Fat cats silenced by feisty underdogs

(Someone call the Sun, I'm a tabloid headline-writer in waiting).

You can roll out the David v Goliath, Blackpool v Manchester United or even '300' comparisons ‘til the cows come home, because in Elite League hockey terms, Newcastle Vipers v Nottingham Panthers really does fall into that classic minnows versus giants category, but still nothing can really prepare you for coming face to face with such a scenario, and the feelings that you get when you’re on the winning side.

The first leg of the Challenge Cup semi-final was the occasion, Hillheads was the place, and when the two sides took to the ice you’d have been hard-pushed to come up with any possible outcome for the match other than an away win. Clad all in black, every single Panthers player looked about twice the size of the Vipers, and there were oh, so many of them. It was tragically comical watching the two sides skate around their respective halves of ice, the Panthers all but filling theirs, menacingly pacing their way around the rink and then struggling to fit their huge squad onto their bench. We basically had a football team’s worth of players, plus a couple of subs. It was a familiar story, and considering the two sides had met at Whitley Bay just three short weeks ago, with the result a resounding 11-4 in favour of the Panthers, the small crowd of dedicated supporters in attendance were right to fear a similarly dismal evening.

The game started out sluggishly but quickly picked up tempo with the Panthers doing all the pressing, imposing the physical side of their game on the Vipers and forcing the home side to defend. And defend we did, rising to the challenge and only conceding a single goal in the first period, and also managing to almost knock out one of the Panthers with a shot which was so loud, it sounded as though it had hit the post, but on closer inspection, had instead hit the number 21, right in the kisser. Ouch, and stuff. I hope someone grabbed the teeth that he must inevitably have lost, to add to Mahovsky’s – we’ll have enough for a full set of dentures soon!

Panthers players don’t get out of bed for less than £50, allegedly. Well Vipers don’t get out of bed for less than 50p, but luckily the fans had a whip-round and they all turned up in the second period, coming out all guns blazing and stunning the Panthers with their desire and intensity. Despite conceding another goal, the reply came almost instantly from Kyle Sibley and from then on, we were unstoppable. It was the 20 minutes of hockey from your wildest dreams, as we broke down the Panthers defences time and again, playing exciting and creative attacking hockey and neutralising any traffic going the opposite way. Mike (the Beard) Prpich and Dean Holland (the People’s Choice) netted one apiece before the highlight of the period, a spectacular individual effort from Toms Hartmanis. Seriously, the guy has an astonishing turn of pace, and he left the Panthers helpless in his midst as he carved through them and shot home to give the feisty Vipers a 4-2 lead.

A 6-goal turnaround in one period against a team of the Panthers’ calibre is not to be sniffed at, and the Panthers were understandably frustrated, bringing out the dirty tactics; Lepine laid Paul Sample out with one punch and was lucky to get away with two minutes for roughing. Even mild-mannered David Clarke got into a little fracas with the usually equally quiet Jaro Rzeszutko. It started out like a pair of girls having a scrap over the last handbag in the shop; it was clear neither guy really wanted to be involved in a fight, you could almost hear the conversation that might have gone on between the two had there been time:

Jaro: Er, I’m very angry with you!
Clarke: Um, yes, I feel similarly disgruntled. Do you think we should perhaps throw our helmets to the ground in a display of mutual intent to have a bit of a tiff?
Jaro: Right then. On the count of three?

Clarke: After you.

Jaro: No, after you, I insist.

It was quite sweet really.

Oh hi there Panthers player-coach Corey Neilson! Why, whatever’s the matter? That looks like the face of a man who had four goals scored against him by little old Newcastle Vipers! Oh, it IS? That must have stung. I’m very sorry, let’s pretend I didn’t mention it, mmmkay?

Third period. Are you still with me? You haven’t dropped something substantial on your toe in shock at the scoreline? Well man up. Take the pain! We’re moving into the crucial period here! Pay attention, fools! So what happened then? The poor Panthers didn’t seem to like losing and resorted to some less than savoury tactics, getting at the Vipers whenever and wherever they could and mostly getting away with it. But we weathered the storm and only conceded once more. Thanks for that largely rest on the not inconsiderable padded shoulders of Charlie Effinger, who made the save of his life with just a few minutes left to play in the game. He threw himself to the ground and clawed the puck off the line with the tip of his glove whilst at full stretch.

