The Ice Marshall....slack jawed....can't believe the scoreboard. Here's a little known secret...his chin pad is actually a sponge. Why? Drool buckets won't fit behind the mask.

This is what a real photographer looks like in action. Notice the slight grimace of concentration, the prominently displayed wedding ring and just a general countenance of detached joy. Rob and Marsha are in Costa Rica...and I'm not!!

The Killer Strawberries own Jesse the Leak. Mr Leak is a good guy and always does what his girlfriend tells him. Here's the money shot I promised.

Jeff Healey 1966 2008

Back in the mid 1980's I was heavily involved in Toronto's Queen Street blues scene. I had a group called The Alexander-Willms band. The rhythm section consisted of Joe Rockman on bass and Tom Steven on drums. One night we all gathered at The Birds Nest on Queen to set up for a gig only to be told that we were double booked and the other band had already set up. I was so pissed off, having driven in from Waterloo, that I said I need a break and sort of disbanded the group. Tom and Joe went to Grossmans Tavern later that night, met Jeff Healey and the Jeff Healey band was born. The rest, as they say, is rock and roll history. Jeff and I became good friends and I played on stage with him many times....so many stories could be told. Jeff died Sunday night of the cancer that dogged him his entire life and there is this big hole in my heart. The 45 pictured above is the first record he ever made...first pressing...signed by the band. Such genius only comes along every once in a while and he will be greatly missed!!!

Killer Strawberries legend Dr. Thug, with his best Hannibal Lecteresque, zero conscience, ice cold hit man stare, skillfully appraises his next on ice victim. This man truly belongs behind bars.

Strawberries 14 Titans 3 February 28 2008

I have seen the future of beer league hockey and it is humbly ensconced in the burbs and exotic waterfront abodes of North Bay's hockey elite. Yes sir, the mighty Killer Strawberries juggernaut dispatched the opposition with such swift and cruel precision that the visiting team actually killed and ate their own goalie.... 15 minutes into the second period. The bloodletting continued, unabated, throughout the entire phantasmagorical/brutally honest contest of will and skill.

To be completely fair, said " goalie " was an admitted xenophobe and never really stood a chance of fending off the constant stream of laser guided rubber bombs coming off of what must surely be neutron powered hockey sticks. So complete was the Strawberry drubbing that I wept for the shattered egos and the obviously indigenous paucity of talent these poor mokes dragged through the front door of the Pete Palangio arena.

I can't even pretend to give you a play by play of the brilliant contributions of this most august lineup of ice gods, as I was not paying that much attention, distracted as I was by the thankless task of photographing cloying, inarticulate children of all ages, trying to relive the glory years. What I can offer are some observations, hastily considered, about the few Strawberries that I actually know well enough to be honest with.
In spite of his propensity for painting people in their worst possible light, the Ice Marshal Walpole is a selfless contributor of goodwill and sage guidance to the betterment of team productivity. So much so that I'm sure I saw him on his back, between the pipes of the opposing teams goal, just to make sure the goalie was wearing legal equipment. Such sacrifice.

Gawd Awful Gumby Takes a lot of flack for his alleged lack of passion and skill on ice. What a load of thunderclap....all I saw last Thursday was Mercury on blades...... grinding it out on every shift, causing the other team to lose what little poise it had garnered after potting a few miserable, odious, fey handed one pointers. Little wonder the team called him Gawd...once!!

Vice Ice Marshal Greenfield's performance can be summed up with one word...perfunctory. Such overly ambitious ennui has to be seen to be believed. There is one thing I don't quite understand though...the final score was 14 to 3 for the Strawbs and yet the Vice claimed 16 assists. I guess he must have had a hand in two goals against his own net. Yikes!!!

The rest of the squad, gold platted amulets of taste and decorum that they were, performed just a bit above and beyond their abilities, ensuring a very comfortable afterlife for all concerned.

It should be mentioned that the one penalty on the night was not given to Butcher Brophy....is this a first?

All in all a stellar outing, of which, the Strawberries should be immensely proud. The only black mark on the evening has to be awarded to Mr Fkia for the very funny but politically incorrect Mennonite incest joke that he told apres game. Shame on me....shame on me!

In the above picture Jessie The Leak is showing some team members a piece of gum that somehow got stuck to his jock....ouch!

What the hell...here's yet another sunrise on Trout Lake....taken at 6:25 am this morning and baby was it cold...minus 26.