What's goin' on 'ere then?

Oh hi, hockeylings! How are you? Fighting fit? I do hope so. Apologies for going MIA, I hope you didn’t suffer too much separation anxiety and you’ve managed to successfully navigate the opening weeks of the new Elite League season without me. I feel hopelessly out of touch having returned from a long holiday and will be spending a large portion of time watching highlights videos and reading gamecards in order to get up to speed with the goings on so far. It's going to be like a combination of repentance and unashamed geekery I’ve concluded the following so far, based on my ferretings around the interweb:

- Sheffield aren’t quite as good as normal
- Hull are better than normal
- Belfast are good but could be better
- Nottingham are better than expected much to everyone’s irritation. Sexy Neilson Hockey has not yet made an appearance
- Cardiff aren’t going to have a great season
- Brad Voth is still worthy of people going without shoes
- Edinburgh are sadly going to pick up where they left off
- Fife are going to be the plucky underdogs
- Coventry are going to be good
- Dundee have been quiet but could spring a few surprises
- Braehead haven’t started yet
- Lots of people have gotten themselves injured already
- There are two people called Brock Mc-something in the Elite Ice Hockey League
- This both amuses and confuses me

Erm, I don’t like to blow my own trumpet or anything (parp), but other than the first two points where I was a bit wide of the mark, I believe I predicted all of the above in my season previews!! GO ME! Okay so it wasn’t that hard bearing in mind most of those are vague statements and there’s a long way to go, but still. Yeah so I just articulated what most people were thinking, so what. I need to feel useful, or clever or something! I don’t have my own team to be clever about anymore!

While I'm thinking of my old team, there are two key clubs to watch if, like me, you’re still reminiscing about last season’s glorious highlights through Viper-tinted spectacles. First is Amiens in the French Ligue Magnus who have added Kyle Sibley and Jaroslaw Rzeszutko to their ranks, along with Nottingham Panthers’ Angel Nikolov. Second, and my tip for ‘random place to run away to when you're feeling a bit stalk-y’ are the Missouri Mavericks. They have not one, not two, but THREE Vipers from the 2010/11 season, Charlie Effinger, Toms Hartmanis and Dale Mahovsky (splitter), and definitely have me plotting my escape from the country, not that I fancy Missouri much as a place to live. It’s a bit dull. I’m sure they’ll have a rubbish time, in comparison with the delights of Whitley Bay. I'm not jealous, really.

As for the remaining members of last season’s Vipers team, a few of the Brits have made the long journey south to the Isle of Wight, Coach Danny has launched into his career with Fife Flyers with a vengeance, throwing down the gloves once already with Panther’s Steve Lee. John Schwarz, mysteriously, has quit hockey entirely, presumably to concentrate his efforts on advanced beard-growing. And speaking of beards it appears that Mike Prpich has been abducted by his, as he hasn’t been seen since April. And our very own Sammy Zajac will make his debut this Saturday night for Braehead. And I shall be in attendance, making my Elite League debut, on the very same night.

Based on a combination of factors as follows, in no particular order, I have developed a soft spot for Braehead:

(1) Location/cost; I love Glasgow as a city and it’s not too far on the train.
(2) Craic.
(3) Purpleness of jersey.
(4) By pure chance home games don’t begin until this weekend due to an ironic twist of fate involving one of my other beloved sports, tennis. This pleases me as it means I haven’t missed anything.
(5) They made up the other 50% of my first ever Elite League hockey experience.
(6) They, like me, are only a year old in hockey terms.
(7) They’ve got our Sammy. They’d better look after him!

So I’ve decided that they will be the lucky recipients of the vast proportion of my affections this season. It’s okay, Clan fans. I understand how thrilled you must be to have me on board and I’ll give you a moment to come to terms with the sheer awesomeness of the honour I am to bestow upon your club. In time you will come to get used to the inordinate levels of rambling I shower on the object of my affection.

I jest of course. It’s not going to be a bed of roses for either of us. Okay it won’t be easy at first. We’ll have to get used to each other. Like a new pair of shoes, the fit may not be perfect, or instant, but I hope we’ll take to one another and perhaps I can earn your affections. I’ll say this. It’s not going to be easy for me either. I want to commit to a new team (see my previous post in which I rant like a loon about needing to support SOMEBODY), but it doesn’t take away the uncomfortable, squirmy feeling I get when I think about wearing another team’s colours, or chanting another team’s name. It’s like some weird communal version of infidelity.

Those of you who have read me before will know that I’m prone to the odd over-dramatic extended metaphor. Those of you who haven’t are in for a bit of a surprise. Try reading my post 'Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today…’ (Jan 2011) if you want to know what I mean. But, I'm not exaggerating when I say I’m, like, a hockey widow! It's true! My first love (the Vipers) has died, so now I'm all alone and I need some company in this big wide world, y'know? Braehead, like, basically you're my new boyfriend. Um, yeah. Wow. This post is sliding swiftly downhill and I’m going to put a stop to it right now!