It really was a fingertip between us and a tied scoreline, and like the news reaching Parliament that David Cameron is lost in Iceland and was last seen near a large hill with a hole in the top of it, the save was greeted with a collective sigh of relief and a cheer so loud it echoed around the four corners of the rink. The Panthers scrapped their way through to the dying seconds but by then it didn’t matter, the win was sealed and the Vipers take the slenderest of leads back to Nottingham for the return leg on Sunday. Their fans may not give us a cat in hell's chance of repeating the feat we pulled off on Wednesday, but fur will fly, and there will be no pussy-footing around. Because there's more than one way to skin a cat (seriously, has someone called the Sun for me, yet?)

Mike Prpich and Danny Stewart have the cast of Dancing on Ice quaking in their boots with this impromptu rendition of the Bolero. You should have seen the lift!

You’ll all be fascinated and proud to know that I cut down on my drinking at the match because it was a school night. I only had two pints instead of three. Check my willpower! That's not to say I didn't want another one though, to toast another fantastic achievement by Danny Stewart and his team, triumphing over the big rich mean Panthers. Who needs 19 men? Pah. I laugh in the face of your 19 men. How big is an ice rink anyway? The heart shown by the Vipers on Wednesday night more than made up for any discrepancies in squad numbers, wages, NHL pedigrees or spangly ice centres. And who’s going to remember those when they look back at their highlights from the season and have a performance like ours to reminisce about? Certainly not me. It may be true that money talks – but on a night like this, it’s barely a whisper.

Oh No You Dundidn't

I’ve never heard the word ‘howay’ so many times in one evening.

It was a Saturday night, in Whitley Bay. It quite often is, these days. The Vipers were taking on the Dundee Stars in the first of five vital matches to be played between the two sides over the next few weeks. A budding rivalry between the clubs, which had originally come about based on the fight for the last play-off spot, was further fuelled last week by the controversy surrounding the Vipers’ unsuccessful attempt to bring in an additional import, which was blocked by Dundee and Edinburgh, leading this to be the first so-called ‘grudge match’ between the two sides. Background set? Check!

It was my first game in two weeks and alas, my first Dale Mahovsky-less game. I didn’t think it would affect me that badly but what with that and the time away from all things hockey my rose-tinted spectacles had slipped somewhat. Thankfully, I don’t tend to use those particular optical enhancers for ice hockey, what with the fact they make everything look pink and that; instead I had new contact lenses with a stronger prescription, which meant that I could actually see the puck and everything! (I think this proves uncategorically that vanity is dangerous. Be warned, people!) I felt like a Cyclops or some kind of X-Person or something, and almost expected to inherit the ability to zoom in and out and obtain factual information about players on a vidi-printer type optical extension. You know, like, ‘BRENT HUGHES… DUNDEE CAPTAIN… FORMERLY OF NEWCASTLE VIPERS… SUFFERS FROM SMS (SHORT MAN SYNDROME)…’ Sadly those talents weren’t forthcoming, but at least I had greater clarity than usual.

The first period was end-to-end but lacked end product, with few shots on goal and no score. The Vipers fans were in fine voice however, competing with the healthy contingent of Stars fans who had made their way south of the border for the match. I embraced my inner Geordie on numerous occasions, and hoped that I didn’t stick out like the cockney sore thumb that I am. I feel that investing in a subtle disguise might be a plan. I’ll whack out the fake tan, shall I? (Only joking, lovely people of the North-East!).

A man in a stripey shirt tries in vain to prevent the Extreme Majorette team attempting their infamous suicide baton twirl (Pic by Ian Macbeth)

Dundee were a physical presence and their MO for the game seemed to be to try and weaken the Vipers already light bench by drawing them into committing penalties, and they succeeded in style with a minute to play in the first period. After a couple of hits on netminder Charlie Effinger it all kicked off, ‘it’ being two separate fights, involving no less than 7 players (ish), both of which were conducted in what appeared (to this novice at least) to be a less than a sportsmanlike manner. I was reliably informed that this was how it ‘used to be’ in the sport; it was described as ‘old time hockey’ which if Saturday’s brawl was anything to go by translates as ‘guys kicking the crap out of each other with no code of honour whatsoever and just being left to it’. The referee had no control over the situation and the fights continued uninterrupted despite our players being down, and in the case of Sam Zajac, outnumbered.

