Eat, drink and be merry! Oh, and watch some hockey.

So, how was everyone’s Christmas? Full of festive fun, yet barren and hockey-less? Mine was. It seemed for a while like I wouldn’t make it to this side of the silly season, but I got through, with the help of what I think equalled about two wheelbarrows full of chocolate and cheese, and clinging for dear life to anything vaguely hockey-related to try and keep myself sane. For example, just prior to Christmas they showed a decent fight from the NHL on Sky Sports News, Bruins against Thrashers, I think. So rare is their coverage of hockey of any kind, usually isolated to a few ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ results scrolling across the bottom of the screen, that I actually moved from the sofa onto the floor, to get a better view, and when the clip came on I started salivating and clapping like a seal. I even watched the repeat of it and wondered where the evil laughter was coming from, until I realised it was me. On Boxing Day morning I sat through a rare gem of a film entitled ‘Jack Frost’, despite it being desperate dross, just because the kid played hockey. Might I point out that this was a picture whose key plot device is a boy’s dead father being reincarnated as a snowman. A freaking snowman. I wish I was joking.

But after a painful Christmas-punctured hiatus of a whole 20 days, I finally got my hockey back (cue choir of angels sound effect). In the first of five matches to be played over the holiday season, in the space of seven days (can you imagine the reaction if footballers were asked to do that – Alex Ferguson would choke on his own pompous disbelief), we were taking on one of the in-form sides in the league, Hull Stingrays. I deemed myself to be a Very Important Person for the day (ie someone who had an extra £2.50 to spend in return for the opportunity to keep warm and paw hockey players at will – they really didn’t think the pricing structure through when any old psycho can get close enough to lick them. I must say I did have nightmarish visions of me, prostrate on the ground, curled around Mike Prpich's leg murmuring incoherently about facial hair whilst being dragged towards the exit – thankfully on the night I just stood in the corner drinking cider and swaying. Still, you never know. There's always next week).

Hull’s team bus suffered a puncture on the way to Whitley Bay so they arrived late, which threw me momentarily into confusion and regrettably allowed an extra half an hour of enjoying the VIP bar’s special brand of Christmas cheer (=Bulmer’s cider) prior to the match, but on the plus side, it did appear to have deflated the ‘Rays confidence somewhat, as they started the match sluggishly. (Do you see what I did there? Flat tyre? Deflated? Stay with me, I have every confidence the jokes will remain of a similarly sub-par quality. They may even get worse. I have had nothing but crackers for inspiration for the last week). Vipers took advantage of their unsettled opponents and scored three goals in the first period, the best of which was a well-taken individual effort from Whitley Warriors captain Adam Reynolds. We were always in the lead but by the first period break Hull had us pegged back to 3-2. The theme of losing the lead continued in the second period and we went into the period break with the score tied at a mouth-watering 4-4. However we reverted to type in the third, quickly going two down as arguably one of the league’s top forwards, Jereme Tendler, struck twice in a few minutes to seal his hat-trick, and to put the game to bed.

*BREATHE* I am totally getting there with the summaries and junk, right? Apologies for the lack of detail, but I was feeling a bit, well, festive, and some of the finer points of the match escaped my attention. I can tell you that a Hull player of unknown origin (postscript following footage review: it was Esders) was checked all the way to Rake Lane Hospital by John Schwarz, who seemed to be a bit of a moving target throughout the game, as he obviously had been in last week’s match against Sheffield also. He attracts the attention of some of the more aggressive guys on other teams, despite the fact that on the face of it, he doesn’t appear to be antagonising anyone. Unless he’s whispering ‘yo momma’ jokes in their ears. Just an occupational hazard I guess, when you’re the biggest/strongest guy in a team. He doesn't need to fight, anyway. He’s well 'ard, innit. I wouldn’t mess.

John Schwarz: 'Yo momma so fat, she on both sides of the family!'

Hair Loss Weekly: news update! I've had to expand my 'Mike Prpich Beard Watch' as there’s been a severe spate of hair loss that seems to have afflicted a number of Vipers over the Christmas period. Most notable in joining Prpich’s beard on the march for freedom was Patrik Forsbacka’s inimitable mullet, but also joining the Hair Exodus was Charlie Effinger’s beard. Unconfirmed rumours suggest that Danny Stewart may be tempting the various hair features to a secret location in order to construct a convincing toupe, as his ears are getting a bit cold in this arctic British winter (it’s basically tropical in Canada at this time of year by comparison), but to be honest the real truth can only be that the other players became jealous over the amount of attention I was paying to Mike Prpich and resorted to drastic moulting in a desperate bid to be name-checked on the Hockey Novice blog. I’m flattered guys, really. And you’ve got your wish – this time. I must say though, Prpich seems to be dealing best with his follically-challenged status (it must have been an amicable split), as he was the stand-out player on the night, for me. He seemed to be everywhere, always involved in the action, ditto Man of the Match Kyle Sibley and Skipper Danny - so good on them!

Hey, Hull dude! Mike Prpich is chasing you! Did you steal his beard, perchance?

So it’s my last post of 2010 and the New Year is upon us – out with the old and in with the new and all that, and it was nice to see Vipers starting early with the return fixture at Hull on Wednesday, when it was out with third period collapses, and in with away wins – our first of the season!! Good news as we have two more tough games on the road coming up in the next few days, before Whitley Bay sees the return of the Nottingham Panthers on Monday, which promises to be a feisty encounter. Let’s hope it’s out with no money and in with new owners very soon so we can enjoy the New Year in the knowledge that our club will be around for the rest of the season.

Phew. Thank goodness I scraped together enough material to fill a blog post there, and didn’t have to accurately recollect anything that actually happened in the game. Right. To quote a wrinkly and sweary TV chef, 2010 – done. It’s been a pleasure folks and I bid you farewell until, well, probably about this time next week, but it will be a whole new year so it feels somehow significant. Thanks for your support thus far, Happy New Year to one and all, and I’ll see you in the bar on Monday. I’ll be much more coherent this time. Or possibly not.

STOP PRESS: Since this post was originally penned, on Thursday 30th, Vipers continued with their storming run on the road, beating Belfast Giants in the Northern Irish capital. I will not elaborate on it as I wasn't there but I felt it necessary to acknowledge what an awesome achievement it was and congratulate the team on their success in the face of adversity. I'm a very proud Vipers fan indeed today and I dearly hope that someone, somewhere sits up and takes notice of the amazing spirit being shown by this group of individuals, despite the continued uncertainty surrounding the club. The New Year really deserves to be a good one, for all of them. And my New Year's resolution will be to win the lottery so I can rescue them from financial peril. Not that hard, right? Easier than going on a diet, I'm certain. Well done lads!

A Very Vipers Christmas

Forgive me Vipers, for I have sinned. It’s been 15 days since my last attendance and I have been unfaithful. I watched some football on the TV and cheered on my ‘other’ team (we won!). I went to another city to see some live music instead of going to Whitley Bay. I remembered why watching prog rock bands live is so much fun. And that gigs are warmer than ice hockey matches. I did my Christmas shopping. I spent time with my family and had in-depth discussions about decorating, and winter recipes. I basically came to remember what life was like before I met you. But don’t worry, I have more than made up for my indiscretions with the amount of time I have spent thinking about you, missing you and worrying for you. I watched the film ‘Slapshot’ in order to keep up my Iearning and actually picked up some pointers. And I am counting down the days until I see you again in true Advent style (except that on Christmas Eve there will still be 3 days to go. And there’s been no chocolate involved. Sadly. I would have enjoyed nibbling the legs off a chocolate John Schwarz. Maybe next year).

Mike Prpich Beard Watch: I have heard on the grapevine that it has secured its own visa and is now staying in an apartment over-looking the Tyne. I’m disappointed as I was hoping to sit on Mike’s knee and tell him what I wanted for Christmas but without that key ingredient, it just wouldn’t be the same.

In terms of what the Vipers want for Christmas, it’s very simple. And inspired by commentator and hockey enthusiast David Simms, the hockey community came out in force to give them lots of little Christmas presents, stocking-fillers if you will, in the form of tickets for last Saturday’s match against the Sheffield Steelers. Tickets for the game were bought from all over the country, by people with no intention of going to the game, but just doing their bit to support a club in its time of need. It was touching and hugely appreciated by everyone associated with the club, and meant that we could live to fight another day. Now we need the big one… the present under the tree that means we will be able to live to fight into 2011 and beyond. We’re still suspended in ‘watch this space’ mode at the moment, and I know I’m not alone in clicking on the Vipers website every morning hoping for some Christmas cheer. I have everything crossed. Everything, I tell you!

Impractical as his outfit may be for hockey refereeing, Santa loves a bit of it once his Christmas Day duties are complete.