See you tomorrow Braehead fans! Please don't run away, I promise I'm not THAT weird! Everyone else, I shall post my thoughts on the weekend’s action around the league at some point next week – brace yourselves! It will be full of the stunning insight that watching only one hockey match so far this season can bestow!

Newcastle Vipers 2010/11: A Season in Review (or more accurately, a woman in disarray)

Some things have come to light over the last few days that have made me realise that in about 5 days’ time, I am going to be in serious trouble. What do we know about me already? That I’m a shameless beard-obsessed stalker with a southern accent, a penchant for large defencemen and fermented apple drinks, and a tendency to ramble on nonsensically. We also know from experience that I have numerous dependency issues, and these are what concern me. I have just experienced my first weekend in quite a significant length of time W.O.H.: With. Out. Hockey. And I didn’t like it. It was weird. And wrong. I sat around the house like a petulant teenager declaring everything to be 'boring'. Thankfully this weekend I have play-offs to look forward to but after that… what? The approaching void of the summer is looming large and I need to figure out something to fill it with, and fast. Here are the ideas I have come up with so far:

- Take up tennis/martial arts/marathon running/competitive cookie-baking (let's just re-cap on those thoughts - acceptable/dangerous/foolish/winning).

- Reverse hibernation. Wake me up in September? (A good idea in theory, but conversely I really like the sun)

- Actually learn to skate. (Being at Whitley Bay all the time probably wouldn’t be great for my mental health however).

- Do something mind-expanding. Like reading a… what are those paper things called with all the words in again? One of them, anyway.

- Take up amateur dramatics. I could so tread the boards, darling. Or I could express myself through the medium of contemporary dance. Or mime. Oh dear lord, anything but mime.

- Start gambling obsessively. (My dependent nature would really lend itself to this one! Any tips?)

Yes. As you can see, I haven’t gotten particularly far. But honestly, if I don’t find something of substance to occupy my mind, things could get messy in the cranial department. And that will probably result in me running away to Canada. Actually, there are no drawbacks to that plan. For now, at least, I will continue to indulge myself. Far from being ready to let go of the season that was, I have scraped together some final thoughts and ramblings of mine on the players, the season and the Vipers in general to finish on what I hope will be a slightly cheerier, if not more erratic, note than last week. Then I will let them go gracefully. And come back to you next week with news of Devils, Giants, Steelers and Panthers. Yes, it’s going to be an epic weekend in Nottingham. I can see the headlines now as I go MIA. ‘Katy Parles, Champion Beard Hunter! Last seen rampaging through the National Ice Centre screeching about play-off beards.’ Honestly, it was hard enough to cope with successfully blogging the comings and goings of ONE beard (enigmatic as said beard was). But play-offs actually have beards named after them! And ALL the players grow them. I’m going to have some kind of cardiac episode, I’m quite certain of it.

So what about this season then? Turbulent is probably an apt word. In fact, it had more ups and downs than a spritely gymnast after a crate-full of Red Bull, on a pogo stick, on a trampoline. Here is my summary of the season, in less than 300 words. It features some of my personal highlights and memories, and I hope it will remind you of some of yours.

The beginnings – feeling like an infant, instantly falling in love, the hyperactive fly effect… Chewiiiie… learning the offside rule again… skating face first… Dale Mahovsky’s teeth… Scott Langdon – ‘chippy’… Sammy taking on Brad Voth (Behemoth)… Drive for Five… Alex Penner being psychotic… my first ever hockey jersey… third period collapses… bench clearance in Coventry… the turning point – Danny’s Dozen beating Coventry at home… CHARLIE! CHARLIE CHARLIE!... cheating on football with ice hockey… double figures over Dundee… financial peril – and lots of it… stupid superstitions… ice hockey community spirit... the mass exodus in December - of players AND hair… the relief of finding out we would last the season… that win in Belfast… TWO wins over Nottingham – now that’s what I call Sexy Neilson Hockey… THAT goal by John Schwarz… Mike Prpich’s beard… and the continuing hunt for it… Danny’s slapshot… Ninja Rzeszutko… Hartmanis’ speed… wanting to mother hockey players… not enough D men… innuendos in the corporate lounge… Sammy's gonna get ya… learning Geordie... Dean Holland – the People’s Choice… Dan Pye massive, learning to shout at match officials… HAVING to shout at them – a lot… learning just about everything else I know about ice hockey (thanks Kev!)… making some great friends, the cider, the laughs, the dancing, the gossip, the nonsense, the chants… ‘howaaaay’… the Effinger Pounce… discovering Rockies bar... Big Friendly Giants... Whitley Bay love... tears and cheers... Dundee being smelly... saying goodbye in style – We’ll Meet Again

To add to his ever-growing list of skills (which mainly features various outstanding hair-sprouting abilities), Mike Prpich can add the ability to grow a Dundee Stars player from his back. Impressive stuff.

I told you this was going to be erratic.

Bearing in mind how lost I was after the departure of Dale Mahovsky, I am concerned about my emotional well-being now, as I’ve become so fond of all of our players, it’s like losing him 10 times over. Except worse, as I’ve had an extra three months to become attached to them. Each and every one of those players is dear to me and will always have a special place in my heart. Aww. Group hug.

