Champs of Fall - WinterDaveurs A tale of Wednesday night

In the frosty halls of the Schlidavers men's D-level hockey league, a team of seasoned warriors took to the ice. With their robust bellies, shining bald heads, and a collection of skaters whose ankles defied conventional wisdom, the Schlidavers were a sight to behold.

In a game where strategy was as elusive as their youthful days, the players had mastered the art of slapping the puck up the ice, hoping for the sweet sound of an icing call that signaled a merciful change in the lineup. Shift lengths varied wildly, with some players clinging to the ice for a marathon 5 minutes, fueled by sheer determination—or perhaps forgetfulness.

The glory days of skilled players had become distant memories, as they departed for the allure of the greener pastures known as the Ice Holes. A bitter rivalry brewed between the Schlidavers and their former stars, culminating in a heated brawl during their last encounter.

Passing was a foreign concept, deemed unnecessary in the grand scheme of their strategic masterpiece. Instead, the puck met the brute force of slaps, careening up the ice like a runaway train. Goals were scarce, precious gems in a sea of missed opportunities. Savoring a goal became an art form, with celebrations echoing the triumphs of ages past.

The Schlidavers' journey through the D-level hockey league was a testament to resilience, camaraderie, and the sheer joy of the game—played with a unique flair that only this ragtag team could muster.

- Eric Bauer