The Vipers fans were incensed - and I mean, livid - ex-Viper Brent Hughes bearing the brunt of the home crowd’s derision, and much as I love a good fight, the intensity of the situation was a bit much for me and my protective instincts won out over my bloodlust and rendered me completely speechless, hands clamped round my face in a comedy Macauley-Culkin-in-Home-Alone sort of fashion, struck dumb with outrage. I half expected a Panthers/Blaze-style bench clearance and perhaps, if we hadn’t been outnumbered, it might have gone that way. The period was brought to a close early for the hapless officials to attempt to regain a semblance of control and work out who would take what in terms of penalty minutes. It meant that at the beginning of the second period, Vipers were left with just 7 skaters for a short period, our penalty box busier than our bench – not a good sign.

The second period was a case of ‘back to business’ but with the added intensity that only a good mass brawl can inject into a game. . Vipers scored their first goal from the stick of Ninja Rzeszutko off the post – I’ve had some embarrassing moments in my time cheering disallowed goals in football, to the point where I often look at the linesman before cheering. The red light is my hockey equivalent, and it didn’t illuminate which confused me, but everyone around me was celebrating and it looked in to me, so I joined in. And it worked! Happy days. We continued to push forward and despite conceding a goal, went into the second period break ahead through a well-taken goal from Captain Paul Sample.

A trademark third period collapse could have been on the cards but in the end, although Dundee made their 6-man advantage tell, the win was far from emphatic. The remaining Vipers went down fighting, and it could be argued the third goal would perhaps not have materialised if it wasn’t for another suspect refereeing decision leaving us defending against another Stars powerplay. The defeat was bitterly disappointing but not an entirely surprising outcome, in a match where the list of penalties exceeded the number of players on the benches, the officials struggled to remain in control, and the Stars team put in a cynical performance against tired and under-strength opposition. But from an objective point of view, it was a fantastic night’s entertainment and despite my recent malaise, totally reaffirmed to me why I love this sport so much. I can’t over-emphasize how proud I am to be involved with a club where everyone continues to give their heart and soul despite such difficult circumstances. Fantastic group of human beings, and that includes players, management and all the fans too.

Newcastle Vipers: So fast, they cannot be seen clearly by the naked eye. Dundee Stars, on the other hand... (Pic by Ian Macbeth)

Anyway, enough of the serious business. I know you’ve all been dying to hear my thoughts on the latest Viper-related facial hair, and I’m thrilled this week to be able to report that Mike Prpich’s beard turned up in Belfast! Quite what he was doing leaving it there I don’t know, but we can call off the search, much to the relief of frightened members of the public, and of course, his chin. There seems to be a collective face-fuzz increase in the Vipers camp which makes me wonder if perhaps male beard growth experiences a similar hormonal phenomenon to women who work in close proximity and affect each other’s lady cycles. Perhaps Gillette could sponsor a scientific investigation into said phenomenon. I would of course be happy to volunteer my services for data collection. See below pics for initial evidence. I swear to several gods, none of these beards were there on Saturday night. Something funny happened on that ferry from Stranraer to Belfast…

The Newcastle Vipers Official Beard-Log... Or 'B-log' (let's see if that new word catches on! Remember, you heard it here first!)

Below: John Schwarz modelling the Canadian Woodcutter v.3™

Kyle Sibley. This one DEFINITELY wasn't there on Saturday night.

Coach Danny Stewart leading by example

Jamie Tinsley - he didn't have a single hair on his face until he started playing ice hockey. True story.

Below: The Inspiration. He spills beard-growing hormones from every pore and makes facial hair spontaneously erupt on the faces of all who are near him. Take a bow, Sir Mike of Prpich.