Even though they are all destined to go their separate ways in the coming weeks, and I have to resist the overwhelming urge to sort of round them up and put them in a pen, like a collection of wayward sheep, I will graciously let them run free in the world, but not before first spending some time remembering these wonderful individuals who made our season what it was. I’ll start with those who didn’t complete the season, before moving onto thank the stalwarts (really, is ice hockey so fleeting and ephemeral that sticking around in one place for seven months classes as a long-term commitment? That’s a whinge for another blog post. Anyway, on with the show…)

One of my favourite photos of the season. So worrying, I do not have a single amusing caption to go with it. But please note, there are three hockey players in this photo. Two of them are Vipers. Can you spot them?

To the dearly departed…

Rob Wilson – like ships in the night, our paths never crossed. Please insert relevant comment here: _____________________________________

Blair Stayzer – tall, dark, tanned and lazy, he was ice hockey’s equivalent of David Dickinson, playing ice hockey.

Scott Langdon – sing along: 'he’s big, he’s hard, he left us short in defence to go back to North America which was a bit rubbish but never mind…'? Work with me here, people.

Dan Speer – showed signs of life at times but didn't seem to gel. It’s fine Dan, we get it. Not everyone appreciates the beauty of a good stottie or a fine ice facility such as Whitley Bay.

Nathan Salem – did not play much of a role before heading off to play for the Northern Stars.

Nick Duff – like a ghost at a sceptic seance, he never appeared.

Jamie Carroll – good dude. Couldn’t shake the feeling that at any moment he might stop skating, throw down his helmet and bust out a version of ‘The Real Slim Shady’, though.

Dale Mahovsky – the dirty, dirty splitter (it’s fine. I’m SO over him. I didn’t nearly go on strike when they gave the number 91 jersey to someone else or anything. Nope).

Patrik Forsbacka – sneaked out the back door like the big Finnish wookie-alike sneaker that he is. I shake my fist at him. And then run away.

And to those who stayed ‘til the bitter end…

Charlie Effinger – what can I say about Charlie other than CHARLIE! CHARLIE! CHARLIE! Most improved player, netminder extraordinaire and the heart and soul of the team.

Liam McAllister – a worthy back-up to Charlie and a cheeky chappy to boot. Guy likes to eat a lot of sandwiches.

Kyle Sibley – teeny, tiny, super-speedy, likes to attack from defence. He’s the Ashley Cole of the Vipers. Except not a massive idiot.

John Schwarz – had an interesting season which started out fairly anonymously, had a bit of injury in the middle and then he became an immense paragon of awesomeness. Goal against Panthers was the highlight of the season. Then he got injured (again). And morphed into a younger version of Fabio Capello.

Sammy Zajac – heart of a lion in the body of a ferret. Or something along those lines. No-one worked harder. Or fought more people over three times their size. Dude.

Danny Stewart – played almost a full season out of position and had some hairy (ish!) moments as a result, but more than made up for it with his tenacity, never-say-die attitude and coaching awesomeness.

Mike Prpich – together we embarked on a journey of beard-worship that transcended space and time. But it appears that after starting in a blaze of bearded glory, he has chosen to end the season without the blessed thing. It was last seen swiftly exiting the building wearing a disguise. Come to think of it, what would a beard wear as a disguise, do you think? A face?! Farewell, sweet beard! ‘Til we meet again!

Jaroslaw Rzeszutko – Ninja. What else can be said about this guy. Super-fast goal-machine. People couldn’t spell his name. I hope he didn’t mind too much.

Toms Hartmanis – incredible skater, great forward. Between him, Jaro and Prpich they almost single-handedly ensured we scored some goals. Thank goodness.

Dean Holland – the People’s Choice.

Paul Sample – Vipers Captain, a fairly quiet season but he steadied the ship and led from the front.

Jamie Tinsley – hard-working, dedicated, saw a lot of ice in the second half of the season and did very little wrong.

And the Whitley Warriors and Northern Stars who bolstered our numbers on occasion, notable mentions to Adam Reynolds and Dan Pye. Thank you!

The 2010/1 season: the vital statistics:

My Viper stats: 9 wins 15 defeats – No. of streaks – 0 (it was too cold for that business).
Number of teeth lost – 5 (that I noticed!)

Number of beards grown – 695 – averages approximately 49 beards per Viper. Sort of. That’s about 8 each a month. Sounds about right, doesn’t it?

Goals scored – some

Goals conceded – more

Penalties – loads

Fights – several

Going - got tough

Tough - got going

Ciders – 53 (at least)

Unrequited cuddles for injured players – 83

SexyNeilsonHockey – 200%

Dancing – poor

Cheering – loud

Spirit – fighting

Memories – a lifetime’s worth

Thanks again for reading, everybody. It's been a pleasure to share this journey with you. Here's hoping I'll be back next year with more juicy Vipers fruit for your delectation. I'll say no more on that matter for now! But please come back next week for my play-off review! Marvel as I attempt to remember four whole other sets of players and compare and contrast their beards! Gasp in wonder as I single-handedly dissect the weekend's hockey action despite excessive apple juice consumption! Shudder as I recount in vivid detail the pain and agony of my final hockey withdrawal symptoms! And other such jollities! See you then!

