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!

My first, my last, my everything

I’m going to come clean, dearest readers. The nearer the end of the season gets, the harder it is for me to write coherent and upbeat blog posts. I have two whole matches from last weekend to review, and yet my drafts up to now have been all padding and no meat. And nobody wants that. Except possibly skinny vegetarians. I’ve concluded that I’m TOO involved. Before, I was happily standing at the prow of the good ship Vipers looking back at the action and off in to the future but now the ship’s hit the iceberg of reality and I’m officially drowning in a sea of too much ice hockey (if that’s even possible), and it’s about to all go black. Drama!

The weekend I’ve just had was so hockey-dominated it makes me wonder if I’ll remember how to function once it all comes to an end. It was a weekend of firsts, ironic given the fact that it was the penultimate weekend of the regular Elite League ice hockey season, and quite possibly the penultimate weekend of Vipers hockey for the foreseeable future. But I might as well make the most of it while it lasts, so here goes!

Saturday 12th

First up was my first ever away trip, and my first ever visit to another rink for an ice hockey match. And what better place to pop my away cherry than Belfast. The weekend started at an hour I’d heard tell of in myth and legend but never actually believed really existed. Disappointingly, it does. I rose zombie-like from my bed at 4:50am on Saturday morning, and joined the merry band of 21 Vipers fans on a flight to the Northern Irish capital for a day of hockey and plenty of craic along the way. I felt a bit guilty that the team were travelling the painfully slow way, via coach to Stranraer and then the ferry across the Irish Sea, whilst we were swanning about the fine drinking establishments of Belfast, but I decided we’d earned the right to a few drinks after the time the alarm went off that morning.

Speaking of drinking establishments, I made my highly anticipated first (ooh, another first!) visit to the much-lauded Rockies Bar – and what a bar! It’s an ice hockey fan’s paradise. Hockey utopia, if you will. Hockey and beer and sport on the TV and other hockey fans. Bliss. What I wouldn’t give to have such a place in the local area. I would literally live there. As for the Odyssey Arena itself, well, it was something else. I felt very disconnected from it all at first, as though perhaps I was there to watch somebody else’s teams play. So stunned was I by the bright lights, padded seats and dramatic intro video montage it came as quite a shock to me when the Vipers team took to the ice and reminded me that I was there for a reason.

They looked so teeny on that massive rink; although I would mention they weren’t quite so outsized as they had been at Whitley Bay when the Giants visited a few weeks ago, mainly due to the fact that the enormous Mike Hoffman was being rested. I was reliably informed that Hoffman was in fact engaged in a competitive pizza-eating contest against Giants fans that evening – I kid you not. Oh, and they had cheerleaders!! And a giant sandwich for a mascot! It was all extremely surreal and for a few moments I was able to re-capture those feelings of blissful ignorance that I experienced back in the beginning of my ice hockey adventure, although now it was probably more to do with the numerous beverages in my belly and the dazzling effect of the lights gleaming off of the perfectly smooth ice surface. (The lights! I can’t get over them. They were so BRIGHT! I am so taking sunglasses to play-offs).

Even my camera struggled to make sense of the sheer amount of light in the Odyssey Arena. Note however, Mike Prpich's beard, clearly visible. I am almost certain this beard will be visible from Space. Confirmation from NASA expected imminently.

We were all having a perfectly jolly time in Belfast until the minor inconvenience of an ice hockey match interrupted our beer-drinking. How rude. I don’t plan to dwell on the hockey itself for more than a sentence or two. The Vipers just weren’t at the races. We did our best but it fell way short of the mark. We held on in the first period mainly due to some outstanding saves from Charlie Effinger but collapsed in the second and third, barely registering any convincing shots on goal and doing well to limit the Giants to single figures. There was a moment of hope in the first period break as there were fears of the game being called off after the zamboni leaked gas onto the ice, burning a hole in it and forcing Giants staff to relay a patch of ice and hope that it held. Sadly it did, and the Vipers were forced to endure the beating. We sang as loudly as we could but 21 versus over 4,000 is a bit of a mismatch, so I’ve no idea if our attempts reached the ears of our lads, although we did attract some quizzical looks from some of the Belfast fans in the next block along from us, presumably as they tried to figure out what the slight buzzing noise coming from their left was.

The evening that followed was as memorable as the hockey was forgettable, with highlights too many to mention, although I would like to note for the record that one of them involved a certain elite league hockey coach gleefully accepting a mask of a certain other elite league hockey coach to take home with him. Made my night, that did.