All Beard Log pics kindly reproduced from Paul Lynch Photography http://www.paullynch.smugmug.com/

PS Stay tuned for instalment 2 of the blog later this week, following our Challenge Cup semi-final at Whitley Bay against our good old pals the Nottingham Panthers. ‘A cup semi-final,’ I hear you cry?! ‘That sounds awfully important and exciting!’ Well you’re right, it’s both – so get your sexy butts down to the rink and experience the pinnacle of our season so far. ‘On a school night?!’ Yes. Quit your whining and get yerselves to the bar. Mine’s a Bulmers. Buy your tickets HERE!
http://www.vipershockey.co.uk/shop/

PPS Stay tuned to the blog in the coming weeks, too, for all manner of hockey-related excitement INCLUDING: my graduation from hockey kindergarten, Zamboni Girl: The Sequel (Just when you thought it was safe to go back on the ice), Holiday: the Whitley Bay Ice Rink special, The Official ‘Yo’ Momma’ joke-book, by John Schwarz, an exclusive interview with Mike Prpich in which he reveals the secret to growing a beard so virile, it can manage its own small business empire in Northern Ireland, and Through the Keyhole: A peek into the homes of hockey players - which ones are stinking pits and which are bodacious boudoirs? You decide!

PPPS At least three of the above are true! But which ones? Who can say! It all depends on which restraining orders I can get lifted!

PPPPS Um, Bye then. See you later in the week! ENJOY THE GAME!

Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today...

Over the last few days, the Vipers squad has sustained a number of losses, in the form of various players absconding for pastures new, most recently Patrik Forsbacka announcing his departure on Tuesday. We will have all have had our favourites among the dearly departed, and this post is for anyone who has had a favourite player leave, either this season or any other really. I hope it provides some comfort knowing that you're not the most unhinged fan out there (or maybe you are - please share your tales of woe with me if you wish, it might make me feel like less of a freak!)

On hearing the news of the departure of Dale Mahovsky on Sunday, I went through a myriad of emotions. I had commented flippantly the previous night that despite us having sustained some real losses to the team over the course of this season, we hadn’t yet lost a player whom I counted among my favourites, and that when we did, it would be my first real challenge as a hockey fan. I’ve opined endlessly in as yet unpublished blog posts about the fleeting, temporary nature of the sport, and the seeming lack of loyalty from players in this league, and these posts have remained rightly unpublished as they are mostly emotional rant-y nonsense. But I always knew the moment would come. I had hoped that it wouldn’t be Mahovsky, and that it wouldn’t be now, but it was, and is. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’ve been fond of Dale from my early days of Vipers fan-dom, and so I’m going to give you an honest assessment of my reaction.

Dale Mahovsky. This is the face of betrayal, people. BETRAYAL!*

I took it personally at first. My kneejerk reaction was to dropkick a puppy or something equally cruel and unnecessary. You know the Cat in the Bin Lady? I bet her favourite hockey player had just left when she achieved notoriety last year. I wanted to pour forth torrents of howling misery on the blog but I remembered I have a duty to bring light and cheer to my fellow hockey fans even in times of trouble, so I thought again. They say the best work can only come out of the pain of experience, so this blog should be a triumph. Please, laugh at my pain, if you will.

The whole situation brought to mind the Kübler-Ross model, more commonly known as the five stages of grief, and although the gravity of the situation clearly doesn’t warrant quite such a gross over-reaction, the parallels amused me at the time, as I hope they will you. The stages, as listed on the trusty resource known as Wikipedia, are listed as follows:

1) Denial
2) Anger
3) Bargaining
4) Depression
5) Acceptance

I think Ms Kübler-Ross missed out a key stage to be honest, that should go directly before denial – shock. I was shocked. It came completely out of the blue, and I had a literal blood running cold, hand clamped over mouth type moment, before logic kicked in and I realised it wasn’t actually a matter of life and death. And then I entered into the five stages quite unwittingly.

1) Denial. I personally don’t think this is a legitimate stage. A nanosecond of ‘nooo, surely not’ doesn’t count as a proper stage, does it? I suppose there was a bit of ‘but he wouldn’t! He can’t have!’ mixed in so okay, I’ll let it slide.