It’s That Ole Devil called Voth Again

Cards on the table, people. It’s nearing the end. I’m not going to pretend that it’s going to be easy. But we will face it together. First I will deal with the match report-type business-like malarkey, before I descend into hysteria and launch into my man-size box of Kleenex. Dive in with me. There’s enough for everyone. Unless you have a cold. In which case, get your own.

It was the first sighting of a Cardiff Devil in the Newcastle area since way back in November, when the Welsh side were in the midst of an almighty, barn-storming, 21-game winning streak which broke the league (and possibly world) record, and they subsequently perched atop the Elite League for a time before their streak came to an end and they dropped below the Sheffield Steelers. So, a big game for us then? Er, yes. Just a bit.

Sadly I’m not best-placed to provide a detailed report this week, as I was completely cabbaged from sleep deprivation, travelling and excessive consumption of fermented apple drink in London the previous night. The game was missing something in the first period, which was no good at all from a personal point of view, as I struggled to retain consciousness, but I think what was missing was mostly, well, ice hockey. It just didn’t seem to materialise, at least from the Vipers. We seemed devoid of ideas; Cardiff play a physical game and interrupted any flow we were able to muster, and they went in at the first period break 3-1 to the good.

The Devils had the better of us for the majority of the game but it wasn’t a walk in the park for them, and although we produced little in terms of shots on goal, the ones we did produce were accurate and going into the third period we had the score back to 3-2 for a short while and it could have been game on. However our error rate was too high, we turned over too many pucks and even Charlie had an uncharacteristic wobble in goal. Simply put, the guys looked tired, and were out-played, although it’s fair to say the difference between the teams on the night should not have amounted to 5 goals, and we were once again hampered by some questionable refereeing. We also nearly suffered the loss of another defenceman when Kyle Sibley was caught in the face unintentionally by an otherwise rather belligerent Ryan Finnerty (who then proceeded to rub salt in the wound by slamming the penalty box door in Sibley’s already injured face as he attempted to leave the ice for treatment). Suffice to say, I was all kinds of worried, but thankfully Sibs returned unharmed and had I not had to make a swift exit following the game, he would doubtless have found me molesting him with grateful affection in the bar after the game. These hockey players have had some lucky escapes this season, I can tell you.

Sibley had an interesting game actually, making a few careless errors but more than making up for them with some characterful defending and some excellent shots on goal. For our only surviving import defenceman, he has been playing more like a forward lately, and I like it! (Not that John Schwarz is dead; quite the contrary actually. He appears to be living an amazing double life, and has been spotted patrolling the Vipers bench shouting orders in an Italian accent. Yes it’s true. He is our Fabio).

It should be noted that the game also marked the return of the Behemoth himself, Brad Voth, highly anticipated after his clash with our very own Sam Zajac back in November, but it has to be said he behaved himself rather well in the end (as did Sammy!) and he also did us the good service of providing probably the highlight of the evening, as he was set up in front of an empty net and yet somehow managed to sky the puck for one of the misses of the season. It was a highly amusing moment, made even more memorable by Voth’s good-natured acceptance of the heckling from the Vipers fans, giving us a wave for our troubles. All good clean fun.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the one, the only, Mr Bradley Voth. Look how fluffy! It's amazing what a simple pimp costume can do to enhance a man's natural qualities. Mean? Are you kidding me? Even Voths need love.

The defeat on Saturday, although hard fought, was expected, but the Vipers travelled to Hull on Sunday with hopes of an outside chance of nicking something from the game. I wasn’t there but I can safely say the guys gave it everything, yet again, Charlie right back on form letting in only one shot in 59 – yet another truly outstanding performance. We lost by just a single goal. However, the final nail in the coffin of our play-off hopes was tapped into place by the Dundee Stars who won impressively over a slumping Coventry Blaze side, and it’s safe to say that barring a miracle of biblical proportions, that nail will be firmly hammered in come this weekend.

Following the defeat against Hull and the realisation that we are unlikely to make play-offs the reality of the situation facing our beloved club hit me with full force. However I don’t wish to dwell on the stark truth of the matter until it’s absolutely necessary, and between now and then we have two weekends of hockey left and regardless of the league situation here is what it means: we have four games left. Four games to play our hockey and give it our all, just the way we have been, but now without fear and without pressure. Let’s go down fighting. Maybe not literally, but metaphorically. (Or literally, if necessary!) As originally quoted by the inimitable Mr Neil Young (a Canadian himself, so clearly it relates to hockey!), ‘it’s better to burn out than to fade away’, so let’s leave this league with the memory of a Vipers team who have battled for every puck, and fought their hearts out week in week out, right to very last minute of the very last period. They’re not going to forget this team in a hurry. For the Vipers fans, we’ve got four games left to enjoy our team while we still have them, and what a team they are. Let’s go down singing.

