Weekend 3 - Beachton, GA
What good is any blog without the obligatory sorry-I-forgot-to-update-for-a-long-muthafuckin-time entry? This is mine, and I apologize.
Ironically Beachton, Georgia is not located anywhere near a beach nor considered an actual town. The "Plantation Parkway Arena" has an address of 125 Walden Road, as if there were 124 other freestanding structures in the nearby vicinity. Essentially, this settlement is perched just outside the Tallahassee metropolitan area, whatever the fuck that means. We ended up staying in Tallahassee at the La Quinta Inn right next to a Shoneys. Pringle's army showed no love to the I-10 West exit so they went about an hour into the wrong part of Georgia. Sources (Alex, Chili Dog) say that a panicked Pringle swerved into the median at 100+ miles an hour, somehow staying upright and alive, only to be pulled over by Georgia's finest later on. The team battle cry by the way is "Fucking Pringle!"
The next day, when we walked into the brand new warehouse-looking building, there was a game going on, but the whole place was silent. It was depressing. The bathrooms there looked like trailers from the outside but when you walked in you felt like you were in a real bathroom. Very impressive, but more on that later.
The first game matched us against Florida State B. 1:06 into the game, Falce and I found ourselves on a 2-on-1. Falce hummed a heavy feed right onto my stick as I redirected it in easily. Falce had a hat trick along with his assist, but the real story of the weekend was the Perfect Circle himself, Luciano Franco a.k.a. Andrew, who had one goal in this game but contributed in the following games. JC added an insurance goal in this one. Miami wins 7-4.
The next opponent was a formidable one, well not really, but it meant facing the lethal Taylor Popp, who has a healty point total despite the name. Alex Hartman decided to have one of his days again, netting 4 and had a helper. When the score was 10-4, I made the executive decision that my offense was needed. So in an unnecessary effort of stat padding, I bolted up the floor (ugh, ice sounds better) as soon as Andrew Maynard James Luciano Franco got possession. I got behind their defenseman who could well have been the Popper as AMJLF fed me a head man pass. The puck went in my skates, but I managed to kick it out, and fit in three dekes as I stuffed it in backhand. I then retaped my stick as goaltender Kyle Somerville put his clothes back on. Chili Dog announces he's in a self-proclaimed slump, scoring one goal and 2 assists. Falce got a hat and 2 assists. Darth Flader notches a helper. Miami victorious 11-4.
The next game against UFlorida B isn't recapped on SCRHA so I'll reach into the depths of my brain to retreive it. Memorable moments before the game include promises of beer pong later that night as well as how much Will loves the surface we're playing on. This game was a bad one if you were a referee. In personal conflict with the rules of roller hockey, I hipchecked the puck carrier into the referee I actually liked (poor guy), but he seemed to have no further trouble and came to joke with me in the penalty box. We're losing, and Will now hates the surface. We lost the game 7-4, but not before Alex slashes the other ref's eye to pieces away from the play. Seizing the moment, Dr. Chili Dog M.D. scoped out the ref's eye and broke the news to him that his eye had some human ketchup in it. The Heinz jokes continue...
Myself, and 4 or so people wanted to go to Chilis that night, but in a poll of Chilis, Tex-Mex, and Hooters, Hooters won out. I think. Falce and Flader fought for something, but I don't remember if it had any say determining the outcome. So we went to a place where the girls have attitudes, the food is dangerously mediocre, and FSU junk adorning all the walls, but much fun ensued. Will gets loaded, and yells "Guys, please! I'm trying to talk to Shelley because she's fucking beautiful!" Shelley's visibly creeped out, whispers to a fellow employee who takes notice. I launched spitballs at him for a good long time which was amusing. After the meal, Chili dog and Flader decide that they want to wrestle outside. Flader wins, Will complains and states that you cannot lock someone's head, which just so happens to be the focal point of most wrestling submission moves. If I'm arguing about wrestling moves, I'd concede to the kid from Texas.
When we get back to the La Quinta, George is mysteriously hungry. "George, we just ate!" an astonished chili dog exclaims. George, on top of eating his own meal, ate pieces of other people's meals, and is now going out to get more food. He comes back with a huge bag of pretzels, which he eats half of and steps on the rest. Beer pong games are played, people are drunk. Falce is 2 Lewis comments away from beating on George. Not sure how this flared up, but Falce was visibly miffed. G-Lew proceeds to order pizza at 4AM which arrives at 5AM. The next game is at 8AM so all of us wake up at 7AM, most with a decent nights sleep, except for Chili Dog and Alex Hitlerman. Chili dog just doesn't wanna play against North Florida, a weak team. Alex does a poor job fulfilling his statement that he skates better hungover. As we left without both of them.
When we got to the rink, George had to shit out the truckload of food he had been continuously ingesting since about 10PM. He came back from the bathroom with a smile on his face and a button down collared shirt on his body. Unfortunately for him, that was all he had to play in. I suggested he pop his collar over his jersey and looked like a disco idiot. The game against North Florida was scary. We got into a 4-0 hole early. People were feeling like martyrs to prove one large point. An angry Falce and Franco formed the F-squad and hooked up for a total of 6 goals and 3 assists. George added two goals and a barrel roll for style points in that damn collared shirt. Falce came back to the hotel bragging that he's the leading scorer and Chili isn't. We began the longass drive home soon afterward.
My Offensive Output: 3G 3A (8-8-16) (includes Eckerd from awhile back. C'mon Jake, tell them fucks!)