2) Anger. Ha. There was a lot of that. I was raging at the world. In a show of defiant petulance I almost threw my game-worn Mahovsky jersey across my room, until I realised it wouldn’t do anyone any good, and it might make the people across the road think they were sharing a street with a mental person. So I put it down again. But how DARE he leave? It’s not right! Well fine then. Screw you, Dale. Off you go. Just treat us like a holiday home why don’t you, see if I care. Make me fall in love with your skating skills and buy your shirt and go on about how good you are and then just swan off. Whatever. I am SO not bothered. I hate you.

3) Bargaining: I didn’t mean it. Please come back. I love you.

The bargaining stage actually lasted longer than I expected. It was also the most fun. It was when the inspiration for this post struck, and I would tentatively suggest to Kübler-Ross that the stage be re-named ‘bargaining, with gallows humour’. It went a bit like this:

‘So, he’s buggering off to the CHL then, is he. What’s that when it’s at home?’ Cue another trip to Wikipedi-land on a quest for knowledge, this time accompanied by feigned scornful indifference. I found a most interesting Wiki article on the ‘Central Hockey League’ (pfft, sounds like a local yokel joke of a league to me) and the teams contained within it. Such a lot of nonsense I have never encountered in all my days. There’s a team called the Bossier-Shreveport Mudbugs. Are you freaking kidding me? On further investigation I discovered, and I quote, that the ridiculously named Mudbugs are ‘one of the few successful sports teams to ever grace the Bossier-Shreveport area’. Well slap my thigh and call me Beyonce, is that a fact? He’s not allowed to go there. It sounds rubbish. But the Mudbugs are in esteemed company, I discovered, as I continued to survey the exalted list. How about the Evansville IceMen? Oh my dear lord, give me strength. Just no. Whoever came up with that name ought to be shot. And it’s in Indiana. He’s not going there. I’ve been there. It’s rubbish. Wichita Thunder sound cool. Shame they’re from Kansas, which is rubbish. Colorado? Hmm. Okay, fine. I suppose he can go there. But can we have him back for months ending in –ember? And –uary? And can we come and visit at weekends? Some kind of joint custody arrangement would work for me. I’ll call my lawyer.

4) Depression. I scooted fairly quickly through the first three stages (possibly because Dale didn’t actually die, which is obviously the main thing to note here) and landed squarely at number four, where I dug my heels in and prepared to rest for the foreseeable future. Well that’s it then. No more Mahovsky. No more cheering like a loon every time his name is read out on the team sheet, or he scores, or assists, or moves, or generally exists. I suppose at least I don’t need to worry about his dental calamities any longer. Ooh, has anyone seen his teeth? Are they still in the country? Someone hold them hostage, then he’ll have to stay! Don’t worry about me though, I’ll just sit in a darkened room weeping bitter tears and mopping them up with my now worthless jersey. I’ll be fine. I can’t BELIEVE my shirt is already out of date. This sucks. I hate ice hockey. It’s rubbish.

5) Acceptance. I don’t think I’m there yet, although my progression through the stages was helped along significantly by Sunday’s astonishing performance in Coventry, sans Mahovsky. We don’t need you after all, splitter. So there. A colleague at work, after laughing cruelly at my plight, astutely observed that perhaps I let myself get too attached to individuals, (which is true, but I’ve always been that way with sport. I cried like a baby when Tommy Mooney left Watford) and like some kind of giant limpet I should attach myself to a different hairy rock, which I thought was such a brilliant term for a hockey player I’ve borrowed it. And so the role of my next victim – er, hairy rock – remains vacant. Although I have a funny feeling it won’t be for long.

Apologies for the general flippant/bitter/cynical tone, but I pledged to bare my soul for you and I hope you’ve found the whole debacle as hysterically amusing as I have (okay, add ‘sarcastic’ to that list of negative qualities on display in this blog post). I’m sure once the pain has eased I will be able to graciously thank Mahovsky for the pleasure he brought me for just a few short months, and all the goals he scored, and the general pleasant demeanour and hard-working attitude he seemed to bring to the club. Right now though, he’s just a dirty splitter. And I’ve just regressed back to step 4.