Even the Bad Times are Good

As I’ve maintained since the beginning of my hockey journey, and indeed through all my sports-supporting endeavours, too much happiness is bad for you. It raises expectations, brings about a false sense of security and makes you a smug, complacent git. But there’s absolutely no chance of that with the Newcastle Vipers, so fear not. Whenever the stork of good luck flies overhead and drops a little bundle of happiness for this team, like the win over Nottingham for example, hot on its tail is a swiftly applied kick in the unmentionable parts by the stork’s lesser known but truly dastardly compatriot, the mallard of misery. But it’s for the best, trust me. Success is SO over-rated. Plus we’re British, and no-one likes a good moan more than us. What do Man United fans have to moan about for example? That their prawn sandwich didn't house the required level of marie rose sauce this week? No-one wants to be a Man United fan now, do they.

But just what is about this Vipers team, and bad luck? When I started writing this blog if someone had told me about the endless list of setbacks that my newly-discovered team were to face, and the crazy successes they would achieve despite them, I would have laughed in their ridiculous prophetic face. Just days after the glory of the amazing win over the Panthers, and his first goal of the season, and me finally taking the plunge buying a shirt with his name on the back, John Schwarz goes and gets himself injured. And puts the kybosh on our chances of reaching the play-offs. Or so you might think. Of all the players for the team to lose, Schwarz is arguably the most key. If I get my hands on whoever caused his injury I’ll… I’ll… probably call them sir and shake their hand. But I’ll be really rude about them behind their backs. Quietly.

So we took to the ice a depleted side on Saturday, down to just 9 skaters; portents of doom hung in the air as we faced an Edinburgh Capitals side desperate for a win. An element of bitterness has crept into the race for the last play-off spot and the three teams battling in the basement of the league have no love lost between them, the Capitals as much a part of ‘import-gate’ as Dundee Stars. I had a bad feeling.

But thankfully it quickly dissipated as it became clear that sadly (for them), the Capitals are quite a poor side. There was no time to waste feeling sorry for them this time, and we skated rings around them, literally, in the first period, piling the pressure on in a series of what appeared to be beautifully executed training exercises, although sadly not racking up the scoreline quite as much as Vipers fans would have hoped; it seemed as though we should have doubled our two goal lead at least by the first period break. Who said offence was the best defence? Some sort of American, presumably, but despite this regrettable handicap whoever the person was had it spot on, on this occasion. We pounded the Capitals’ goal and didn’t give them much of a chance to reply, and even when they did it was to little effect.

Despite this, the slender two goal lead began to feel precarious in the second period, the Capitals tightening up and responding with two goals of their own, and our weakened defence starting to tire, but thankfully by the end of the second period we were 5-2 up. Thanks to, er, some goals, and Vipers fans were able to breathe freely once again.

Films like Avatar and Toy Story seem intent on telling everyone that 3D is a good thing these days. But in hockey terms, it’s quite clear that it’s really not and Hollywood needs to stop talking out of its rear end. However, our ‘3D’ gave their all tonight, and my ode from last week’s blog post still stands. Bearing in mind they’re all under 5’7” and one of them isn’t even a defenceman by trade, they work damn hard, and in the case of Sammy Zajac even have time to settle a score with an adversary, throwing down the gloves as he did against Edinburgh’s Iain Bowie for some reason or other. Great fun. Poor Kyle Sibley must have wondered what crimes he’d committed in a previous life, being the only real defencemen left on the ice as Zajac sat out his five minute major, and looking pretty weary when his shift finally came to an end. The Vipers fans collectively sighed with relief that he actually made it through the game at all without injury.

Don't mess with Sammy Zajac. He will fold you in half and use your head as percussion.

We scored two more goals in the third to put the game to bed and make it safely through our first Schwarz-less game unscathed. Methinks it may not be quite as easy in games to come…

Just to check, to any readers of mine who aren’t already hockey fans, are you STILL not going to see hockey yet? And if not, why the hell not? Scared you might like it? It’s dangerously addictive, I grant you that. But don't be afraid little ones. Resistance is futile! Come! Be hockey’ed! Directly in your FACE! If you’re in the Newcastle area, why not start this weekend? We’re playing Belfast Giants at Whitley Bay ice rink this Saturday (19th February), face-off is at 7:00 and it should be a great night’s entertainment! Our opponents are actual GIANTS!* And as we speed inexorably towards the end of the season, it’s one of your last chances to see pro ice hockey in the north-east for some time to come – don’t find yourself wishing you could have seen a game when it’s too late – just do it! DO IT NOW! Tickets available here: http://bit.ly/hLzxmn

*They’re not. Although they may appear to be, when standing next to our players!

Sweet dreams are made of this

It’s the stuff hit movies are made of. I’ve run out of superlatives to describe this Vipers team, and their achievements this season, and in truth I could probably just go back to the win over the Panthers a couple of weeks ago and reel out some of the same material, but it simply wouldn’t do justice to the night we had at Whitley Bay on Sunday. And I think I need to engage in a blow-by-blow written account, not just for posterity but to try and convince myself that what happened, actually did happen. I can’t deal with it all in one go so I will employ the use of chapters as I attempt to recreate the scenes that unfolded.

