It’s the holidays, and your favorite BIIHers are doing what they do best: disappearing faster than a forward on a backcheck. Some are heading home to remind their families they exist (and that they still haven’t made any better life choices), others are hitting the beach to give their “all-star” beer league bodies a much-needed rest. Nothing screams relaxation like a beer belly and a tan line shaped like goalie pads. And then there’s the select few sticking around Beijing, spreading holiday cheer? Maybe. Spreading more bad decisions out on the town? Definitely. Rumor has it some of you are playing more defense at the bar than you do on the ice. BIIH is taking a quick holiday break, but don’t worry, we’ll be back in January with all the action, misplays, and self-proclaimed “highlight reels” you know and tolerate. Dry your tears, tape your sticks, and for now, I’ll leave you with one last gift…

‘Twas the night of Sunday, and all through ORG, not a player was sober, not even Norbie. The jerseys were hung in the locker room with care, even the bright pink ones, representing the Bear. Olli and Shay were nestled, passed out in their nets, while visions of shutouts turned into bad bets. The Warriors in their sweaters, fresh off the pine, should have just cracked a tall one, as the Bears relentlessly passed the goal line. The lights in the rink and the beer league shone bright, exposing the beer guts that came into sight. When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear, the Bears scored three, and it was clear. The Warriors were gassed, and the goalie was cursed, it stood 3-1 by the end of the first….

Now Mungo! Now Joe! Now Brian Lee! On Hands-of-Stone Triple W, you missed the blue crease! To the top of the slot. To the back of the net. Your backcheck is garbage, does anyone sweat? As pucks before the Warriors defensemen hopelessly fly, the Bears’ Forman, Illya, Vlad, Greg and Ian sniped them high. The Warriors hollered loud as they cheered on Ok Wang’s stride, “Nice mitts for a plug, at least you tried!” He spoke not a word but just smirked with a nod, took a shot far and wide… hit the glass. Dear God.

He sprang from the slot, yelling, “Game-winning goal!” The score sheet said otherwise, 10-1 Bears was the toll. But I heard him exclaim as he cracked one last brew, “Merry beer league to all, see ya next year, ya beauts!”

(To the tune of “Jingle Bells”)

Expos skating through the zone,
With sticks that lost their tape,
The wingers all alone,
Xinner whiffs the empty break.
The bench lets out a groan,
The goalie’s losing chill,
And Andreas yelled, “I got this!”
As he toe-dragged up the hill.

BIIH bells, BIIH bells,
The score is five to two.
The Expos tried, the Bulls denied,
We’ll blame it on the brew.
BIIH bells, BIIH bells,
Another puck’s gone wide,
We’ll hit the bar, forget the scars,
And toast the losing side!

Taboner sniped a pass,
Howard danced through D,
The Expos chased their backs,
But stopped for beers, you see.
The goalie faced a storm,
Shots from left and right,
And JZ got called for tripping
(He swears the ref’s not right!).

BIIH bells, BIIH bells,
Our skates are feeling tight.
Richie’s done, Expos lost by tons,
But man, we laughed all night.
BIIH bells, BIIH bells,
The rink is cold and bright,
We’ll cheer for beer, ‘cause that’s why we’re here’
Beers with the boys on Sunday Night!

(To the tune of “We Three Kings”)

We three Wings of dangle and speed,
Carved through Revs like a Christmas tree.
Pass, top cheese,
Revs on their knees,
Who gave you a goalie degree?

Ohhhh…
Dumpster fire, stickless sprawl,
Revs can’t backcheck, not at all.
Dump and chase?
Your puck’s misplaced.
Did the ref forget the call?

Liam sniped while Diener danced,
Revs’ defense just wet their pants.
Blue line wide,
Crystal with stride,
Revs looked lost in a drunken trance.

Ohhhh…
Pucks in net, beer league shame,
Hot Wings chirped and ran the game.
Glass to glass,
Revs fall on their ass
Let’s just say they brought zero flame.

Taylor Kelly got one shot,
Revs cheered loud, forgot the plot.
“Still down four,
What’s that roar?”
One goal’s all the skill they brought.

Ohhhh…
Four to one, the score don’t lie,
Revs’ best shift was their benching time.
Post-game beers?
Revs cried in tears,
But hey, you showed up—you tried!

The Oilers came with dreams of spreading Christmas cheer, but the Phantoms? They were the Ghost of BIIH Christmas Past, haunting the rink like a bad eggnog hangover. Every missed 3-on-1 was a flashback to last season’s lowlights. Fanned slapshots? The echoes of broken twigs from games long forgotten. Breakaways turned faceplants? That’s the Phantom curse—a reminder that ankles are optional, but gravity never is…

(To the tune of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”)

Oh, you better bring beers,
You better stay late,
The Puck sees all,
And it knows who’s great.
The All-Seeing Puck’s watching the lot.

It doesn’t care for goals,
Or shots that went high,
If you skipped the lot,
You’re dead inside.
The All-Seeing Puck’s watching the lot.

It sees when you’re a ghost, bud,
It judges when you flee.
If you’re first to didi out of the lot,
You’re banished—don’t you see?

So crack open cans,
And earn your damn spot,
The Parking Lot Trophy
Goes to who stays and shots (guns).
The All-Seeing Puck’s watching the lot!

You won’t win the Parking Zone Next Year 

– The All Seeing Puck