I of course can’t fail to mention the loss of another team member in the past week, Jamie Carroll. He seemed like a great guy and was an invaluable member of the team so it’s a massive blow for the club to lose him and Dale in one week, especially when you consider they were our top two points scorers. (Yet we still beat Coventry on the road. How. HOW?! I still can’t grasp it!). And my final mention in the most eulogy-ridden blog post I’ll probably (hopefully) ever write goes to Alex Penner, who announced his departure from the Nottingham Panthers, and the UK, this week, due to the fact ‘there’s no-one left to fight in the Elite League’. Oh Alex. I was just growing to love you as well, in a hate-y sort of way. With your goonery and your cheatery and your bare-chested slidery. He provided amusement, and eye candy, and will be missed. He’s kind of like one of those hideously weird and ugly Mexican chihuahua type dogs; publicly, you point and laugh at it and pretend it’s ridiculous, but privately you wouldn’t mind scratching its belly and feeding it a treat, just out of curiosity, to see what would happen.

Alex Penner: Tickle his tummy and see if he rolls over

Well, thank you for listening, it’s been quite therapeutic for me to lay this nonsense down on paper (and now screen). I’m off to nail down Schwarz, Sibley and Effinger to stationary objects now, would anyone care to assist? Yes it might make skating a bit more difficult for them, but at least they won’t be able to leave!

*I get it, okay. It's all about his career, or whatever. It's FINE. I don't really hate him.

Diary of a Tall Girl

I’ve had a weekend of feverish inspiration so I will be bringing you not one, but two blog posts this week, in quick succession. It’s been a week of massive ups and downs for the Vipers and I’m struggling to make sense of it all to be honest, so can we go through it together, step by step, in a nice calm, structured fashion, please? Thank you! I will deal with the not insignificant matter of the hockey matches first. And move onto OTHER things in post number 2. Let’s just take it day by day…

Friday 7th January, 2011

Dear Diary. On Friday night, I watched live Elite League Hockey action from the comfort of my own sofa. It was fun! There were some fights and Belfast Giants won but it was very close. I like watching hockey in my house. Love, Katy xx

Saturday 8th

Dear Diary. On Saturday I went to a real live hockey match!

Engage reporter mode.

The first of the weekend’s matches was a massive home tie against fellow strugglers the Edinburgh Capitals. I feel like I wrote that exact same sentence when we played them last, back in November, and not much has changed since then, except that the situation on and off the ice has possibly gotten even grimmer, for both clubs. Both missing a number of imports, this was billed as a ‘four point match’ (that’s a six-pointer, to us football fans!) and there was no denying that it really was a key game, for a number of reasons. And the Vipers rose to the challenge with style. In a fairly calm and collected first period, we took a two goal lead, both goals coming from the stick of Jaro ‘Ninja’ Rzeszutko (I’m determined for that nickname to catch on!). We added to the lead almost immediately at the start of the second, and although Edinburgh pulled one back shortly afterwards, it was a dominant display from the Vipers, controlled and disciplined; they worked their systems to great effect, taking advantage of a number of powerplay opportunities offered up by a series of Capitals penalty offences, including most notably the ejection of netminder Scott Reid from the game for misconduct after an incident involving Sam Zajac, and then a linesman getting a bit of abuse. Tut, and all that.

We scored lots of goals after that. Which is always nice. Mike Prpich picked up a goal and five assists, Danny Stewart let rip one of his trademark stinging slapshots, and in the third period Jaro the Ninja completed his hat-trick, and to bring up double figures in the dying seconds, Sammy Zajac scored his first ever Vipers goal, and the place erupted. Our second double-figured result in as many months, the victory was soured somewhat by the dire financial straits our opponents find themselves in; it felt a bit like kicking a puppy. But at the end of the day, a win is a win (apologies for the state-the-bleeding-obvious sporting clichés there).