Chapter 1: Tensions rise

Billed as the ‘Bash at the Bay’, the Vipers team took to the ice resplendent in Hawaiian shirt-style jerseys which were, well, eye-catching to say the least. After the humiliating 15-0 defeat at the hands of the Nottingham Panthers on their territory last week, it was clear to see from early on in the game that the Vipers were in no mood to allow a repeat performance. They defended tightly and made their presence felt; having played each other twice in the last two weeks, there were obviously personal scores to be settled, and players clashed early on, John Schwarz coming to blows with Panthers Coach Corey Neilson inside ten minutes and Mike Prpich, giving not a jot for his personal safety, tussled with Guy Lepine shortly afterwards in a situation that threatened to get out of hand.

The tension was almost unbearable, as the match officials made a string of poor decisions and struggled to control the game, frustrations bubbled over and it seemed likely that someone could get seriously hurt. I actually felt sick with nerves; the hostility in the air was so tangible you could have bottled and sold it to Celtic and Rangers fans, and the game could have boiled over at any moment, Sam Zajac and John Schwarz continuing to fan the flames of conflict even after Prpich and Lepine had taken their seats. Luckily the period ended and gave everyone a chance to cool down, but not before a lengthy debate with the referee and linesmen took place on the ice. Oh to have been a fly on the hoardings for that one!

The Cubist version of Mike Prpich.

Lepine: Prpich, baby! How dare you trim your luscious beard! How dare you! Your beautiful chin will get cold! I shall remove the hair from your head in protest and stick it to your face!

Chapter 2: War of Attrition

The second period started out somewhat more sedately, the period break seemingly imbuing a sense of calm on the previously enraged collection of hockey players. Unfortunately, Panthers added to their lead just a few minutes in, we went 3-0 down and the game took on a familiar feeling of inevitability. The lead lasted nearly the whole period, as the teams worked to try and wear each other down, the Panthers' version of this mostly consisting of incessant foul-play, culminating in the sucker-punch in the Lepine/Prpich saga at around 17 minutes in when Lepine decided to propel his playthings out of the cot-like four-wheeled baby carriage, and received a game penalty for behaving like a little girl in the playground. Well, actually I think it was for third man in, but he pulled Mike Prpich’s hair plenty and if there was a penalty for that, he would have been done twice over. Prpich did some ‘bashing at the bay’ of his own and the two exchanged pleasantries in the penalty box following the incident before Lepine headed off for an early bath. (Ha! As if Whitley Bay ice rink has a bath! Cold hose-down, more like!)

Then, in the closing minutes of the period, we scored a goal through Danny Stewart, and it was game on.

Chapter 3: Ode to Defencemen

O Defencemen, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
You are all most valiant warriors, enlightening my days.
Boom!
I love thee Kyle Sibley, with your short-handed scoring skills
Bam!
And even more for your second goal, which brought hope back to Hill(head)s
Bosh!
The amazing Sammy Zajac, like Persil, small and mighty.
John Schwarz, tall and noble, strong and bold and somewhat fight-y.
Bada-boom!
Oh how you picked your moment to net your first, you beauty
And Danny Stewart too, for even though you are playing out of position, you still technically count as a defencemen for the purposes of this poem and you scored the winning goal and you filled my heart with joy.
Yay!

Wow I am so awesome at poetry! I may well write to the Queen and demand she installs me as the new Poet Laureate as a matter of urgency. That English degree sure is paying off now, eh Mum and Dad!

Chapter 4: What really happened

When the Panthers went 4-1 up five minutes into the third period, many a fan would have effectively felt this equalled game over. Thankfully, hockey fans know better, and when Corey Neilson and his unpredictable Panthers are in town, anything can, and usually does, happen. Taking a leaf out of Arsene Wenger’s book following his team’s incredible throwing away of a 4-0 lead against the footballing Geordies on Saturday, Neilson is a coach who takes losing a lead to new lows. The Vipers battled back to 4-3 through a brace from Kyle Sibley, and then tied the score at 4-4 through Toms Hartmanis following yet another outstanding save from Charlie Effinger. There were 7 minutes to go.

4 minutes to go. David-Alexandre Beauregard converts a powerplay opportunity to take the lead for the Panthers. 5-4. Time to throw in the towel? Not a chance. Stick with me, sports-fans.

1.5 minutes to go. I was almost perfectly positioned up in the stands - directly in John Schwarz’ sight-line as he received the puck and travelled up the left wing - to see him pick out the shot, and to see that there was nothing in his way. Every single person in that ice rink saw it coming. Except Panthers netminder, Dan Green, that is. Schwarz took aim and let rip a monstrous slapshot. That goal was inevitability incarnate. I’m certain I started cheering a split second before the net bulged as the puck flew in.

The place erupted. The crowd had been increasing in volume throughout the game and the roof was now lifting right off. I’d been waiting for that goal all season and wondered if it was ever coming. I’ve no doubt John had as well. What a time to score it. We're not worthy! and all that jazz.