I feel the need to share with you the slightly alarming realisation I came to the other day: I have recently surpassed the word count of my undergraduate dissertation – previously the longest thing I have ever written – writing about hockey. By about 4,000 words now, actually. Why wasn’t writing about Spanish Civil War poetry this easy? Is there some kind of qualification I can have please? To be honest I’m not sure if I should be rewarded or sectioned, having just spent the last twenty minutes trying to write a Vipers version of the Twelve Days of Christmas song summing up my highlights of the season so far, and coming up with the following. I’m not writing out the whole thing, so this will have to do you. Sing along now, my pretties:

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my Vipers gave to me:
One game-worn jersey,
A Danny Stewart slapshot
Ninja Rzeszutko
Sammy Zajac scrapping
Dale Mahovsky’s front teeth
Chewey Forsbacka
A Hartmanis hat-trick
PRPICH’S BEARD!
Great saves from Charlie
That Blaze win
Super Danny’s Dozen and…
11 goals against Dundee

Right, I’m keeping this short. As predicted, my hockey-related drivel has basically descended into foaming at the mouth, such are my withdrawal symptoms and the subsequent mental trauma. All will be remedied on Monday. That’s just 5 days away. There’s just the small matter of Christmas standing between me and a reunion with my Vipers. It’s but a mere trifle. (And roast potatoes, and Christmas pudding, and cheese and crackers…). A very Vipers Christmas to you all, and I look forward to seeing each and every one of you, all a little plumper I imagine, for our match against Hull Stingrays next week. Bring it on!

They tried to make me go to rehab...

When it dawned on me after the Dundee match that I would not be witnessing another live hockey match until after Christmas, I can’t deny that the panic started to set in. Exactly 20 days without hockey. Short of filling the intervening days with a series of bizarre and increasingly unhinged blog posts, I wasn’t sure quite how I would cope with the lack of hockey in my life. It was then I realised, what I think I had known already for a while but had been too afraid to admit to myself. But I’m ready to admit it to you now, in the hope that you can help me through what is inevitably going to be a difficult time in my life. Here goes.

My name is Katy, and I’m a hockey addict.

I’ve been watching hockey for just over two months, now. It started out small. Just one match, here and there, just a click or two on the Vipers website. A little dabbling in the NHL. A quick skim of the rules on the internet.

But then it got worse. I started thinking about hockey all the time. Even when I wasn’t at hockey, I wished I was. I met other people who liked hockey and that didn’t help, they just made me want more hockey. I watched hockey videos on the internet, at all hours of the day. I even watched hockey highlights first thing in the morning. When I couldn’t get hold of any hockey, I became nervous, unresponsive and difficult to be around. My motivation for anything other than hockey disappeared. I found myself unable to hold a sensible conversation that didn’t revolve around hockey. Mood swings? Check. I would go from being on the crest of a wave to anger and despair at the drop of a hat (or a puck). And my behaviour when deprived of my regular fix became increasingly unpredictable.

Take this Saturday just gone as an example. I was in exile, marooned in the south-east of England, hundreds of miles away from my beloved Vipers and about to miss the home match against Braehead Clan. With an aging laptop my only connection to the action, I felt fragile and out of place. I donned my ‘lucky’ jersey in the hope that, despite my absence, the good fortune which had been associated with it up to that point would continue.

And so I prepared to attempt to appease my craving with a less-than-potent combination of the EIHL live scores page, and the Vipers Hockey Facebook page, hoping that a commentary feed would be forthcoming. But like sticking an Elastoplast on an arterial bleed, it wasn’t really a suitable substitute. The withdrawal symptoms were kicking in. I DIDN’T have the shakes (because I was in a warm house rather than freezing my butt off at Whitley Bay Ice Rink). It felt all wrong. I was jittery. Just knowing that there was hockey going on, albeit 300-odd miles away, was satisfying my pining heart ever so slightly, but following a game through a live scores page... I can’t adequately describe how immensely frustrating it can be. Perhaps you’ve tried it before, perhaps not. In a way, it would be much healthier to just stay away from the laptop until well after the game is over and hence, there can be no doubt about the result. Ignorance is bliss and all that. There’s just something irrational and narcissistic about following the game live, as if little old you maybe, just maybe, might make a difference, if you want it hard enough. If you’ve not experienced the joys, it goes a little something like this:

Load page. Game has been going 2 minutes already. I can’t believe I let this happen. What if – oh poo. We’re losing already. That’s because I hadn’t loaded the page up yet. Inevitable feeling of guilt tinged with failure. I am a bad human being.

It’s funny how as sports fans, distance from the object of our affections is inversely proportional to the number of crazy superstitions we suddenly find solace in. The irony being that when we are in the position to offer the least support to our club (ie NOT in a live setting), we adopt the most bizarre paranoid behaviours in the deluded belief we might actually be helping in some way. Observe:

Click. We were two goals down. Nooooo! (I found this out on the Facebook page. Therefore this was deemed to be bad luck).

Let’s try the Elite League page instead. Click. We had pulled one back. YESSSS!! (This therefore instantly became good luck).

I know I’m not alone in holding these ridiculous superstitions, but perhaps I’m the first one ever to actually admit it in written form. Someone should probably put me in an over-sized petri dish and study me. I wondered if perhaps my lucky jersey was only lucky when it was physically AT Whitley Bay ice rink, with me in it. So I considered taking it off. I even briefly considered taking one arm out. Or wearing it back to front. But then decided I couldn’t make that kind of possibly game-altering decision without some other sign. The third period began.

Click. 2-2. The jersey stayed on.

Refresh. Watching through one eye, half-closed. No change! And as has become painfully clear, no news is good news as far as the Vipers are concerned. Oh wait... The timer hasn’t actually moved on since I last checked. The damn thing’s stuck.

Click. Oh here we go, the timer’s moved... We’ve conceded two more goals. Swearwords.

Two minutes later. Click. Braehead 30 – 12 Vipers?! Jesus H! What kind of monumental – oh wait, that’s just the shots on goal. It’s still only 4-2. Thank the lord.

Cuddles. Because hockey players need love too. And because, well, it's just nice, okay? Leave me alone!

We’ve not yet won a match when I’ve been following on live scores. So I’m pretending not to watch. Trying to fool it. Using the score card I try and recreate the action in my mind, to get a feel for the game, the penalties for example – number, offence, culprit (not many – everyone must be behaving themselves). And the shots on; they had a lot more than us, does that mean we’re backs-to-the-wall again? Charlie playing another blinder? I even had a little knuckle-chew to try and recreate those game-night nerves. I found myself idly wondering whether Mike Prpich’s beard had put in an appearance. I worried for a bit that my level of interest in the aforementioned face fuzz might have reached the point of obsession. I’m sure people have had harassment suits taken out against them for less. If only he’d just let me near enough with my ruler to make an accurate measurement... Restraining order for one, please!

And so I am forced to reflect on my dirty little habit, and all its fanciful nuances. I imagine the questions I might be asked, if I went for help. Do I want to quit hockey? Nope. Maybe cut down, just a little? Not really, thank you. I just need to learn to live with my addiction. And to learn that others around me are capable of enjoying the finer things in life in moderation, even if I am not. And to find humour in the fact that I am going cold turkey, at Christmas. So who out there can help me in my time of need? And by help, what I probably mean is, indulge me, or at least make me feel like I’m not alone. Because yes, I am a hockey addict; but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

In a galaxy far, far away…

A Tuesday night in December. Two degrees below zero. The nation, a frozen wasteland, still gripped by the stranglehold of arctic weather conditions, struggles to go about its daily business. Ravaged roads impassable, traffic at a standstill, yet still a band of dedicated individuals makes the pilgrimage to witness another instalment in the battle on ice. Filled with childlike hope they brave the elements to gather in the icy cold arena and play their part in resisting the marauding forces from north of the border.

My fingers have been literally itching to pour forth my thoughts on Tuesday night’s match against Dundee but I have been trying my best to rein them in. ‘Let the dust settle, Katy,’ I told myself. ‘No need to rush headlong into every match report as if what happened will no longer be true if you don’t write about it within 24 hours.’ It’s just that this time, I can’t actually believe it’s true in the first place.

Let’s try typing out the first few words and just see how they sound.

The Vipers were taking on Dundee Stars in a Challenge Cup Game. Hopes were high following our close call with them up in Dundee on Saturday. The game began. We went three goals up in the first minute and a half.

Haha, that’s a good one.

No, really.

Noooo.

Yes.

And it didn’t end there. Just like the first time I ever went to a hockey match, I was once again happy and confused. Only this time it wasn’t because I didn’t have a clue what was happening. The goals were going in so fast there was barely time to figure out who had scored before the next one was slotted away. Many a conspiracy theory was concocted as to how we could possibly be doing so well. It was posited that the size of the goal mouth had been covertly increased, or perhaps that a team of ringers had been put in to play whilst our team were put into cryogenic stasis to repair their battered and broken bodies. Or perhaps we had just crossed over into a parallel universe where our team scores for fun, and we went merrily barrelling towards a cricket score of a result.

More likely, a combination of it being a meaningless match for Dundee, due to their inability to progress in the Cup, and their subsequent decision to field some of their weaker players, along with the Vipers coming out all guns blazing – literally as if they hadn’t stopped moving since Sunday night’s victory – might more accurately explain our good fortune. That’s not to take anything away from the guys. Dundee still had their pride to play for; second string or not, these are still Elite League hockey players. Putting in their back-up net-minder may have seemed as though they were gift-wrapping the game for us, as we scythed open hole after hole in the hapless goalie’s defences, but there were still five other opposing players out there on the ice, and they weren’t just laying down.