In a new feature, Vipers management invited fans to vote for their Man of the Match via text, which was novel and also highly amusing; you could almost feel the collective befuddlement ripple around the rink as people tried to spell Rzeszutko, before most probably just texting ‘Jaro’ or ‘14’, or a different player altogether (which wouldn’t have helped as Mike Prpich was arguably the next best player!). I'm proud to say I definitely spelt it right, although it’s purely because of this blog and the number of times I’ve had to look it up in the past! All those unnecessary ‘z’s! His family are obviously keen Scrabble-players. When they came to announce the award, I wouldn’t have been completely shocked to find Ant and Dec leaping out from behind a bush and in a few drawn-out moments of nervous tension listing the team members in true ‘I’m a Celebrity…’ style; ‘Such-and-such… it’s not you. Sam Zajac… it might be you.’ It was a nice touch, with the correct outcome, in my humble opinion.

Sunday 9th

Just when you think things can’t get any worse, in terms of our team and how many of them there are, they do. As for the grim reality of the departure of Dale Mahovsky, well, as the angry headmaster said to the naughty child ‘I’ll deal with you later’. It warrants its own blog post, I’ll tell you that much. I reached a point where I was almost glad I would be missing next weekend’s matches (due to a girlie trip to France); I felt sort of like hockey and I were lovers who had had our first tiff, and needed sometime apart.

The match away at Coventry on Sunday night looked certain to be a write-off from a Vipers point of view; we were down to eight imports, just 11 skaters altogether, and I followed the general Twitter feeds from Blaze fans half-heartedly, expecting a rout. But somehow we did the unthinkable, putting on our game faces and pulling a 5-1 lead out of the bag by the end of the second period. I was feeling less gloomy now. Despite the news that John Schwarz had been hit in the face with a puck. The poor guy really does take a battering. On the plus side, I have a candidate to replace Mahovsky in my clucky mother hen phases. We made hard work of it in the third period (what a shock), but after many weeks of trial and error we finally came up with a solution to the scientific theory we’ve apparently been testing all season: the optimum lead required to render a third period collapse meaningless, is in fact, four goals. Ah so that’s what’s been going on. Someone tell science we’ve reached a conclusion, and we can stop doing that particular brand of collapsing now, alright?

John Schwarz: Would you hit this face? Me neither. The other teams apparently didn't get the memo.

And so our triumph in Coventry (we’re getting really good on the road!) made it a four-point weekend – I’ve never experienced one of those before! I could definitely get used to it. Danny’s Dozen have now become the Unstoppable Eleven, and it’s all come down to a nice symmetry. 2011. The four point match. A four point weekend. The Unstoppable 11. A spritely skip up to 8th place in the league, and into the play-off positions. And how it makes my heart proud.

Monday 10th

Um, nothing hockey-related happened on Monday. But I’m just trying to be thorough here! Well I say nothing; there was a meeting between the people in the power at Vipers and the Elite League to (hopefully) agree a way forward for the club. But nobody told us anything about it on Monday, so I was forced to turn to a bucket of wine in order to get through the evening.

Tuesday 11th

They gave us some money! Thank the almighty gods of hockey, we will make it to the end of the season. That is the best news I’ve had all year. I haven’t had much news so far this year, to be honest, what with it only being the 11th and all, but it’s still the best.

So that concludes part one of the weekend’s action. The silver lining, if you will. Join me tomorrow for the dark side, a sombre recollection of my grief-stricken Sunday at the hands of Dale ‘the Splitter’ Mahovsky. Come, laugh at my misery. It will be jolly fun. See you shortly…

I Need a Hero

What can I say. I was at home. I was bored. I should probably up the medication. Don't judge me.

But wouldn't it be nice if we had some superheroes to solve all our problems for us...

Reasons to be Cheerful

Pray, look at that there optimistic post title! How did I do that? It’s January 6th. Surely there aren’t any? Reasons to be cheerful, that is? It certainly didn’t feel like it sloping in from our drubbing at the hands of the Nottingham Panthers on Monday night, with nothing to look forward to but a miserable morgue-like week at work, and a continued furrow on the brow of hope about all things British Ice Hockey-related, beginning but not ending with our seemingly insurmountable financial issues here in Newcastle. Why oh why did I let myself get so attached to this sport so quickly? Why oh why did I not heed the warnings of the knowing souls who told me it would not be easy to be a Vipers fan, and not to start worrying about all the things that go on off the ice? I’m some kind of idiot, I’m sure, but a love-struck idiot nonetheless, and though it pains my heart to see us struggle, I’m still 100% committed to the cause.