1 minute to go. Vipers called a time-out. God only knows what was said but in the movie version of this story (coming soon to a theatre near you), Danny will be making an inspirational speech about triumph over adversity, wreaking a poetic revenge for the injustices of the previous game, and how tough guys shouldn’t pull hair.

20 seconds to go. Stewart receives the pass from… oh I can’t even remember. Hartmanis? It’s all a blur. He has sight of goal, brilliant positioning from the Coach who’s thrown all notion of covering in defence out of the window to take up his rightful position in front of net. Somewhere, someone stops time. There’s a moment of complete silence and everyone is frozen where they stand, faces captured in exquisite anticipation. Then someone starts time again. The goal goes in. Hugging, screaming, stamping, ridiculous dancing, an epic on-ice pile-on. These all occur simultaneously. Loudly. And riotously.

17 seconds to go. Everyone suddenly remembers the game isn’t over and focus returns to the ice, but it’s too late for the Panthers, and as the seconds count down the Vipers fans poise themselves to go completely and utterly mental.

2 seconds to go. The puck is cleared down the ice and it’s all over.

Players and fans lose the plot. It all goes blurry. If the ice wasn't encased in a plastic wall, I have no doubt the fans would have invaded the rink en masse. My half-full bottle of cider has long since been tipped across the floor. I don’t even care. That’s what this means.

Unbridled joy. And terror, for anyone standing too close. When did Danny lose a tooth, anyway? He looks quite alarming.

Chapter 5: The Aftermath

Corey Neilson, you fine figure of a man, with your Sexy Neilson Hockey you are really spoiling us. You continue to provide the hockey fans of Great Britain and Northern Ireland with unbeatable entertainment and for that we salute you. I honestly thought nothing could top the last time we beat the Panthers but the nature of this victory means that it actually has. It has gone straight into my top 3 sporting occasions of all time, fact. Sheer brilliance, the fairytale ending you couldn’t have dared to hope for. You literally could not make this up. This is why the best sporting movies are based on true stories.

Don't think I can't see you skulking off in the background there, Corey me old fruit. Not feeling so sexy now, are we? Never mind son. Go and have a cuddle with Jade and make it all better.

Just when I thought this sport could not get any more exciting, this team any more gutsy and brave, and this experience more perfect, it does. Sore throat? Check. Sore hands? Check. Heart bursting with pride? Check. Earlier in the season I said ice hockey was like a terminal illness; well after the infarction-inducing drama of Sunday night I’ll go one step further than that. I think it probably takes years off your life. But they’re the years you’ll be smelling of cabbage and knocking out teenagers with walking sticks anyway so what the hey. For nights like this, it’s worth it.

I reeled out the clichés after the last win over the Panthers so I don’t think I need to this time. Needless to say, we deserved the win. And needless to say, we were brave, strong, ballsy and determined, and lots of other words that mean all those things. Needless to say it probably won’t make any difference in the long run, as needless to say we are still up the proverbial creek without a propulsion device, cash-wise. But needless to say that regardless of what happens in the future, no-one can take this feeling away from me, or any of the other fans who were there to witness it, or those who couldn't be there but were following in spirit, or any of the players who I am sure will go onto future clubs with the story of the night they won the one of the most amazing games they ever played in (yes, yes they will).

Hyperbole and superlatives exhausted, I will retire to a darkened room and attempt to recover my long-lost composure. Hockey really is the craziest rollercoaster ride I’ve ever been on. And with highs like this, who even cares about the lows.

Pain. Lots of it. And a graduation, of sorts.

Hi everyone! So, how have your weeks been? Much going on? What shall we talk about. Bit breezy outside, isn’t it. I had a lovely blueberry cake from Tescos on Saturday. And I’m off for a work night out tonight. How about you? Any gossip? Anything to avoid facing the grim reality of our horrendous weekend of ice hockey-induced misery, eh. It might well have been the worst week of our season so far. But I’m committed to shining a positive light on all things Vipers and I’m not going to back out now, so if you need a bit of a boost, stick with me, and I promise to do my utmost to lift the fug of doom and despondency that seems to have been hanging over us since Monday morning. I may have to resort to telling knock, knock jokes to do this, or perhaps I’ll attempt to draw another picture, that went well last time. But cheer you up I will! It is my raison d’etre. Que?

Anyway, I suppose I’m obliged to provide some sort of match report for our most recent puck-chasing exploits, am I? Um, we lost on Saturday. And got right royally rogered up the proverbial rink on Sunday. Will that do? Okay fine, I’ll note some details for posterity.

Coventry Blaze were the visitors to Whitley Bay on Saturday night. It’s fair to say that after our last two games against them, victories both at home and on the road, Vipers fans were relatively optimistic. How very wrong we were to have such a positive mental attitude! Slapped wrists all round! The game was dismal. It was a huge anti-climax after the incredible win over the Panthers mid-week, and I generously surmised that perhaps the team were saving themselves for the return leg the following day, rather than just being a bit rubbish, but in all fairness, the poor lads looked tired. With a sum total of none of our two-way players available we were down to the bare bones of the squad, just 10 skaters – in short, not enough.