And so the first period ended, and we were 7-1 up. Disbelief mingled with euphoria was the over-riding feeling; it was bit like being given some cake, AND being allowed to eat it (and as we all well know, those two things are mutually exclusive). I overheard one fan complain to another during the first period break, ‘it’s a bit one-sided, isn’t it?’ and I found myself smiling wryly at the irony. What we wouldn’t have given for it to be a bit one-sided just a few short weeks ago. The game continued to go our way in the second and third periods, albeit not in quite such a frantic manner, and we cruised to an 11-4 victory. Of course it lacked the drama of some of our previous encounters, but a big fat win is a big fat win, and not to be sniffed at.

This is a scoreboard. It tells no lies. (Photo courtesy of Dave Wright)

Struggling as we have been to produce enough in front of goal, tonight the Vipers forwards were unstoppable. It was hard to pick out a top performer, with Toms Hartmanis scoring a hat-trick, Prpich, Mahovsky and Rzeszutko all on a brace, and a pair of Jamies – Carroll and Tinsley – completing the score-card. Home debutante, Whitley Warriors captain Adam Reynolds, proved himself to be a canny signing, skating well, putting himself about a bit and getting stuck into the action. A promising start.

Mike Prpich Beard Watch: It’s still missing. The public are warned to stay vigilant.

The former purveyor of fine facial hair, despite his errant chin adornment, picked up man of the match, but it would have been hard to choose between them (what a nice position that is to be in!). However my man of the evening had to be Jaro Rzeszutko. The guy is an absolute ninja. His speed is frankly alarming and he pushes forward with the intensity of a starving cheetah on his way to a half price sale at the Wildebeest Warehouse. The goalie must have been soiling himself every time Jaro gained possession of the puck. He also did a little dance after one of his goals. Smooth. I love a good goal celebration, me.

To add to the tale of woe as far as our reduced squad numbers are concerned, John Schwarz was felled tonight by something or someone (in a mystery ‘off-the-puck’ incident – I’m still in the dark as to what it was) and he didn’t reappear after that; Dean Holland also went off early with an injury which meant we ended the match with just 11 skaters. Even less than on Sunday. I’m liking this new, slim-line version of the Vipers. Who needs 18 players anyway? It’s just unnecessary. Dead weight. I do feel a bit sorry for Danny Stewart though. He’s been playing out of position for weeks now and every time one defenceman returns from injury, we lose another. He must be cursing his luck (whilst becoming rather a good defenceman!).

I don’t know why but I’m struggling to say anything more about the game, and I’m not normally one to struggle with words. I think I'm failing the grasp the sheer enormity of the victory; it still feels no more real than a pleasant dream or a far-fetched fairytale. Maybe it’s because Dundee were gracious in defeat, and having made the effort to come down knowing how important the match was for the club, I can’t crow about our victory in the same way I would if we had beaten say, the Nottingham Panthers. Or maybe it’s because the uncertainty surrounding the club’s future persists in casting an ominous shadow even in our moments of glory. Regardless of what is going on off the ice, I can’t fail to comment on the players themselves, and how tight they seem to be as a unit, and what nice guys. They look happy to be in each other’s company, which is so good to see. It makes one feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

In reality, I’ve probably run out of things to say because I’m not used to all this winning. It’s tiring me out. I think I’m going to have a nice lie down and try to dream up some new ways of saying ‘we were awesome’ before the weekend. Here’s hoping I’ll need them!

Blaze of Glory

Today’s mission – to be brief. As we have another match tomorrow against Dundee, and this match deserves its own post. Being brief, hmm. I’ve heard tell of such a fable in passing but like the holy grail, I don’t think I’ve ever believed it to be attainable. Will it be? Who can say. Probably not considering I have spent the last 3 lines musing over the meaning of being brief. Anyway… Apologies for the rather cheesy title, I realise it’s probably been used by Coventry’s media team a thousand times but hey, what the hell, I’ve cheekily decided to borrow it. For anyone who’s been trapped in a hockey-less bubble and doesn’t want to know the result of last night’s game, well, I would say look away now but I think it’s too late for that, I might have given the game away. Oops!

If there were a Vipers advent calendar, we would barely have enough skaters to fill half the boxes. But what joy would be found behind door number 5. Only 12 players and two goalkeepers were available for tonight’s match, following various departures and injuries, and only three of them were defencemen by trade. Perilous times, or so you would think. Following Saturday’s heart-break in Dundee (a phrase which I have never used before in any context, let alone a sporting one, and hope never to have to use again!) in which we lost in a shoot-out following a 4-4 tied score with the Stars, hopes were high for a reprieve on home soil. Er, ice.

I can’t fail to mention that whilst we were being unlucky in Dundee, all manner of exciting things were going on at the SkyDome Arena in Coventry, as the season’s first bench clearance occurred. Now, contrary to what you might believe if you, like myself, are new to the sport of ice hockey, this didn’t mean a sale at the local DIY emporium. It is in fact an astonishingly mild term for a mass brawl. It was all very exciting, and ended with a topless Alex Penner doing a powerslide across the ice on one knee after being de-robed by a Blaze player. Ex-weapon or no, I’m starting to warm to the guy. I think I'll file him in the box marked love/hate. It also meant that Blaze’s Brad Cruikshank was suspended for the match against us, and although their bench still looked a lot busier than our depleted one, we’ll take what we can get!

Last time we played Coventry, it was only the second game of my fledgling ice hockey career. I was young and inexperienced, wide-eyed and green, Blair Stayzer still played for us and well, we got soundly thrashed. Now a seasoned pro (er, excuse me, stop laughing please), I was hoping we could turn the tables on our opponents, and that this time I would know what was going on. The game started out quietly; last night’s violent exertions must have taken their toll on Coventry, and our boys looked fatigued from their return journey to the wilds of eastern Scotland. The first period lacked something in the way of, well, anything really, and there was not a great deal to excite the hardcore faithful, also depleted in numbers due to the adverse weather conditions.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG POST TO BRING YOU AN IMPORTANT NEWSFLASH! I was quite distressed to learn that in addition to a couple of players leaving, and a couple more suffering injuries, the team had experienced a loss of a much more disturbing nature. Mike Prpich’s beard appeared to have gone missing since it was last spotted during the Drive for Five weekend. Quite where it has gone remains a mystery, but luckily it doesn’t seem to have contained his mojo, as he apparently kicked some butt in Dundee, and he scored the second of our two second period goals against Blaze, the first being claimed in style by coach Danny Stewart, on the powerplay. (Is that how you say it. I’m SO almost there with this terminology fandango but I still need reassurance! I’m not like, a proper writer, you know! As long as I don’t say anything completely idiotic like ‘fancy a puck’ or something. Oh wait…). But anyway - if anyone sees Mike Prpich's beard, please could they return it to him immediately? Or bring it to me and I'll look after it for him, and feed it and things. Thanks. On with the match report...

Bosh. Boss man Stewey shows them how it's done in the Toon.

In contrast to the fight-fest in Coventry, tonight’s game was almost incident-free, with only 2 penalty minutes picked up by each side. There was a bit of feisty-ness from time to time, and John Schwarz got hit in the chest with a puck which looked extremely painful but he bounced straight back from it, because he’s brick ‘ard, innit. This wasn’t to say the atmosphere wasn’t intense; the tension wound up as we moved into the third period (cue scary movie music) and Vipers fans feared the usual collapse. With just a few minutes remaining on the clock, Blaze finally struck it lucky and managed to squeeze one by Charlie, and the knuckle-chewing commenced. Blaze pulled their keeper but we stayed strong and scored a third into the empty net. Cue insane celebration for the entirety of the remaining 40 seconds and beyond. With six minutes to go, I had thought to myself ‘if we don’t win this, I’ll…’ I never did figure out what I would have done, but I don’t think it would have been pretty so I’m pleased I didn’t need to worry about it.

I will continue to heap praise on netminder Charlie Effinger, who played an absolute blinder, and prompted me to revert to my cockney roots and say things like ‘go on my son’ and such-like. He saved everything that Coventry threw at him, and was duly rewarded with the Man of the Match award, an honour which he fully deserved, along with the crowd chanting his name. I am massively chuffed for the lad as he’s had it tougher than most over the last few weeks and honestly, you’ve never seen a happier face. I still want to give him a cuddle although I fear now there may be bit of a queue forming. I asked first!

Happy hockey players! This is what they look like!

So that’s that then. I’m still on a high this morning from what was one of my best ever sporting experiences. And that’s not over-stating it. (I’m simultaneously on a self-induced low from the rather over-indulgent celebrating that took place when I got home!). There’s no denying what a win over the mighty Blaze means to the club and its fans. It’s a massive victory for everyone, and I hope that all the players enjoyed it as much as the 612 fans who made the trip did, lord knows they deserved to! Also, My First Hockey Jersey had its inaugural outing, and is apparently lucky! Which is nice. It was on the large side though. I know the players have to fit themselves plus an amount of padding in there, but 2XL is not a size I have ever been familiar with, I’m happy to say. It’s led me to decide that next time, I’ll have to sponsor one of the smaller guys, if only to get something approaching a suitable fit.

Finished! Was that brief enough for you? No? Tough! I could extol the virtues of last night’s wondrous sporting spectacle ‘til the cows come home to be honest, and pretty much have been, but I’ll just leave you with the news that I brought another newbie along to his first hockey match yesterday and the first words out of his mouth as we left Whitley Bay Ice Rink were ‘that was awesome’. If we can have that effect on every new person that a fan brings through the door then maybe, just maybe, the future might not be so bleak.

