be surprisingly charming (and yes, by "charming" I mean "hot"). I meet the talkative Anna, and the, umm, manicured Kit. Later, after some interesting talk with Anna about relationships, we head out to hit the Frog just as I get an SMS from Rachel announcing her arrival at Phoenix. Oh well.
The Frog is creaking full of people. Once again, the lovely Natalie goves me a superlative hug, which I want to believe is motivated by something else than burgeoning enebriation. Who cares, though? After some carousing, I end up upstairs entertaining Kit, who is growing hotter by the moment, and just as I think this could turn into something, Rachel shows up with Jen. Damn. The rest of the evening is spent trying to push the envelope, but never really eliciting the desired reaction. We top off the evening with bad pizza and a hasty retreat to the Bassin pad.
Music: Audioslave, “Heaven’s Dead”; Coldplay, “Talk”
Day two starts with a dry mouth and a mild headache. All in all, a pretty soft sentence for yesterday’s abuses. Smitty and I drive to the rink for our game, and we suit up for our first game against Ivey guys. Drew’s also on that team, and though we lose again (6-1), this is way more enjoyable and friendly. Our tally comes from a goalmouth scramble by Brass. I have my own opportunities, but I unsurprisingly fail to connect. That talent thing again. But no one can fault me for heart. I hop on with the ND boys for a jump back to the hotel and a bite to eat. After an unimpressive chicken tenders plate, but a surprise and quite welcome “oops!” moment from our waitress (Leala, pronounced “Lee-lah”), we eventually make our way back for the second game at the main rink, this time against the Ivey alum team that beat Drew’s squad yesterday, and which tied Harvard 3-3 earlier in the day. Quite obviously, they’re gunning for a second consecutive run at the cup, and the general feeling in the room is that they’ll come out swinging with all they’ve got to make up for the large goal differential that Harvard built at our expense. Ben, Drew’s team’s tender, agrees to play for us, which allows Caleb to play out for the first time. As expected, Ivey comes out firing, but something funny happens. Someone overhears them call us the “weak team” before the game, and just as though we collectively decided to show them what heart truly is in the absence of numbers, we also come out firing. DeHond and Karsten are stalwarts on defence, Ben’s standing on his head, and far from just cocooning to weather the storm, we also have our opportunities.
They land the first blow, a cheap fluke goal. But before the period’s out, in a sequence that will be replayed in my head numerous times again before the end of the weekend, we also manage to connect. I’m on defence, and we’re on the powerplay. I keep the puck in at the point by tossing it back to Caleb in the corner. I loop out of and then back into the zone, and Caleb has a clear lane to pass it to me for a one-timer from the high slot, a play that I’m not known for completing with any amount of success. But as though guided by instinct, I skate out to the puck, clench my teeth and lean into the shot as hard as I can—so much so that a last-minute hook by an opposing player has no effect. The stick shudders in my hands: I’ve made hard contact. I lift my head to see the shot go for the far post, hit the inside of it and loop around the inside of the net. 1-1, with 4 minutes to go in the first. We may tie this period which, by the way the tournament’s accounting procedures go, will mean that the Ivey team will not be able to overtake Harvard, no matter the final score.
The minutes tick away, then the seconds. They pull their goalie and throw everything at us, but we hold it down. We tie the period, effectively eliminating Ivey from the final. They are not pleased, and will make this plain for the rest of the game. We hear chatter on the ice about us “falling asleep against Harvard” and showing up unexpectedly for this game, and the chippiness index goes steadily up. Guys are taking runs at Karsten, hooking, slashing, holding and generally acting like idiots. The whole situation finally culminates in a hilarious invitation to “go” by one of their older (and bigger) guys of the last face-off. For the record, I will state that I did decline this invitation, though I’ll confess that I felt nothing but pity for this guy, that he should feel this is an appropriate way to conclude a friendly tourney.
We celebrate this minor victory with lukewarm Buds, and American beer never tasted better. From there, we head back to the hotel for showers, and head back to the rink for the final. Back at the rink, I am entertained by the lovely Kara, who turns out to be quite a find. Bassin’s instincts are right on again: former ATK consultant, now going to BCG with a head full of balanced knowledge and wisdom. Plus, she’s not bad to look at, on top of being a lively conversationalist. So there are interesting women in Ontario after all, not that D. didn’t prove that already. And lo and behold, another interesting woman joins us shortly, the lovely Coille (pronounced “Coyle”), who’s Dutch and quite breathtaking as well. Okay, she’s blonde and hot. As for the game, the ostensible reason for our presence at the rink, those damn Harvard boys won it handily, 4-0. Ivey was never really a threat, making the other Ivey team’s childish rage at us even more laughable.
In keeping with last year’s established “tradition”, we head out from the rink to hit Solid Gold, but it’s a little early to be expecting any real action (8:30). And sure enough, we get there and it’s completely barren, both of talent and customers. Only as we’re getting ready to leave does anything ressembling a crowd form, and DeHond makes a last-ditch attempt at salvaging the evening with a girl who looks as though she just got collagen lip injections. Meh.
From there, it’s off to Bassin’s to begin the real evening: Phoenix. Not much happening there either, though once again, the women of Ontario turn out to be surprisingly charming (and yes, by "charming" I mean "hot"). I meet the talkative Anna, and the, umm, manicured Kit. Later, after some interesting talk with Anna about relationships, we head out to hit the Frog just as I get an SMS from Rachel announcing her arrival at Phoenix. Oh well.
The Frog is creaking full of people. Once again, the lovely Natalie goves me a superlative hug, which I want to believe is motivated by something else than burgeoning enebriation. Who cares, though? After some carousing, I end up upstairs entertaining Kit, who is growing hotter by the moment, and just as I think this could turn into something, Rachel shows up with Jen. Damn. The rest of the evening is spent trying to push the envelope, but never really eliciting the desired reaction. We top off the evening with bad pizza and a hasty retreat to the Bassin pad.
posted by Nic at 6:33 AM
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