The error-strewn first period set the tone for the rest of the evening, and Blaze inflicted only our second home shut-out of the season, scoring four goals of their own despite not putting in a particularly electrifying performance themselves. The same could be said for the match official who was responsible for some distinctly suspect calls, including the non-ejection of Blaze’s Brad Cruikshank, despite the fact he punched two Vipers players AND a linesman, completely unprovoked. What do you have to do to get thrown out of a game these days?

Brad Cruikshank lays Toms Hartmanis out, seemingly on advice from the match official, who clearly wants a bit of it.

Danny Stewart took the Man of the Match award, the coach never giving in against his former club, skating the length of the rink over and over again trying to inject some life into his listless squad and taking and receiving numerous hits in the process. It was an altogether forgettable affair - thankfully - as I don’t think many Vipers fans would have this match down on their list of season highlights. I heard a number of interesting topics being discussed during the course of the match however which brightened the evening up, for example people’s breakfasts and the nature of black pudding, the peculiarities of people originating from the Ashington area, and the relative merits of Newcastle United. All worthy subjects, of course. Well, except for the last one, maybe.

What I learnt about ice hockey on Saturday night: hockey jerseys have what is called a ‘fight strap’. Honestly I’m not sure why as I’ve seen many a jersey removed during a melee so they can’t be that effective, and it seems that, unhappy with the pre-installed fight strap, some hockey players have taken it upon themselves to provide their own innovative alternatives. A certain Vipers defencemen ties a trusty 2p coin in the back of his jersey with a shoelace in place of the seemingly useless Velcro appendage. True story. I’m not exactly sure how much better it can be, but it seems somehow menacing; I have visions of said coin being removed and used as a deadly weapon when on-ice tensions boil over. Chilling. I can’t believe that our imports are using our sovereign’s noble currency in such a way. John Schwarz. *Raised eyebrow*

Match official: If I give you fifty pounds, will you shave a bit off and let me have it?

Mike Prpich: No. But you may rub it for twenty.

On Sunday we went to Nottingham and had a big fat dose of Panther-shaped revenge inflicted upon us brutally, as penance for daring to beat them in the first leg of the cup semi-final. It was all rather depressing and I don’t wish to elaborate on it any further, thank you very much. Except to mention that there was a whole five minute period when we didn’t concede! Bonus! The loss hurt badly even though it was expected; actual pain ensued. And the universal sporting truth that a team can’t survive on heart and effort alone is sadly coming to pass. In truth we are sorely missing the bite upfront that was provided by players like Mahovsky and Carroll, and it seems that Danny and his warriors are finally running out of answers to the countless questions that have been asked of them this season by the fans, the league and by British hockey in general. Are the wheels finally coming off? Despite our unexpected heroics in Hull, Belfast and Coventry, and the pure unbridled joy of the win over the Panthers, the state of our weakened bench and lack of imports is finally starting to tell. Dundee had the cheek to win over Hull which further dashed the Vipers’ play-off dreams and suddenly, there seems to be very few fixtures left and the end of the season looms perilously large.

Damn, I’m not doing very well at being cheerful, am I? Sorry. Let’s change the subject a bit. After the turbulent few weeks I’ve had, my disillusionment, worry and subsequent reinvigoration to the world of hockey, the tragic loss of Mahovksy, and my first PROPER fight experience against Dundee, I have to say that I now feel fully initiated into the ways of ice hockey. I have been reflecting recently and have come to a startling conclusion: I’m no longer a hockey novice. Following this alarming turn of events I feel almost ready to graduate from hockey kindergarten to regular hockey fan status. Is there some sort of badge or certificate I can have? Or maybe a secret handshake that I have to learn to be ‘let in’ to the club?

I’m not claiming to have completely mastered the game rules, or to have extensive knowledge of ice hockey past or present, but at some point in the last few weeks, I crossed an invisible line. This morning I went back to read through my first couple of blog posts from back in my heady days of hockey novice-ry, when I hadn’t a clue what was going on, but just gained a vague sense of amusement from it all, and what I see in myself now is a changed woman. I have stopped giggling at fights and spotting players by the fact they skate face first. I can confidently construct a sentence which contains all of the following words: ‘powerplay’, ‘netminder’, and ‘slashing’. I know the names of players from OTHER teams. And the derogatory nicknames for said other teams. I know of the singular phenomenon that is ‘sexy Neilson hockey’. I know what the play-offs are, and how a team gets there, and have already purchased tickets for them, actually. It’s a bit unnerving to be honest. My match reports are starting to make some sort of sense and I’m not making enough ridiculous comments anymore. Perhaps I need to turn to another sport for my share of novice rubbish. Any suggestions? I think I could make a good fist of darts commentary, but mainly because of the amusing WAGs rather than the actual darts. ‘He threw a double top! And another one! Oh he threw a 6. But anyway, what is she wearing?’ No? It'll have to be something more obscure I think. Extreme ironing? Samurai fencing championships? Giant water snail racing?

Answers on a postcard.

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…

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.

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!