Dangerous Liaisons

Prologue

Right. Cards on the table, everyone. I’m not going to lie to you dear readers, I’ve been in more cheerful moods in my life than I have been so far this week. And I’ll tell you the truth of the matter as I’m discovering it. Between you and me, it is not an entirely pleasant experience being a Newcastle Vipers fan. I was warned of this possibility fairly early on in my induction to all things ice hockey, but I was blithely unaware of how quickly it would start to ring true. It really has been a baptism of fire. But on the plus side, I have been overwhelmed at the positive response since I joined your merry band of puck-chasing loons, from the hockey community as a whole, and I have in turn been amazed at the loyalty and upbeat attitude shown by Vipers fans despite the difficult situation that the club currently find themselves in. Not that it’s news – you all seem to be quite used to bearing this level of uncertainty and for that I salute you. And I just wanted to acknowledge that fact before launching into my latest inane drivellings. I have to admit that I have spent the last few days writing and re-writing heaps of depressing speculative nonsense, some of which might well be valid, but it’s the last thing we all need right now, so sod it. I’m going to merrily proceed down the line of inquiry I initially intended to pursue before the good ship Vipers started to pitch and roll in the stormy waters of the financial wasteland that appears to be the lower half of the Elite Ice Hockey League.

More than anything right now, we need support. Support from fans both old and new. Old I can’t help with – apart from perhaps to try to remind them why they loved hockey in the first place. But new fans? Well, that’s where I come in. Or at least, where I hope to come in. That was the initial aim of this blog, after all. I’ve been thinking for a while about writing a piece comparing hockey and football, in the hope of enticing local football fans to spend the hours waiting for Match of the Day on a Saturday evening taking in a live sporting occasion of a very different nature. It’s time to rouse the troops, people. Once more into the breach dear friends and all that jazz. So. That bit up there ^ is for you, hockey fans. But the bit I’m about to write, the bit down there, is for all your football-supporting buddies. Forward it to them. Send it around your office. Do whatever you have to do. But get the word out there! (Send it to other sports fans too, I’m sure they will be able to relate!)

...

Friends, colleagues, football fans. Lend me your ears. I bring you news of great joy. Are you finding it a drag watching eleven men in stripey shirts jogging around a patch of grass with eleven other men, pouting and preening and executing expert swan dives in front of a dude dressed in black who can only run backwards, week in, week out? No? Okay. I do understand. For all its faults in the current day and age, football IS still a good game. I’ve been watching it for as long as I can remember. And yes, it has its moments. But you have to admit, it’s become a bit tiresome of late. Criminal activity, sordid affairs and stroppy Scousers complaining about earning less than a million quid a month are spoiling this once-great sport for everyone involved. You know what you need? Another sport to follow. To lighten the load, take your mind off of your footballing woes and remember that magical feeling when things were new, and fresh, and exciting.

You never know, it might just work out that when football is making you want to expel your hastily purchased curry-flavoured pastry snack from your innards in disgust after your particular collection of over-paid, alice band-wearing pansies fail to pick up a single point against Blackpool, you could redeem your evening almost instantly, with a trip to an ice hockey match. It’s the perfect antidote for the jaded football fan; a quick win solution. I promise you, you will not be disappointed. I’m not telling you to leave football. I know that it’s hard. It’s a long-standing relationship. You made your commitments to it many years ago; you can’t simply divorce it and be on your merry way. You might even have children with football. But consider ice hockey at first, if you will, as a clandestine lover. Here are some reasons why you might consider taking this new sport as your ‘bit on the side’.

For a start, there’s the thrill of it all. It’s fast, furious and full-on, ALL the time. It may not last as long as football but you get some serious bang for your buck. Quality, not quantity. Instant gratification. It’s like a short, sharp shock to the system, rousing you from years of no-score-draw-induced slumber into a whole new world of intensity. And although it may not last as long, footie fiends, it does offer something football could never give you – TWO half times! Yes, two. That’s double the pie-eating, beer-swilling and socialising opportunities, right there. Oh and don’t worry about finishing your pint before you go back into the stadium, you can drink wherever you like. Yes, this is a sport where you can drink solidly, throughout, if you so choose. It’s like cricket. Except you don’t have to take a week off work to watch it! And although it’s technically an indoor sport, fear not – it’s brass monkeys in there, so you’ll still feel brick hard if you decide to take your top off!

I’ve mentioned in previous posts the small matter of the speed of the game, but I think it’s worth mentioning again. Ice hockey exists in a whole different dimension, time-wise. Anyone not used to it should be prepared to be confused for the first couple of games. But don’t let it put you off. It’s like dog years in comparison to human years. And look how happy dogs are! Eons pass by in hockey whilst in football, time ticks by slower than it would at John Major’s all-night Concrete Convention. It’s all so pedestrian in comparison; to see the likes of Rooney and Gerrard plodding about on their boring old human feet is old news when there are men with blades strapped to the bottom of theirs zipping around at light speed to marvel at instead.

And these men are REAL men. They don’t fall over unless someone literally picks them up and THROWS them over. Which they quite often do! And it’s been scientifically proven that you can absorb manliness via osmosis, just the same as the way you might come home from a football match feeling slightly emasculated having watched some pretty boys prance about on a field for 90 minutes. Do you scream at the referee for the slightest infraction and then panic because a player is rolling about in fake agony and might have broken a fingernail? Ever feel inclined to use ‘male’ beauty products to try and emulate the looks of your favourite footballer? Fear not. Ice hockey will knock that rubbish out of you. This is a sport where you can actually attack somebody and still only get sent off for five minutes. Watch grown men slamming each other into walls three inches in front of your face for an evening and you’ll be fully restored to masculinity. Ladies, you’ll either come away feeling light-headed and having palpitations, or you too will be fully restored to masculinity. It could go either way. You’ll either faint, or punch somebody. But hey, it’s living!

Real men. Engaged in actual combat. The referee is actually cheering them on.

Don’t get me wrong, football fans. There are things about it that will feel strange, different, maybe even a bit wrong; but like putting on ladies’ underwear in the privacy of your own home, it’s okay to like it as long as nobody sees you doing it (girls, your equivalent metaphor is using a power drill). For example, I’ve mentioned in previous posts about the frequent stoppages in play. Yes, they’re strange at first, and quite hard to get used to. But everyone has their funny little habits that you just learn to love, and you’ll find yourself relishing these opportunities to catch up with friends, meet new people, discover what the hell’s going on, or watch one of the players pick some of his teeth up off the ice and stagger off bleeding. Everybody wins.

Bleeding. Actual blood. Yeah!

Something you would have experienced this season as a hockey fan that you never would in football is a team coach who actually swears in his post-match interviews. I guess the closest we get in football is somebody like Ian Holloway, but still, actual swearing! Edgy. Thankfully it was bleeped as I’m not sure it wouldn’t have sounded quite amusing in a Canadian accent, thus detracting from its impact (although I wouldn’t say that to coach Danny Stewart’s face!). Stewart also had a go at the infamous Brad Voth in one of our recent matches, getting up in the Behemoth’s face like a good’un. For the football fans, I’m trying to think of a suitable comparison but short of saying it was like Alex Ferguson beating up Vinnie Jones in the middle of a match and nobody batting an eyelid, I really can’t think of one. And I just don’t think that image does it justice because of its sheer unlikelihood. The very fact that these things go on in hockey is what makes it such an unpredictable and exciting sport to watch. It’s dangerous. It’s thrilling. And it’ll give you a night you’ll never forget. And the next time you’re at football? You’ll be thinking of ice hockey.

So to conclude, my ball-chasing chums, I urge you to throw caution to the wind and indulge in a flirtation with the unknown. Make a sneaky date with hockey this weekend, for a little extra-curricular activity. Yes it’s naughty. Yes it’s wrong. Yes you’ll have to think of an excuse when you go home to football smelling of ice hockey. But what football doesn’t know won’t hurt it. It can be our little secret. Go on. You know you want to.

Got your attention? Bored with balls? Fancy a puck this weekend? (Damn, I promised myself I’d get through this entire extended metaphor without resorting to cheap hockey equipment-based innuendo. Oh well, what’s done is done!) Get your butts down to Whitley Bay Ice Rink this Sunday at 5:30pm to see Newcastle Vipers take on Coventry Blaze. Do it. You’ll never be quite the same again. http://www.vipershockey.co.uk/

A Tale of Two Hockey Matches - Part 3

Drive for 5 Special: as a final homage to our promotional weekend, here is my bunch of fives.

5 star players (in no particular order).

1. Toms Hartmanis – Saturday’s man of the match. Scored a great goal and always pleasure to watch.

2. Scott Langdon – Sunday’s man of the match. Put himself about and took matters into his own hands on several occasions, taking a few very respectable shots on goal and bossing the defence.

3. Dale Mahovksy – always a strong, quick presence for the team. Scored a goal and got a bit aggro against Hull which was quite fun. Managed not to rip my sponsored jersey which was much appreciated (it’s an investment! I considered having ‘My First Hockey Jersey’ printed on the back but thought it might be a bit embarrassing for the poor boy, who already had to deal with having the words ‘Hockey Novice’ emblazoned across his bottom. Sorry about that, Dale).