Sunday 13th

After another bright and early start, a short plane trip, a quick kip on the sofa and a cheese toastie the weekend’s hockey action continued in earnest on Sunday. Playing the league leaders and the title chasers in two consecutive days? No bother. Whitley Bay was packed to the rafters (well, compared to normal!), many Steelers fans having made the short trip north, and tensions were running high. The atmosphere was excellent and the game couldn’t have been more different from yesterday’s flat-as-a-proverbial-pancake effort in Belfast. Bright and sparkly as the Odyssey Arena may be, it really can’t compete in terms of feeling connected to the action; I sincerely doubt anywhere could have quite the impact Whitley Bay has in terms of feeling a part of it all. Plus my eyes felt much more comfortable, accustomed as they are to the dimly lit surroundings of the Bay. I think I must be devolving into some kind of prehistoric creature because of that place; part human, part freezer-dwelling mole.

And so to another first – my first time seeing the Steelers live this season. First impressions? They were quick and efficient, but within recent weeks I’ve seen more attacking prowess from Belfast, more power from Cardiff and more flair from Nottingham (yes, really). Yes they were well-drilled, but they were the least impressive of the title contenders in my humble opinion. Of course it could have just been an off day for them, but I feel it may have had more to do with the intensity of the Vipers, who were switched on straight away, and only conceded their first two goals through really unlucky bounces. We really did seem to have run out of luck on Sunday; sometimes things just don’t go your way, however hard you battle. The Vipers weren’t intimidated by the Steelers but failed to capitalise on their powerplay opportunities once again – they did however manage a penalty kill or two which was just lovely. (Get me! I'll be talking about tactics next!! No, I really won't).

We went 3-0 down early in the second but nothing could deter the Vipers from giving their home crowd something to shout about and Danny Stewart scored another one of his trademark slapshot goals mid-way through the second and sent the fans into paroxysms of joy. I have come to the conclusion that Danny is a complete and utter legend. He is our Coach Bombay, only mouthier. And balder. I fully intend to squeeze the life out of him at the end of the season (if I’m drunk enough) for all of the amazing work he has done with the team despite all the problems, but quite aside from his coaching prowess he’s pretty amazing on the ice too; fast, feisty and fearless. Exactly what you want in a coach and a hockey player. Am I gushing much? I’ll move on.

Spot the Puck. Charlie is seconds away from executing the trademark Effinger pounce. The Steelers might as well give up. He moves faster than a cheetah on Red Bull.

The whole team were BACK against Sheffield, it has to be said. My most recent favourite Viper, Kyle Sibley, had another strange game, making up for a number of errors with twice as many moments of genius – he is a bit of an enigma it has to be said and his performances, solid for the most part of the season, have really come into their own over the last few weeks. I would go as far as to call him ‘quirky’. Mike Prpich’s beard was also out in force (I know it seems improbable but really, it was). I have noticed that Mike Prpich’s hair is now trying to compete with Mike Prpich’s beard for attention which intrigues me. It’s previously been an innocent bystander whilst the beard has gone about terrorising the nation but now it’s come into its own, and on Sunday it leapt out from beneath Pirps’ helmet and waged war against the Steelers. I would go so far as to say that Mike Prpich’s combined hairyness was our 13th man.

What else from the game? Derek Campbell seemed keen to get up close and personal with our lads, but the Vipers were resistant to his rather persistent charms, and the Coach gave him a good ear-bashing when both were holed up in the penalty box. Good! We continued be extremely unlucky, having some great chances but not putting them away, although I would venture to suggest that much of our bad luck was actually Steelers' netminder Ervins Mustukovs just being a bit good. Player in the Elite League you LEAST want to face in net? Yup, pretty much. Despite this we fought tooth and nail to pull the scoreline back to 4-3 right at the end of the third period, and proceeded to pull Charlie and play 6 on 5, but there just wasn’t enough time and despite an absolutely amazing effort, the game was lost. Valiant to the death, the Vipers just keep on proving that they will not be beaten. The game was fast, exciting and well-played by all involved – a fantastic spectacle for those attending Whitley Bay for potentially the last time for the foreseeable future.

And so we move into the final weekend of the season for the Vipers, and a double-header against Dundee. There’s a strong contingent of Vipers fans attending both the home and away games and despite them being about nothing more than pride, we are duty-bound to send our boys off in style, and that we shall do. Next week’s post will be momentous. I warn you, I don’t do goodbyes well. Please come prepared. I won’t be held responsible for any spontaneous outbursts of emotion that cause mess on anyone’s desks/screens/clothing.

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Very Vipers Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They tried to make me go to rehab...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click. 2-2. The jersey stayed on.

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

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

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

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

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

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