Wednesday night was the first playoff game for my coed floor hockey team The Jesus Cobras. Once again, Rachelle and my teammates decided it would be for the best if I rested this game and took care of my allergies, so that I might come back at full force for the next game. “You’re going to be our tiny, little secret weapon,” Rachelle told me.
And so, as usual, I inspired my teammates from the sidelines. Although I think I was at my heckling best, calling one guy who was wearing this hard rock bandanna thing on his head, Captain Fat Sparrow, we were still getting creamed, losing 10-1 with only a few minutes left to play. At this point, my teammates decided to unleash their secret weapon. Tapping me on the shoulder, our captain said, “Go on in, Mike, what harm can it do at his point?”
However, as I wasn’t expecting to play, I left my Jesus Cobra jersey at home, and decided to play without my shirt on. I was a dynamo on the floor, charging about like a buzz saw and infusing our listless team with some much needed energy. However, Captain Fat Sparrow, decided it would be funny to start calling me “Scurvy.” And so, he shouted out stuff like “Oh look, Scurvy lost his glasses again!” or “ Down goes, Scurvy, down goes Scurvy!” I yelled back at him, “Yeah, I remember my first beer, too!”
When we shook hands at the end of the game, I made sure to spit on my palm to make sure that Captain Fat Sparrow got a special gift.
At any rate, after the game we went to Brass Taps to have some beer and bitch about what an unsportsmanlike bunch of cheaters and dongs the other team was. As some of my own teammates lack originality, they also started to call me “Scurvy,” saying stuff like “ Hey, Scurvy, could you pass the ketchup?” or Scurvs, are you going to pick up the tab?”
Classy, Cobras, classy.