Middleditch Littlebitch

A twine-seeking missile!!

Holy smokes.  What a game, what a game…

So some of youze guyz may know that I’m a big fan of the ol’ NHL video games.  It’s a recent and furious love affair for me.  You see around about this time last year I picked up NHL 11 from EA Sports.  I had played 07 some years back and noted how far the game has come since the 94 days, now with right-stick deeks and all kinds of fancy business to keep you moving and thinking on the ice.  Each year it gets more fluid, each year a few new things get added, and each year it starts playing more and more like real hockey.  Granted, 90% of the improvements could be doled out in the form of a downloadable patch, but how would EA be a billion dollar powerhouse then, right?  Fuckers.

What’s great about these games is that they’ve converted me into a genuine hockey fan.  I never liked hockey growing up.  1) because I’m Canadian and it was “expected” of me to love hockey.  You know me, counter culture to the bone.  2) every hockey player I knew growing up was that guy with the backwards hat and beginner’s goatee who walked into a party with chewing tobacco in his lip wanting to fight any “pussy faggot” who got in his way.

Anyhoo, I’m onto the latest and greatest, NHL 12.  I may have tried to recruit you for my in-person Sunday-only mega league, the League Of Champs, but the following is in regards to the EASHL mode in the game.  To explain, the EASHL is EA Sports Hockey League.  That is to say it’s online Be A Pro.  That is to say you make a dude, give him a name and a look, tweak his skills and attributes, and go online only playing that one dude and that one position with a bunch of other people all doing the same thing and try to get some hockey done.  My guy, Creme Brule (which the announcer actually says his last name when he gets the puck, etc.) has his picture below.  Just a real greaser…like every hockey player I knew growing up.

Here’s the review:  it’s amazing.  

There.  Done.  Let’s move on.

Now, you can go about the EASHL a couple of ways.  You can do Drop-In games where you just join a random team of motley crew players and hope for the best.  Trouble with that is you end up playing with a bunch of 12 year olds, really mean people, guys that don’t play hockey but just want to “deke errybody”, or some dude that wants to try playing goalie and then literally stands out of the way of the net.  It’s rare that you have a team that wants to play their position and set up plays.

OR, you can create or join a club.  That’s what I’ve done.  We are the Friendly Van Owners, and it consists of me and George Basil.  Greg Tuculescu is in it but he’s only played one game so it’s hard to count him as a determined member of the team.  We’ve also got this new guy, Wayne.  Ah, Wayne.  Wayne is 42 and works in construction.  He lives in BC, Canada.  Dude loves hockey.  Now, all I ask for outta my team is enthusiasm, communication, and to play your G.D. position.  What does Wayne do?  All three, and bless his heart, I love him.  He’s not half bad either.  He scores here and there, but his biggest asset is positive encouragement and telling us how “we have-ta go into the playoffs, boys!  We’ll clean up!!!”  Wayne wants that Stanley Cup boy howdy, and he feels like George-y boy and I can take him right to it.

Things were going great all evening until our last game.  It’s got a good ending and a bad ending, depending on who you’re talking to.  If you’re Wayne, it’s got a bad ending, where after lord knows how many beers he couldn’t get out of a rut where he waited by the blue line for a long pass and then just got checked whenever he entered their zone.  The repeated frustration and copious drinking turned Positive Wayne into a real Angry Paul.  So much so that to our delight, he would throw his headset and freak the absolute fuck out.  A 42 year old man.  Guy was telling me about The Triple Crown line on the Kings way back when and I was like, “who’s that?” to which he replied, “you’re probably too young.”  He was having temper tantrums.  Things got so bad that a few minutes into the 2nd with us down a mere 2-0 he chucked his headset and next thing we heard was the little *blip* that told us he had left the party.  I hope he’s not perma-mad at us because we love to have him around.  Come back, Wayne!  You’re the fuckin’ man.

So what do George-y boy and I do?  I’ll tell ya what we do.  We buckle down.  We grind it out.  We show that grit can win over finesse any day, and these punks who are trying the fancy shit on us will in the end fail due to one thing and one thing only: determination.  That, and some seriously amazing hockey, which suddenly George and I started breaking out.  We manage to sneak one in by me being aggressive on the rush and I grab a rebound just outside the slot. We celebrate, but our cheers are cut short as they return the favor within minutes.  We’re back where we started, two in the hole and we close out the 2nd period with the score 1-3.

