To be fair, the WOHL’s year-end tourney usually does have some fans show up. Not as many perhaps as those that make the trek to Augusta National in the spring, but hey, a golf course is far roomier than an indoor rink so it’s not really a fair comparison of the popularity of these two iconic sporting events.

This year’s event had an almost mythical air to it right from the get go. Some years are like that in the Kingdom of Hockey. Like September of ’72, or Vancouver in 2010 on the final night of the Olympics. Yes, something rare was brewing and good or bad, one can’t stop change so this traveler of the hockey life, this witness to all things puck’ish, can only tell you his version of our annual weekend season wrap-up.

It started with something of a revolution in that our famous four-colour-jersey-team-naming-convention fell before the pre-game flood had frozen. No one knows how it started, how momentum tumbled into life for these new team names, (an unidentified patient zero one might say) but happen it did. Blue suddenly became known as “The B117’s”. Like the WW II bomber you ask? Nope, that would be The B-17’s. Like the B-52’s you ask? Sorry, no chocolately liqueur shooters here either and Rock Lobster wasn’t heard coming from the dressing room down that long hall of dressing rooms in Elmira. (Gawd, how I miss walking down that hall a couple of nights a week to suit up, and then heading the other way after an hour of the best life can offer us). No, the reason behind The B117’s moniker is a mystery. A reference to an old girlfriend’s apartment number? a winning bingo card #? Captain Cowie looked as puzzled as everyone else when interviewed pre-game about what was behind the new team handle, “We’re called what?” he asked. “Did Warmington come up with that?” Not a bad theory but Warmington was as puzzled as the Captain.

However, like a match discarded carelessly into dry bush, things went from there. Black were suddenly “The Brazilians”. Like that 70’s flic about Hitler clones? Nope, not even close. Like those soccer guys? Nope. (Ours is the “other” beautiful game so we don’t need to play second fiddle to them soccer guys). Geez, another head scratcher, but all Captain Gerson could provide was a wry smile and a shrug. I’ll have to google what a Brazilian is later and report back.

At this point, the Gold team, lead by the wily Captain Farrell, took matters into his own hands and unilaterally declared his squad would not be outdone by any team whose name started with a B and would henceforth be known as “The Bobby Orr’s”. Figures. Frickin’ Bruin fans.

And White, in all its pureness was re-branded with the damndest name of all – “The VONC’s”. Huh? WTF. Everyone agreed, even those on White that this was at best, weak, and at worst, creepy with it’s ambiguity.

Anyway, puck drop on Game 1 was between 8 and 9 AM (I can’t even remember what time we used to start things for real) and the B117’s beat the Brazilians badly 6-0. How does a score like that happen in these 15 minute games? (or are these 40 minute games?). Post game, the prattle coming from the Brazilians was that they had more equipment problems than normal. Lots of pants busting open, gloves seemed horribly dry, broken laces and of course the classic, “man, were my skates dull!”. Interestingly the B117’s said the same thing, stating their equipment malfunctions started in the dressing room pre-game where one bag was riddled with a mouse or two, and a second was found containing a set of woman’s panties. (Always make sure you check your clean towel before you throw it in your bag boys, because dryer static can create such situations and this scenario is one that you’ll either end up being very proud of or traumatized from, depending on size of said knickers).

Farrell’s B’s were a finely tuned machine and the VONC’s were of no concern whatsoever in this one, with the B’s winning 3-1. Farrell was happy to be back playing after a lengthy contract hold out of “many, many months, a tremendous number of months to be missing hockey!” he said.

The BO’s then beat the B117’s and once again Farrell, was crowing about his squad being Queen B for the day. The Brazilian’s won their second game, with the VONC’s rolling over like they were the Detroit Red Wings. With Ian Taylor being the Captain/mastermind, could he have been intentionally tanking this group? “Warmington, Kernel and Trimble better know that I expect the #1 pick in the draft this August for this franchise. Lottery my ass. There’s only four teams and none of the other three are from Edmonton”. Wow boy, calm down…until Toronto wins a play-off round, your love affair with Motor City will just be a fetish we all put up with harmlessly.

The only casualty in these second round games was that The Brazilians were looking pretty thin by games-end. A couple of players headed to the dressing room in the first period and did not return. For those that hung in there, there was a lot of panting and sort of a minimalist feel to their game. There was elegance and grace to their game. “They played with pace” would be how Darryl Sutter might describe it.

In the final round, the Bobby Orr’s beat the VONC’S handily and Farrell went all Brad Marchand face-washing the entire VONC squad in the hand-shake line post game. To be fair, they had all worn full face masks and refused to remove their gloves for the handshake, so it really wasn’t all that satisfying for Farrell and the VONC’s actually felt it was their best moment of the tournament.

Since the final game between the Brazilians and the B117’s meant nothing, it was expected to be a fairly happy little game of shinny to close out the season. Far from it. The Brazilians were down to 6 skaters at game time and they lost a couple more by the end of the first. The league brass, feeling the burden of player well being convened at the half way point and decided that in respect of The Brazilian’s hygiene and health, it was best that the remainder of the game be cancelled. The Brazilian’s left standing were a-ok with this and disappeared quickly to their room to check the status of their mates. The B117’s were ecstatic at picking up the win. As Ted Martin might say, they had probably eaten “a breakfast of finalists” to get this far on this day.

As it turned out, the Brazilians were not suffering at all. In their room post-game, their on-ice attrition was quickly deemed to simply be the result of the distracting abundance of too much good Mennonite sausage and pail-loads of Alabama Slammers. Hey, hockey is like a wonderful feast, right?

And so another year is behind us. A strange season indeed. Perhaps as we get old(er), it’s memory will get blended in with all those that came in season before this one, and hopefully lots more to come, and it won’t feel as strange as it does today.