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.

Fat cats silenced by feisty underdogs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clarke: After you.

Jaro: No, after you, I insist.

It was quite sweet really.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh No You Dundidn't

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coach Danny Stewart leading by example

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diary of a Tall Girl

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

Friday 7th January, 2011

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

Saturday 8th

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

Engage reporter mode.

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

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

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

Sunday 9th

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

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

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

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

Monday 10th

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

Tuesday 11th

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

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

I Need a Hero

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

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

Reasons to be Cheerful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Very Vipers Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They tried to make me go to rehab...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click. 2-2. The jersey stayed on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In a galaxy far, far away…

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

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

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

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

Haha, that’s a good one.

No, really.

Noooo.

Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blaze of Glory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy hockey players! This is what they look like!

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

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

Dangerous Liaisons

Prologue

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bleeding. Actual blood. Yeah!

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

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

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