4. Danny Stewart – a strong leader’s performance from the coach, capped by a superb goal against Nottingham. Anti-Penner Face of Steel™

5. Charlie Effinger – I’ve always had a soft spot for goalies. They’re a bit mental, see. Hockey goalies, more so than most. In the blame culture of modern sport they all too often seem to take the fall for a poor team performance. Even if they do have an off-day, I don’t like seeing one player being blamed for collective team failings. Especially when they appear to be thoroughly pleasant chaps. All that to say, I just want to give Charlie a cuddle. He had two really solid periods on Saturday, pulled some cracking saves out of the bag, and wasn’t at fault for us losing either game.

5 noob moments. After all, that’s why you’re really reading this, isn’t it!

1. Screaming at the ref until I realised I didn’t actually know what to say. I was shouting ‘penalty’, football-style, before I realised it wasn’t really relevant. I just wanted to be a part of it all!

2. Thinking ‘ah, bless’ on two separate occasions when the two guys behind me were wondering what was going on. Until I realised I didn’t either.

3. Nodding pensively whilst being schooled in the theory of the offside rule, but not actually getting it until the following morning, whilst in the shower. The penny did drop. Just very, very slowly. And from a great height.

4. The ‘dog with tennis ball’ effect that still happens to me all the time. You know, when you throw a ball for a dog. But you totally fake him out, and you’re still holding the ball, but he’s racing down the field already? That. Except with my eyes, and the puck. You know what I’m talking about, veteran hockey fans. Don’t pretend it doesn’t still happen to you, on occasion!

5. Once again, clapping when I had no idea what was going on. I must try to stop that. In fairness, it’s usually because of an obscured line of sight and just wanting to get behind the team! That’s forgiveable, right?

5 things that hurt.

1. Danny Stewart’s face (after being poked in it, by Penner’s stick)
2. Jamie Carroll’s face (after being punched in it, by Penner)
3. The Panthers player who was hit by Mike Prpich (after all, a man with that beard has to hit twice as hard as a normal human being, right? Just look at Chuck Norris)
4. Sammy Zajac’s knee (I think – he limped off on Sunday after being caught with a puck)
5. Er, my brain. Trying to come up with more things to write lists of 5 about.

Number of times I knew what was going on – 5. Nah, only kidding. It was 4.

5 highlights.

1. Danny Stewart’s short-handed goal v Nottingham
2. Mike Prpich throwing down the gloves against a mean Panthers side
3. Dirty Alex Penner getting his marching orders
4. The first period on Saturday (let’s pretend the rest of that match didn’t occur)
5. Cheering the players off on Sunday despite losing.

5 things that were funny.

1. A Hull player slipped past our defence and was one-on-one with Charlie – cue collective dramatic gasp – he levelled up, took a shot and… his stick broke, the head flying off behind the goal and the puck bimbling aimlessly out of danger. Brilliant.

2. Hull’s number 26, not blessed with height, who had his shirt tucked into his shorts and his shorts actually pulled up to his nipples. Trend-setting? I don’t think so.

3. One of the match officials actually escorting a Hull player from the ice by his ear. Well, it looked like it. ‘Sit down for two minutes and think about what you’ve done young man!’

4. The swagger on display from the midget gem teams that did their stuff in the breaks between periods on Saturday. So very cute.

5. Er, the Hull game stopped being funny after a while. And the Nottingham game was too dramatic to be funny!

5 things of wonder.

1. Mike Prpich’s beard. Really, just, wow.
2. Mike Prpich’s sideburns. You need sideburns like that to maintain the structural integrity of such a beard.
3. Um. What else? I don’t think anything can compare, to be honest.

5 things that were cold.

1. FIVE things?! Well, let’s start with the fingers on my right hand. And move on from there...

Top 5 skaters (in a purely aesthetic, Strictly Come Dancing on Ice kind of way).

1. Toms Hartmanis – so pretty
2. Dan Speer – super speedy. I feel with the news of his departure I need to add RIP or something, but he's not actually dead thankfully, so I'll just say goodbye and good luck. Shame.
3. Dale Mahovsky – pretty and speedy

4. Jaro Rzeszutko – ditto
5. Kyle Sibley – he didn’t even play. But he’s awesome at skating so I felt bad excluding him from my list.

The weekend, in 5 pictures.

Danny Stewart on Saturday night: Cheer up Coach, there’s always tomorrow

Prpich’s beard – compare with the picture from the Hull game, and tell me it did not grow overnight

Curling vigorously – tell me that’s not what it looks like

That’s my shirt that is

Chippy – apparently that means lots of grown men prodding, slamming and punching each other repeatedly. Yup.

A Tale of Two Hockey Matches - Part 2

Act Two – Sunday 21st November v Nottingham Panthers

Cue music. And the music is, for some reason, the opening to 2001: A Space Odyssey. It just seems fitting. The protagonist returns to the scene of last night’s crime, hoping for a reprieve. Yesterday the architects of their own downfall, today is an opportunity for the heavily-padded men to take matters into their own hands, against a mighty nemesis. Who will prevail? Only time will tell...

Yesterday’s game could have been described as winnable. Today’s, not so much. It was a David vs Goliath-type encounter, Arsenal v Dagenham and Redbridge, if you’ll excuse another footballing reference; a mammoth challenge for the Vipers and a match in which most fans would expect a rout.

The Panthers set their stall out early, conceding their first penalty after just 11 seconds, and it set the tone for the entire match. They were a massive physical presence, and the match was what could best be described as ‘chippy’ (thanks to Scott Langdon for that most fitting of descriptive terms, which I shall be borrowing indefinitely), but the Vipers gave as good as they got in the first period, and the crowd were behind them all the way. The Panthers seemed to revel in their pantomime villain role, conceding one penalty after another, notorious hard-man Alex Penner being sent off for the entire match after an incident which occurred right in front of me, in which he jabbed Vipers coach Danny Stewart twice in the face with his stick before punching Jamie Carroll. Charming! Penner has been described as an ‘ex-weapon’; what that specifically means, I don’t know, but It seems to translate roughly as ‘bit of an idiot’ as far as I can tell (please, please don’t tell him I said that. The guy is clearly unhinged. And I’m scared). New Viper Mike Prpich decided he meant business and threw himself into the action too, picking up a five minute major for fighting just a couple of minutes in. I think his beard might actually have grown since yesterday, so maybe it was weighing him down a bit. Or perhaps a small family of wood mice have moved into it. That would be annoying, right?

A moment of indecision as the puck tries to work out which is the lesser of three evils; a Viper, a Panther or a Match Official

The atmosphere was fantastic, rising and bubbling over both on and off the ice, the flames further fanned by what, even to a novice, appeared to be a relatively poor refereeing performance. I was caught up in the collective disapproval, which was possibly not for the best, as I tend to go rather high-pitched when indignant and end up screeching like a girl. Which is bad enough when I know what I’m talking about but as you will no doubt be realising by now, when it comes to hockey, I don’t really, and during Sunday’s match it just descended (or should I say, ascended) into angry squeaking. I suddenly realised I sounded like a hormonal rodent. So I stopped.

It really was a ‘proper’ hockey match though. And in a beautiful moment of recognition, I happened to tune into a conversation going on behind me between two dudes who were quite clearly attending their first ever game. I’m not sure where they were from but I thought I heard a hint of Aussie so in my head, that’s what they will be. Overheard:

1st newbie: ‘so what happened there then?’
2nd newbie: ‘I’ve absolutely no idea mate! I like it though!’
1st newbie: ‘Surely he’s not allowed to do that?!’
2nd newbie: ‘I dunno mate! But this is my kinda sport!’

I could hear the glee in the voice of newbie number 2 in particular. It had switched on the same light in his brain that went on in mine back in early October. But now I was the one who knew what was going on. I felt all, sort of, wise. It didn’t last long however, as a collection of players gathered in a corner of the rink and began to do that thing that looks like they are curling, vigorously. All scrubbing the ice together trying to wrest the puck from one another. There must be a more dignified way to get around that problem. No? Ah well. It makes me laugh, it all looks very pedestrian. Until someone gets an elbow in the chops. But anyway.

Oh, did you want to know what actually happened in the match? Sorry folks, I was too busy booing and things to really pay attention to the hockey. It was jolly good fun for a while. Until the Panthers went a bit over-board with their below-the-belt tactics, and a few key decisions seemed to go awry, and then all of sudden, the nightmare scenario once again reared its ugly head. The third period started. And lo and behold, we quickly conceded two goals and suddenly we were trailing and the Panthers were able to put the game to bed, despite an excellent late goal from Danny Stewart and continued battling from the feisty Vipers. The game had more fizz than an Alka Seltzer in a Diet Coke jacuzzi. And despite falling behind, the guys never gave up, battling to the end, and giving the fans something to shout about once again.

Prior to the Hull match I was quite concerned about next weekend’s break, and the fact that I would be missing out on my regular hockey fix. After the Hull match I was actually quite relieved. Now, I’m back to concern again. I have the jitters already. I need more! Call the emergency services! I’ve contracted an acute case of ice hockey. I fear it’s terminal.