SCRHA Scoring Rank: 9th
Overall UM Record: 6-3-1
Ironically Beachton, Georgia is not located anywhere near a beach nor considered an actual town. The "Plantation Parkway Arena" has an address of 125 Walden Road, as if there were 124 other freestanding structures in the nearby vicinity. Essentially, this settlement is perched just outside the Tallahassee metropolitan area, whatever the fuck that means. We ended up staying in Tallahassee at the La Quinta Inn right next to a Shoneys. Pringle's army showed no love to the I-10 West exit so they went about an hour into the wrong part of Georgia. Sources (Alex, Chili Dog) say that a panicked Pringle swerved into the median at 100+ miles an hour, somehow staying upright and alive, only to be pulled over by Georgia's finest later on. The team battle cry by the way is "Fucking Pringle!"
The next day, when we walked into the brand new warehouse-looking building, there was a game going on, but the whole place was silent. It was depressing. The bathrooms there looked like trailers from the outside but when you walked in you felt like you were in a real bathroom. Very impressive, but more on that later.
The first game matched us against Florida State B. 1:06 into the game, Falce and I found ourselves on a 2-on-1. Falce hummed a heavy feed right onto my stick as I redirected it in easily. Falce had a hat trick along with his assist, but the real story of the weekend was the Perfect Circle himself, Luciano Franco a.k.a. Andrew, who had one goal in this game but contributed in the following games. JC added an insurance goal in this one. Miami wins 7-4.
The next opponent was a formidable one, well not really, but it meant facing the lethal Taylor Popp, who has a healty point total despite the name. Alex Hartman decided to have one of his days again, netting 4 and had a helper. When the score was 10-4, I made the executive decision that my offense was needed. So in an unnecessary effort of stat padding, I bolted up the floor (ugh, ice sounds better) as soon as Andrew Maynard James Luciano Franco got possession. I got behind their defenseman who could well have been the Popper as AMJLF fed me a head man pass. The puck went in my skates, but I managed to kick it out, and fit in three dekes as I stuffed it in backhand. I then retaped my stick as goaltender Kyle Somerville put his clothes back on. Chili Dog announces he's in a self-proclaimed slump, scoring one goal and 2 assists. Falce got a hat and 2 assists. Darth Flader notches a helper. Miami victorious 11-4.
The next game against UFlorida B isn't recapped on SCRHA so I'll reach into the depths of my brain to retreive it. Memorable moments before the game include promises of beer pong later that night as well as how much Will loves the surface we're playing on. This game was a bad one if you were a referee. In personal conflict with the rules of roller hockey, I hipchecked the puck carrier into the referee I actually liked (poor guy), but he seemed to have no further trouble and came to joke with me in the penalty box. We're losing, and Will now hates the surface. We lost the game 7-4, but not before Alex slashes the other ref's eye to pieces away from the play. Seizing the moment, Dr. Chili Dog M.D. scoped out the ref's eye and broke the news to him that his eye had some human ketchup in it. The Heinz jokes continue...
Myself, and 4 or so people wanted to go to Chilis that night, but in a poll of Chilis, Tex-Mex, and Hooters, Hooters won out. I think. Falce and Flader fought for something, but I don't remember if it had any say determining the outcome. So we went to a place where the girls have attitudes, the food is dangerously mediocre, and FSU junk adorning all the walls, but much fun ensued. Will gets loaded, and yells "Guys, please! I'm trying to talk to Shelley because she's fucking beautiful!" Shelley's visibly creeped out, whispers to a fellow employee who takes notice. I launched spitballs at him for a good long time which was amusing. After the meal, Chili dog and Flader decide that they want to wrestle outside. Flader wins, Will complains and states that you cannot lock someone's head, which just so happens to be the focal point of most wrestling submission moves. If I'm arguing about wrestling moves, I'd concede to the kid from Texas.
When we get back to the La Quinta, George is mysteriously hungry. "George, we just ate!" an astonished chili dog exclaims. George, on top of eating his own meal, ate pieces of other people's meals, and is now going out to get more food. He comes back with a huge bag of pretzels, which he eats half of and steps on the rest. Beer pong games are played, people are drunk. Falce is 2 Lewis comments away from beating on George. Not sure how this flared up, but Falce was visibly miffed. G-Lew proceeds to order pizza at 4AM which arrives at 5AM. The next game is at 8AM so all of us wake up at 7AM, most with a decent nights sleep, except for Chili Dog and Alex Hitlerman. Chili dog just doesn't wanna play against North Florida, a weak team. Alex does a poor job fulfilling his statement that he skates better hungover. As we left without both of them.
When we got to the rink, George had to shit out the truckload of food he had been continuously ingesting since about 10PM. He came back from the bathroom with a smile on his face and a button down collared shirt on his body. Unfortunately for him, that was all he had to play in. I suggested he pop his collar over his jersey and looked like a disco idiot. The game against North Florida was scary. We got into a 4-0 hole early. People were feeling like martyrs to prove one large point. An angry Falce and Franco formed the F-squad and hooked up for a total of 6 goals and 3 assists. George added two goals and a barrel roll for style points in that damn collared shirt. Falce came back to the hotel bragging that he's the leading scorer and Chili isn't. We began the longass drive home soon afterward.
My Offensive Output: 3G 3A (8-8-16) (includes Eckerd from awhile back. C'mon Jake, tell them fucks!)
SCRHA Scoring Rank: 9th
Overall UM Record: 6-3-1
posted by Eric at 1/25/2005 01:32:00 PM
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