Three Bottles of Scotch

An old Scotsman pisses in a bottle and they sell it.

As many of you know I play old timers hockey.  Old timers are anyone over 35.  Many of us are well over 35, most way more than me.  Our team played in a tournament in town this weekend.  We had three games in three days.  That's a lot to ask of an aging body.

I have played for my current team for just over four years.  In that time we have been in many tournaments in several cities.  We have, for the most part, failed spectacularly.  Oh, we have the odd game that we are close in or may even squeek out a win here and there.  So, my expectations were more for fun than success.  Well, low and behold we won all three of our games and came in first place in our division.  I haven't won anything in hockey since before I was a teenager.  I am still riding the high.  My body however is beginning to feel every one of my 41 years.

Anyway, the way we won the tournament is what is amazing.  This brings me to the scotch.  A currently non-playing member of our team brought a bottle of scotch to the game on Friday night.  Pope is famous for his bottles of scotch.  In my first year on the team he bullied me into taking a drink of the vile liquid before and after every game.  The drink is so foul, I began faking my drinks.  I would put the bottle to my lips and tip it back while keeping my mouth closed.  Damned if the few dribbles of that wretched potion left on my lips still didn't make me want to vomit.  But I digress.  Damned if the old farts (myself excepted) didn't finish off the bottle BEFORE the game even started.  We went on to win 10-1.  The next day, it was the same deal, except the scotch lasted until the intermission between the two periods.  Again, another big win.  Today we played at 8:30 in the morning.  Yes, the AM.  More scotch was passed around and the bottle was again gone during the scrape.  Those madmen were drinking pond water before most people were even awake.  But we won.  This one was a close game, but we won.

Long story short, don't think just because it's old timers that the fools in the dressing room have learned anything over the years.

PS. The scotch was Glenfiddich as pictured above.  And I'm sorry for offending anyone who claims to like scotch, but you must be a damned dirty liar to make such a claim.