And so the final curtain falls. Brave in defeat, the heavily-padded men can be proud of their achievements against the mighty nemesis, and can go away with their heads held high. Our protagonist feels once again cautiously optimistic, and carries the vestiges of battle away with her as a symbol of the good fight. And also because she’d paid for it and it had her website on the back. Yes.

Fin

PS Stay tuned - part 3 is up shortly! I know, I know, technically there isn't a part 3 as I've covered both matches already. It's a special post featuring lots of lists of 5!! Trust me, it's going to be more fun than it sounds. If not, you can have your money back. What, you didn't PAY to get onto this blog? I need to have words with the management...

A Tale of Two Hockey Matches - Part 1

Right then. Do I have your full and undivided attention, readers? We’ve a lot to get through, so make yourselves comfortable and I’ll begin. Sad to say there’s no Jackanory happy ending in sight here, so I’ll extinguish that hopeful dream before we get started. I’ve retreated to my happy place (this blog) and I urge you all to join me, in the hope it will ease the pain, at least for a few minutes.

This weekend was the Drive for Five promotion – two home games in one weekend, and a massive effort from all involved with the club to get as many fans through the door over both days as possible. Let’s take it one day at a time, and in true Shakespearian fashion (for some inexplicable reason my inner English student just won't let this theme drop), here beginneth...

Act One – Saturday 20th November v Hull Stingrays

We join our protagonist on a wet and chilly evening, at a dark and dingy ice rink in a north-east coastal town. Her face, like so many others around her, full of hope and expectancy. Enter stage right numerous men on skates, heavily padded and carrying sticks. The scene unfolds…

Warning: I may start to become coherent. I located myself with a group of most welcoming hardcore Vipers faithful for this match which was a good move, I quickly realised. I think I might actually understand the offside rule now! And you know what? It’s almost exactly the same as it is in football. Who’d have thunk it.

This was widely recognised as the more winnable of the weekend’s two matches, and to bolster the line-up new Canadian forward Mike Prpich (somebody lend the guy a vowel!) was finally available, having arrived mid-week, along with defencemen John Schwarz, returning after injury. Although we had lost Kyle Sibley through injury, so our defence were pretty much ‘as you were’.

My initial impressions of Prpich: fairly hard-hitting; awesome, awesome facial hair. He wasn’t massively influential but the guy only got here Thursday so let’s cut him some slack.

Mike Prpich, above.

No Mike, it is WE who must kneel before YOU. After all, one cannot argue with that beard. That’s a woodcutter’s beard if ever I’ve seen one. There are goats in the alps that are weeping into their milkmaids’ skirts over that beard.

What can I say about the game itself. It all started so well. We were a goal up within two minutes and then two up, er, a bit after that. To coin a popular footballing cliché, albeit in a slightly warped fashion, it was a game of three thirds. The final one being, well, shocking. In the first two we were totally dominant. Hull didn’t turn up, we skated all over them, and any shots they did have were confidently caught or parried by a seemingly revitalised Charlie Effinger. No worries. All this, on top of last week’s win, made me a bit giddy. I started to feel almost complacent. We had this in the bag.

And then they came out for the third period. And it was as though something had gone missing. Quite what it was, I couldn’t put my finger on. Although honestly, if you’d told me it was about three players, I wouldn’t have been surprised. The spark was just... not there any more. Hull exposed our flaws, and capitalised. They carved us open, and we stood back and let them. We served it to them on a silver platter, garnished with a giant helping of ‘terribly sorry for inconveniencing you with those two goals we scored earlier on chaps, please do have the points, we wouldn’t wish to burden you with our tiresome presence any longer. And how about a cherry to go on top of that for you, sirs?’

So I’ve experienced it all now. The game we deserved to win, and just about managed to hang on to. The game we maybe didn’t deserve to win, but scraped through to take the points anyway. The game we never had any hope of winning, but battled through and went down fighting. And the game where we were solidly trounced from start to finish. And to add to this motley collection, I now have the lowest of all rungs on the ladder of possible game stories – the game we were totally capable of winning, but threw away. The comedy of errors. An expert demonstration in how to turn a perfectly comfortable two-goal lead into what, on paper, looks like a convincing win for the opposition. It was desperately disappointing, especially with a game on the horizon against one of the hardest teams in the league. On which note, I’ll move swiftly on, as I have a feeling that despite this, I will have much more jolly things to impart to you tomorrow.

A dark mood prevails over the auditorium as the lights fade to black and the curtain is drawn on the first half of the action. Where will the Vipers go from here? Can they claw back their shattered confidence and start over in Act Two? Will our protagonist succeed in her quest to shout something constructive at a team member, at ANY point? All will be revealed...

Interval

Some time passed, between one hockey game and the next. Some DIY went on in my house. Some bacon sandwiches were consumed. Some beer also. A bit of sleeping went on. Some football was watched in a vague attempt to remember what watching other sports used to be like. Apparently, Chelsea have started losing. To Birmingham City. All is seemingly not right with the world.

*Alarm Bells* Please take your seats and switch off all mobile phones. The next Act will begin in 5 minutes (please note, when I say five minutes, I mean, maybe, several hours. I do have a day job, y'know! I'm speeding through the next match report as we speak. See you there!).

When Katy met Vipers...

Sorry, me again! Just one final post before this weekend's action, to let you all know that the crazy, crazy fools from Vipers management let me loose at the press day they held on Tuesday in aid of the Drive for Five promotion (what were they thinking?!). It was a much calmer, more sedate affair than expected (mostly due to the fact that I was too nervous to actually launch myself at anyone) and I managed to get some pretty good material which is now kindly being hosted on the Vipers website, under Vipers Hockey Radio. Linkage:

http://www.vipershockey.co.uk/vipers-hockey-radio.html

Alternatively, you can download the interview of your choice, or all three (oh baby) straight from Rapidshare, links below.

As will become eminently clear, writing is my most natural and comfortable form of communication, and I haven't actually interviewed anyone for a good six years or so, since my Birmingham days when I used to interview rock and metal bands for my radio show there. I grappled manfully with some audio editing software but I'm not a techie, so sorry if they're a bit up and down. Plus I had a cold. But anyway, enough of my blabbering excuses, here for your listening pleasure are three real live hockey players talking, occasionally interrupted by a stuttering, snot-ridden Southerner. Nice!

Danny Stewart - http://rapidshare.com/files/431983010/Danny_Stewart_161110.mp3

Scott Langdon - http://rapidshare.com/files/431983621/Scott_Langdon_161110.mp3
Jamie Carroll - http://rapidshare.com/files/431983363/Jamie_Carroll_161110.mp3

I did have all sorts of grand ideas about asking them silly questions and making some kind of Hockey Novice feature out of it, but I lost my bottle on the day, the gravity of the situation getting to me, and I ended up asking lots of serious and relevant questions like a proper journalist. Well, mostly. Sorry about that - I'll do better next time, if they ever agree to let me anywhere near real hockey players again.

Thanks to everyone for being so nice to me, it was much appreciated. And so, onward we go into the Drive for Five promotion. For those of you who don't know what this entails, it's two ice hockey matches. In one weekend. Yes, I'm a bit excited. See you all at the rink. LET'S GO VIPERS!

KT-Dude and the Hockey Team of Doom

Once upon a time, there was a girl called KT. She lived a happy life and would happily go about her daily business like all the other good and simple folk of the land. But, like many of these good and simple folk who had gone before her, KT was blissfully unaware that a mysterious and exciting and magical world existed right under her very nose. That world was the sport of ice hockey. It was a world that was known only to the few, but those few were lucky, for it was a world that was thrilling and intense and tumultuous. This world was inhabited by a team called the Newcastle Vipers and one day, quite by chance, KT stumbled upon the Newcastle Vipers at their home in Whitley Bay.

The first time KT ever laid eyes on this team she knew she was destined to belong to them, as even though they were poor and lived in a place that was small and cold and dark, they were young and fast and strong and valiant, and worked hard every day. There were lots of other teams to choose from in the magical world of ice hockey, and they were all bigger and better and shinier and richer, but KT didn’t care about those things, for the Vipers had already won her heart.

Now all she needed was to see them succeed in their endeavours, just once, to know that she had made the right decision, so she left behind her daily business and spent every weekend in the mysterious and exciting and magical world of ice hockey, hoping and praying and cheering and supporting her beloved team, but to no avail. Week after week, the bigger and better and shinier and richer teams came and sieged the home of the Vipers and laid them to waste, and when the Vipers went to their fortresses to try to retaliate, they were beaten down again and again.

Until one day, after many weeks of pain and frustration and heartbreak and despair, the Vipers faced the team from Edinburgh. The team from Edinburgh weren’t quite as big and shiny and rich as some of the other teams, so the Vipers knew it was their chance to strike. So they battled and fought and scored and saved relentlessly for 60 minutes, and nothing the team from Edinburgh could do could break them down. They won the battle, and KT and all the other Vipers fans were so happy, they vowed never to doubt their beloved team again and to support them through the good and the bad and even the ugly. Of which KT was quite sure there wouldn’t be any ever again. They would always be strong and triumphant and fearsome and victorious. It would begin with the chance to vanquish two foes on their very own patch in one weekend. They called it ‘the Drive for Five’, and the good and simple folk of the land would come from far and wide to join forces in supporting the Newcastle Vipers to further glory. And they would all live happily ever after (after a few stiff drinks, that is).