“Let’s keep a cool head out there, George-y boy.  Let’s cycle the puck and keep communicating.  These guys aren’t that good, let’s stay in it and tilt the ice back.”

The 3rd period is when the floodgates open.  George is playing center and I’m playing right-D.  Stay hungry.  Our computer winger gets tripped on a breakaway and gets a penalty shot but it’s no dice.  Minutes later, George gets tripped on a breakaway and he nails it with some clean, methodical deking.   We’re at 2-3 now.  We’re catching up, boys!

By this time, as head D-man, I feel like I have sussed out their playstyles.  They’ve got one dangler who waits by our blue and tries to set up one-timers from the corners and another dude who likes to rip ‘em in with a heavy snap shot.  I start embarrassing them, taking the puck away at every moment.  George lays some heavy hits.  The computer starts throwing its weight around too.  We are getting some momentum.

George slaps in a one-timer and we’re fuckin’ tied!  The minutes are counting down and we are smelling blood.  We get a little over-aggressive going in for the kill and they sneak one in with the official’s finger just hovering over the period buzzer.  Two minutes to go, tops.  It’s 3-4 for them.

“Stay cool, George-y boy…”

It’s a blur.  It’s back and forth but we get a couple good rushes.  I honestly can’t remember scoring but I must’ve because my tally at the end of the game said I did.  I can’t tell you what happened, all I can say is that I remember saying to George “if we score and tie this up I am going to go fucking bat shit.”  Next thing I know, my vision is white — I went bat shit.

Overtime, and it’s 4 all.  By this time I’m all over these jokers.  I’m staying right in the slot and poking the puck anytime it comes near.  I’m taking a knee to block shots and shaking off blistering slap shots right to the face.  We are in it to win it, but no matter how hard we try, we can’t put the biscuit in the basket.  It goes to double OT.

Not only is it double OT, but goes nearly the full length of it, too.  Everybody’s getting chances.  The first OT taught me that I need to hang back.  I’ve got two goals and I don’t need to be up in the corners on a turnaround and have some winger cover my position.  So I’m all about hanging out at the point and then hustling back at the first side of danger.  This safe playing pays off and they can’t do much on our end no matter how hard they try.  Luckily, there’s a whistle and we’re in their end for a faceoff.

“Come on, George-y Boy, let’s win this one.”  I say, referring to the faceoff.  Poor bastard has had the puck taken from him nearly every time the ref drops it.  I tell him, “slap that right stick back a bunch of times, really hammer it.”  As the right D-man, I’m waiting back and to his right for the faceoff.  The ref drops it…

And I tell ya, the son of a bitch gets to it first and slides it back to ol’ Creme Brule who just winds up, picks the left side as his mark, and let’s go the most vicious TWINE-SEEKING MISSILE KNOWN TO MAN!  BLAMM-O!  BINGO BANGO!! THAT’S NOT ONLY A GOAL BUT A HAT TRICK FOR BRULE AND THE FRIENDLY VAN OWNERS TAKE IT IN DOUBLE OT!!!

George and I get a little worked up in these games, and to say we flipped out in this instance in a massive understatement.  I am literally jumping up and down pumping the ol’ fist and giving the TV the business.  I’m screaming.  I can hear George on the other end doing his best to whisper-scream as his daughter is in the other room sleeping the night away.  We settle down and the revel in our victory, for it is sweet.  I think I honestly said at one point, “I think I’m going to cry.”

But something was missing.

Dear ol’ Wayne.  Where was Wayne?  We had played a few games that night, and after a few wins he was all completely positive.  ”You guys are really good.  It’s just refreshing to play with guys who know hockey.  We should be in the playoffs!”  I can’t tell you how many times he talked about us being in the playoffs.  The victory was sweet, don’t get me wrong, and perhaps unattainable had Wayne been there until the end…but since he wasn’t, it felt lacking.  It felt like a piece of the team wasn’t there to feel the warm embrace of victory’s tender, glistening arms.

BAH!  Fuck it.  That was the greatest game I’ve ever been apart of.  Hats off, George.  Wayne, you missed a doosey.  Me?  Get some sleep, am I right?  I’m starting to sound like my ex-wife!