Whatever motivation we had going in to last night's hockey game was swiftly crushed when we hit the locker room. Only eight of our fifteen skaters decided to show up last night, which meant that we would be playing the undefeated Death Dealers with only three subs. Marvelous.
The Death Dealers are easily a "B" League team with a few "A" League players on their roster as well. They have cut through this league like a Jameson through Vinnie's liver, and are currently 9-0. They have outscored their opponents 62-15! Why are they in a "C" League, you ask? Because the tools who run the Flyers Skate Zone (Northeast) just want your money. They couldn't care less if a season is ridiculously imbalanced.
So, we plodded through the game, mostly watching these semi-pros whoop our collective tails. Their slowest skater was twice as fast as our swiftest skater, and their worst puckhandler made our best look like a toddler. It was a disgrace, and the game was soon out of hand. By the time the much-anticipated final horn sounded, they had crushed us into submission by a score of 10-4. Unreal.
To make matters worse, I forgot to wear my knee brace, which took away what little speed - very little - I possess. Playing defense, I was merely a pylon for these "C" League Superstars to skate past. I woke up today in excruciating pain, and cannot put any weight on my left leg while standing or climbing stairs. "Well gee, Wyatt, it couldn't get any worse, right?"
Wrong.
Before the game, we wondered why we weren't given the requisite locker room key. They usually supply one so you can leave your valuables - keys, money, pictures of Emma Laaksonen - in the room. Our room was unlocked before our game began. Since we weren't supplied with a key, we couldn't secure the room. But, we thought, since we are the last game, no one will be around to root through our stuff, right?
Wrong.
When we got to the bar to drown our post-game sorrows, Vinnie ordered our usual pints of Guinness. He opened his wallet, and freaked. "I'm missing $100!" He frantically looked on the floor, then out in the parking lot for his money. No dice. Badger then said he'd cover it, but when he looked into his wallet, he had only a few ones. Most of the $50-plus he was carrying was also gone. Coincidence eliminated. When Fish and I checked our wallets, we were also short. Fish was missing about $100, and I was missing somewhere between $40 and $70. All in all, some jerkoff got the four of us for $300, easy.I immediately called Randal and asked him to check his wallet. Luckily, he was spared - primarily because he hides his stuff well. His mistrust of his fellow man came in handy this night. We're still waiting to hear if any of our teammates were victims of the theft.
As a detective, I was unbelievably pissed off. First of all, I was a moron for not securing my valuables. Serves me right. Second of all, I was lucky I hadn't been taken for much more. My shield, police ID, and credit cards were in there. Had they been stolen, I'd be up the creek. Finally, my helplessness in this matter was unacceptable. Badger was texting Jenn the Librarian, who responded, "You should have called the cops!" His response: "Wyatt IS the cops!" Unfortunately, there was little I could do, since a locker room used by a hundred people in a given day is not exactly the most preserved crime scene.
As a hockey player, I was even more pissed off. The only people who could have committed the thefts are the employees of FLYERS SKATE ZONE (NORTHEAST) or the two or three spectators in the stands. I can't accuse anyone with surety, but I thought it odd that the one time we don't receive a locker room key is also the one time our team gets our money stolen.
Personally, I think someone at FLYERS SKATE ZONE (NORTHEAST) owes our team an explanation . . . or at least an apology.
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