I’m going to quiet my infernal wailing and actually talk about the match for at least two sentences; I’ll try and stop before I over-depress myself and slump into a motionless heap over the keyboard. Please watch out for my vital signs – if something like this – ‘\sdjgkgkgkgkgkgkgkgkgkgkgkgkgkbh’ appears and continues for a few lines, please contact the emergency services.

Aw, look at the lovely picture. Look at it! LOOK AT IT! Right that's enough, you've had your happiness for the day. On with the misery! (Pic by Darran Gilpin)

So. Despite our fantastic achievements in Hull and Belfast, our little bubble had to burst eventually, and it did so in spectacular fashion, beginning with an 8-1 silencing in Cardiff on Sunday night. The Devils are the in-form team in the league, on a streak and a half, and they put us soundly in our place, little upstarts that we are, daring to beat the top side in the league! The Panthers were not on quite so much of a streak, and had had some troubles putting together a decent run of any kind in recent weeks, but they put their worries firmly behind them on Monday night, going 3-0 up within a matter of minutes and giving the Vipers faithful a less than pleasant welcome to the New Year at Whitley Bay.

It’s very hard to criticise the lads after their heroics in Belfast, and let’s face it, a return trip to Wales the day before any match must take it out of you, but they just weren’t switched on in the first period, and the Panthers walked all over them. Even the indefatigable Charlie Effinger seemed affected by the general malaise, although I must mention that he caught a puck to the face early on which didn’t seem to help matters. Our defence was in dire straits as it was, thanks to the almighty himself, Brad Voth, kindly landing on John Schwarz’ head the night before in Cardiff and ruling him out for the night. Of all the people you don’t want landing on your head, Brad Voth has to be pretty high up the list, surely ranking alongside the likes of John Prescott and Ann Widdecombe. We can only wonder what Schwarz must have said about Voth’s Mum to warrant that response. Last time we played Panthers it was hugely physical but that aspect of the game barely got off the ground this time, it didn’t seem worth the bother what with us already losing so heavily and being greatly lacking in the bench department. The whole encounter more closely resembled a collective sigh than a hockey match.

Things did pick up a little in the second period though. We were awarded a penalty shot, the first one I’ve seen since I’ve been watching hockey (and in all honesty, I didn’t know such things existed in the sport – it seems a trifle unnecessary what with all the offences you can commit and basically get away with, but who am I to judge!). These seem to be awarded when a player with a clear shot on goal is impeded, possibly from behind ie if the goalie is the last man. Or something like that. Possibly. (I ROCK at explaining the rules to stuff!). Anyway, sadly for me my first penalty shot was a missed penalty shot, but it felt typical of the evening we were having, so I didn’t let it depress me further.

The third period actually improved even further. Liam McAllister replaced Effinger in goal and put in a decent shift; Patrik Forsbacka who had looked a little turgid in the early stages of the game scored a cracking goal and that was closely followed by another, and suddenly the score was 9-3 and bizarrely, it felt as though we were back in contention. It’s amazing how quickly the mood can change in a hockey match and how, even in the direst of circumstances, a collective boost can be provided by a hopeful crowd. I doubt there were many of us who really believed we would win the match, needing as we did at that point to score 7 goals whilst keeping a clean sheet against a goal-hungry Panthers side who had been scoring for fun just one short period ago, but for a minute or two, the hope of a revival was enough. And then they scored again. And again. The bubble of the previous week had now not only burst, but become a distant memory.

So, reasons to be cheerful? There were some comedy moments laid on by the otherwise rampant Panthers side, with a few players falling over and bumping into each, so I’m trying to focus on those. Um, my football team are really good? That doesn’t help any of you though so let’s think of something else… We won the Ashes! So, some men who hit things are doing well! I feel I’ve made false promises with my post title and for that I apologise. I've failed you, my dear readers. I’ll come up with something, I promise. Just let me go to my happy place and rock backwards and forwards for a while whilst stroking a cuddly Viper. I’ll get back to you in February.