The End.

Close Encounters of the Blurred Kind

Well then. Hello again everyone! Where do I even begin to start about the experience that was Saturday night at Whitley Bay Ice Rink? I fell over myself to get to the laptop to write this post and now I'm here, I don't exactly know what to say. Except for...

WE ONLY BLOODY WON!!!!

I'll start at the very beginning. Some nun-type bird once said it was a very good place to start. And I'm inclined to agree. To say that this was a must-win game was a bit like saying that Wayne Rooney earns a few quid. Coming off the back of a nine-game losing streak, Vipers were rock bottom of the league and the Edinburgh Capitals were faring little better, just above them. The temperature at the rink was Baltic to say the least, and the tension was palpable both on and off the ice. The game was a cagey affair, not particularly physical, in stark contrast to last week's clash against Cardiff - although there were a couple of illegal moves from Edinburgh players during the match, one of which resulted in coach Danny Stewart falling to the ice and dramatically rolling about in pain for a bit before staggering to the dug-out (or whatever they call that box-y bit at the side in hockey). It looked serious, but he was back on in the third period with no apparent debilitating injuries, which led me to conclude that he was either over-reacting and is in fact a big girl, or he's brick hard. I'm definitely hedging towards the latter. I certainly wouldn't tell him otherwise, so I guess that's pretty much my answer!

In terms of the action, I can tell you that some goals were scored. Which was nice. And one was written off, which was even better as it was one scored by Edinburgh. We had the score up to 3-1 for a while but the two goal cushion did not last long as the opposition scored in the third period to bring it back to 3-2. But I'm not going to faff about with stats and specifics (as if I could!) when I can instead wax lyrical about what was undoubtedly one of the tensest 11 minute periods I have ever experienced in sport. I'm deadly serious. I was a nervous wreck, going from the edge of my seat whenever we pushed forward to cowering back with my knuckles in my mouth like an American teen at a horror movie whenever Edinburgh were on the attack. I was actually shaking although I think that was more to do with the fact I was freezing my knackers off. I'm as guilty as the next sports fan of silly superstitions but I swear every time I blinked, it made Edinburgh miss. So I blinked quite a lot. Although my contact lenses were giving me jip, which could have explained it. That in itself was a bit of a concern as on literally three separate occasions, the puck nearly exited the rink right by where I was sitting and I couldn’t actually see it properly. It was a bit too close for comfort. I might have to start wearing goggles. Now THAT would make me look like a novice! I’m so going to do it.

Despite the fact we were leading for most of the game, and we were clearly the better side on the night, I daren't let myself believe we could actually win, even in the dying seconds. But the buzzer sounded and the place erupted and I realised, we actually did it. We won a match. It was a real landmark for me, I'll be honest. A sort of coming of age. It was a carbon copy of the game against Braehead in so many ways (can we play a team from Scotland every week?!), yet it was a parallel universe. I was invested, now. I felt every challenge, mirrored every save, and willed in every shot. I was no longer on the outside. So it's happened, then. I've lost myself. I am in danger of glazing over and becoming a bit Shakespearian here so I'm going to beat a hasty retreat before I start spewing sonnets at you and refocus on the bigger picture. I am still very much a hockey novice. But now, even if I still don’t know the offside rule, I feel like a part of it all.

We have known too little of late the sweet elixir of victory (oops, I Shakespeare'd anyway!), but being the underdog makes winning that much sweeter. It’s why I have loved supporting Watford FC all these years as opposed to the Manchester Uniteds of the world. What’s a win when it’s a formality. The rollercoaster of emotion is what makes sport worth watching; the ups and downs mirror real life and it’s so much more satisfying to live in hope than in expectation; you’re much less likely to be disappointed.

That being said, I can confirm that on arrival back at my house I needed several strong drinks to return my shredded nerves back to normal, despite feeling on top of the world. Blood pressure medication and paper bags on standby, people. Hockey is not for those of a nervous disposition.

Fumbling newbie at large. Lock up your hockey players.

Hello everyone! Welcome to my first regular weekly post on this here blog. I have much to disclose to your fine selves after Saturday’s match, but let’s face it, it’s been a weekend to forget for the Vipers as far as results go, so I will attempt to lighten the mood by regaling you with stories of my continued blind fumblings through the world of ice hockey. Rather than talk about the actual results. Deal?

To try and liven up the blog a bit, I took some of my own photographs on Saturday. Big mistake. Here for example, is a picture of the team as they took to the ice before face-off. That’s what they call kick-off in ice hockey by the way! It just makes me think of Nicolas Cage being over-dramatic (ie, being Nicolas Cage). ‘Face...OFF!’ He should start every ice hockey match. Anywaaaay…

The white blobs are players, believe it or not. If a photo could have sound effects (yes I know, that’s called a ‘video’ – I’m not THAT backwards!) there would be a total Doppler effect ‘neeeeowww’ thing going on, like in Formula 1. Unfortunately this is a silent photo so you’ll have to do the sound effects yourselves. Try it, it’s quite fun!

And I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned this yet – they play the national anthem at the beginning!! Totally weird, considering 75% of those on the ice aren’t from this country. It’s all very sincere and serious though, and adds a sense of grandeur which I rather like. I took a picture of that, as it’s basically the only part where they all stand still.

Sing up, lads. They can't hear you at the back. 'O Canada...' No? Uh...

I don’t think I’ll bother trying that again!

On with the action. Vipers took on Cardiff Devils for the third time in as many weeks, and the match started out with a real buzz. It was a feisty match-up, blood presumably running high due to festering resentments, and there was no shortage of physical challenges. This included a good three or four fights, the most notable being between the smallest player on the ice, Vipers defenceman Sam Zajac, who would comfortably fit in a generously sized pocket, and a man so large, I was at first unsure if he was in fact composed of two normal players, one on the other’s shoulders (perhaps Cardiff have too many players on their roster?!). The name of this man mountain was Brad Voth, and he was a veritable behemoth (check my mad poetry skills).

So Zajac pretty much became an instant hero to the Vipers faithful, the little terrier, and was henceforth presented with the Man of the Match award and christened ‘the Hitman’. Scott Langdon also secured big props for defending his team-mates, being sent to the penalty box twice for fighting. Dude. The Devils are definitely a bunch of hard-asses, though. At one point Jon Pelle completely pole-axed Kyle Sibley and Vipers were in danger of being reduced to just two defencemen. But he escaped relatively unharmed, and I was able to shelve the mother hen routine, much to Sibley’s relief. (Trust me).

The match also saw the return of Polish forward Jaroslaw Rzeszutko who had been out with a broken wrist since before I started watching the Vipers. All involved should be extremely glad I wasn’t there to witness that one. He scored a goal, which was nice. And had a cool swirly skatey thing going on which was a bit nifty. So good on him. And stuff.

At this point I feel we should take a moment to remember why we’re all here. And that’s to laugh at me and my blundering incompetence. So I bring you:

Tragic admission of the week: once during the Cardiff match, I clapped just because everyone else was. I still don’t know what we were clapping for.

BUT! This week I almost figured out why someone was given a penalty! All by myself! Except not quite. I thought it was slashing, when in fact it was hooking. On reflection, I feel it may be advantageous to my future well-being to find out the difference between the two. I will return to my trusty rulebook.

Here’s the thing though. I know literally half of what’s going on. But what I don’t know isn’t worth knowing. Case in point: play starts from one of like, six or so spots around the rink. Or maybe it’s nine. Or five. I don’t know. Or care, much. How they determine where to re-start from, I have no idea. There will be some logic involved, and one day I might even bother to figure out what it is. But for now, it’s really not important when elsewhere on the ice, gloves are being thrown down and opponents engaged in headlocks whilst the Rocky themetune is playing (I’m not even kidding).

It crossed my mind, could the music be construed as an incitement to violence? I think so. And I like it! I believe that I too would be drawn to misbehaviour if I knew my reward would be a burst of Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’ followed by a two minute sit down.

Let’s get the formalities out of the way…

Hello everyone, and welcome to what I hope will be an interesting experience for all involved. Let me start by telling you about myself, and ice hockey. My name is Katy, and I'm a southerner, but I've been living here in the north-east for over five years. I am brand new to the sport of ice hockey, and attended my first Vipers match against Braehead Clan a few weeks ago. I fell instantly in love. It’s an all-encompassing and passionate love, quite Victorian in nature, so I immediately started to write about it. On reflection I realised that there must be a great number of people out and about around the north-east, and indeed the country, who would feel exactly the same love, if only someone were to draw back the curtain and show them what is going on right under their very noses. And so an idea was hatched. I contacted Craig Simpson, Vipers Media Coordinator, and pitched him my idea. And he kindly agreed to host my confused ravings on the Vipers website for all to see.

So here it is. A blog of my experiences as a brand new ice hockey fan. From the beginning, hopefully past the difficult teething stages and comfortably through my first full year as a blossoming Vipers fan. Please come with me on my journey. And please encourage others who might still be like I once was, blissfully unaware of this incredible sport, to read this blog too, in the hope that they might be inspired to come along and join us.

I have posted for you below a collection of my hockey writing to date, in chronological order, by way of an introduction to me, my new-found obsession for the sport, and the true extent of how little I really know about it all. Please feel free to start from the beginning to discover the true nature of my ignorance, and point and laugh at me. I fully deserve it!

A plea: the title of this blog is also my disclaimer. I am a complete and total newcomer to the game of ice hockey. I have, to date, seen four live matches, and one of those was over ten years ago. I have looked up the rules on Google and got confused by the Americanisms. I am however a lifelong sports fan so I’m picking things up fairly quickly, but I absolutely bow to the superior wisdom of all those of you who have been watching hockey for years. I feel as though I have been reborn into a slightly altered universe and am an outsider. I hope to learn from you, and in turn influence others who might have never considered attending a hockey match before, or who may not even know that it exists as a top-flight sport here in the North-East or the UK.

So please look upon me as a relative infant. Please be gentle with me. If you see me at Hillheads gazing happily but vacantly at the ice, I’m not on drugs, honest. I’m just in an ice hockey-induced state of diminished mental capacity. I am nonetheless enthralled. Please feel free to come up and explain something to me. I may invest in a dunce’s cap to help you recognise me. I might even feature it in a ‘fan’s tip of the week’ type section, if it takes off!

Note: Posts originally published on my personal blog, http://mypetsteedtangent.blogspot.com/, and have been adapted slightly. I would ask you also to forgive my frequent references to Watford Football Club. They were my first love and are my main frame of reference in sport. They help my thought process!

Ice Hockey and Me: A Love Story (originally posted 1st November)

So after a couple of weeks of pesky prior arrangements it was finally time for another hockey Saturday. About time too. The Vipers took on the top side in the league, Belfast Giants, in the much promoted Halloween Havoc clash at Whitley Bay Ice Rink. The impressive number of travelling fans, complete with rather large drum, were so noisy we moved from our regular spot near the back of the bleachers to one row from the front, which turned out to be an excellent decision. It felt completely different. Despite certain areas of the ice being somewhat obstructed in terms of the view, being right next to the action was quite something. It made it all a lot easier to follow. It was also a fly by the seat of your pants-type experience in that every so often, players came crashing into the sidings literally three feet in front of my nose. I can’t say that a pair of hockey players swiftly applied to the face would be a wholly unpleasant experience, but it might be a bit unexpected and possibly a tad sore in the morning. So I’m quite glad the plastic shields held up their end of the bargain and contained both teams nice and safely, with my face unharmed on the other side.

Pic half-inched from Newcastle Vipers website, by Paul Lynch photography. Does it look to anyone else as though two Vipers players are brutally murdering a Giants player? No? Just me?!

I am also proud to say that after three matches, I am finally starting to recognise individual players, not just by their physical appearances but by their skating styles and even their movements on the puck. Some players are more how shall I say, functional in their skating; it's all about getting somewhere, quickly. Which is fine, and necessary. But others actually have real flair, and probably wouldn't look out of place if asked to perform a triple salko in a figure-skating contest. Okay, you might ask, what have you done with the girl who was getting a bit excitable over large brutish neanderthal types beating the crap out of each other. I don't know where she's gone; perhaps my penchant for aesthetics has overtaken my primitive desire for some good old-fashioned violence. Whatever the case, the light-footed and speedy Vipers won me over in last night's match.

I know for example, that my favourite player, Dale Mahovsky, skates sort of face-first (possibly why he lost a few teeth in last week's match), but with the effortless style of someone who has been on skates for at least as long as he has had legs. Possibly longer. Mahovsky's impressive skating, dogged determination and good clean game all cemented him firmly in my heart as my number 1 Viper. He was vying for the position before defenceman Blair Stayzer left the club this week to return to his native Canada, but even without Stayzer's untimely abdication, Mahovsky still would have taken the throne with his performance this week. Toothless though he may be, he is valiant in his endeavours at all times, and actually helped get a Belfast goal written off due to some excellent work reasoning with the referee. Or so it seemed. A bit of a fan you say? Yes I do believe I am. I even wandered across to the shirt auction in the hope of inheriting his glorious Canadian sweat-laced special-edition jersey but alas, I was too late. Next time Dale, your shirt will be mine.

For fear of sounding a bit stalky, I'm going to move on.

Dale Mahovsky, prior to the dental incident. Photo again by Paul Lynch

At this point can I just say, I love ice hockey. I love it, I love it, I love it. I could just roll around and bathe in it. I am so invested in my team already it actually hurts me when they lose. Which is nearly always. And yet, we don't seem to deserve to. We played great on Saturday, despite having next to no defensive players available, and being up against the strongest team in the league. We were really good. Hard-working, some great skills, one of the most incredible saves I've ever seen in any sport by Charlie Effinger (who I'm also becoming quite fond of), a brilliant short-handed goal from Toms Hartmanis, a very jolly atmosphere and overall, a fully uplifting experience. I absolutely can't get enough. And I have a feeling that it’s just a matter of time before the results improve. Hopefully, a very short amount of it.

Extract from - Joke’s over now, okay? (originally posted 27th October)

Having recently been to see some live hockey matches and having not seen any live football in months, I found it quite difficult to get my head back in the game on my recent visit to see my team, Watford, play a Championship match.. For example, I was quite disconcerted that the staff at Vicarage Road hadn’t taken to playing bursts of fitting R'n'B numbers whenever there was a break in play. I was a bit disappointed to find that throw-ins weren’t sponsored by Phones4U. I found myself glazing over a bit whenever there was a section of play that lasted longer than thirty seconds. Although that may just have been because the game was flatter than a pancake. Laid flat, on a flat thing. In Norfolk. Or perhaps my attention span has been butchered into submission by hockey and I’ll never be the same again.

Things went from bad to worse that Saturday night when, forced to miss the Vipers game against the Cardiff Devils due to my foray darn sarf, I sat tensely in my parent’s home following the match on the Elite Ice Hockey League’s Live Scores page (which is about the most nerve-wracking method of following a sporting contest I have ever encountered, I might add). We lost again, which I was gutted about. Even worse, whilst reading the match report half an hour or so later, I let out an audible gasp upon discovering that Canadian forward Dale Mahovsky had to be treated after a goal was deflected in off his jaw and he lost three teeth! I concluded that ice hockey was just a big mean boys game and the Cardiff team must be a bunch of Neanderthals. How could they. Poor boy. He was one of the pretty ones, as well.

So that was that. Another loss for the Vipers followed on Sunday and I was left feeling particularly sorry for myself as another Monday rolled around, and this one a cold, damp and thoroughly autumnal one. I’ve changed my mind. Can I have winning back please? I promise I won’t complain about it ever again. I was only kidding, y'know. The internet clearly can't take a joke these days. Hmph.

Some further musings on my early days as a hockey fan… (first drafted 20th October)

Being a relatively under-represented sport in the UK it’s not surprising that ice hockey teams have to work hard to secure a large amount of sponsorship to support their existence, but the extent to which it’s infiltrated the game makes me giggle. When I was at my first match and heard over the tannoy ‘icing, sponsored by Winn Solicitors’ I was rightly confused. There was no cake in sight for a start. If there was, why hadn’t I been offered any? I have since discovered that icing is actually an illegal move, a bit like offside. But more puck-related than player-related. The pesky little thing sometimes gets ahead of itself, apparently.

Sponsoring an element of play is incomprehensible to me, and has always made me laugh, ever since we were at Hull’s KC stadium watching Watford a couple of seasons ago and the announcer kept insisting that penalties/half-time/possibly even throw-ins were sponsored by such-and-such. But I do understand the need for it in challenging times, especially for a sport that is so little known in this country. They could at least provide cake, though.

Something else I did find it quite difficult to keep up with in my first couple of hockey outings was the constant changing of personnel (I speak in the past tense as I am now, thankfully, beginning to catch on). There are unlimited changes allowed throughout the game, and according to the rulebook (of which I am now an aficionado) as long as they are not directly influencing play, players can even change during the run of play. Which seems like a wholly unnecessary complication when you consider by comparison the arguments that break out in football over exactly what constitutes 'directly influencing play' when disputing offside decisions. And football is played at less than a quarter of the speed of hockey. Really. It's been scientifically proven. By my eyes. But in hockey it can result in anything up to about 16 players on the ice at any one time, especially if both teams are switching line-ups simultaneously. It's baffling. I have a hard enough time matching what my eyes are seeing to what my brain thinks is going on without all that added confusion.

Which brings me to the player of the month award for September, which I feel it worth mentioning, despite it now being October. Latvian forward Toms Hartmanis took the honours, just ahead of Patrik Forsbacka, who probably came second due to the epic fight he had on the ice against Braehead, on the day that hockey stole my heart. But quite how anyone works out who their player of the month is I don't know, as following individuals is nigh on impossible; it’s like trying to find your pet bee at the Chelsea Flower Show. I've ended up choosing favourites based on their names, and the ones I've managed to track around the ice for more than a minute at a time. My reasoning is faultless.

Which reminds me, I have finally selected an NHL team. In the end I went for the ones with the nicest jerseys. Which turned out to be Calgary Flames. Minutes of careful research went into that decision, so don’t knock it. I also quite like Vancouver Canucks. For some reason I fancied supporting a Canadian team over an American one. It's colder there, therefore they have more of a right to win stuff on ice. QED.