I’m back, you beauties. Miss me? Of course you did. Thought you’d skate off easy this season without consequences? Not a chance. The All-Seeing Puck took a sabbatical, part therapy, part beer-fueled blackout, just to cope with last year’s crime against hockey, the Hot Wings winning the Peking Cup and then filling it with ginger ale. Ginger ale. The Bulls are still crying, the Revs are still blaming the refs, and the rest of the league has spent a full year pretending that never happened. It did. And we’re not done talking about it.

Welcome back to the chaos, BIIHers and the few fans scattered across the globe pretending this league matters. Another season in the books, another parade of out-of-shape beer leaguers limping onto the ice, skipping warmups, and delivering the kind of hockey that makes a public skate look competitive. And wow, did you disappoint. Sure, no on-ice proposals this year, a miracle. We got a couple BIIH babies entering the system, congrats, may they grow up faster, stronger, and with far less baggage than their fathers. The beer flowed, the rookie class showed flashes, and the usual legends returned looking like they lost a step, a lung, and any remaining dignity. Rivalries simmered all season, cheap shots, chirps, and “accidental” run-ins that everyone definitely meant. Same teams hate each other, same guys think they’re way better than they are, and somehow the hockey still got worse.

*Video at the end

But none of that matters now. Because after months of blown backchecks, soft goals, and “last beer” turning into a full case, it all comes down to playoffs. Seven teams, one Peking Cup, and a whole lot of delusion. This is where enemies become even bigger enemies, where that guy you hate suddenly scores once and won’t shut up about it for a year, and where “team chemistry” just means you drink together and tolerate each other on the bench. The Hot Wings don’t look like a lock for the threepeat, which means every other team suddenly thinks this is their year, it’s not, but the confidence is adorable. This is BIIH playoffs. Skill is optional, grudges are mandatory, and the only real game plan is survive the day without pulling something or starting a fight you can’t finish. So grab a beer, pick your enemies, and let’s see who manages to stumble their way to glory

Bears

The Bears finally ditched the hot pink jerseys this year, a bold decision considering that was doing most of the heavy lifting hiding their actual skill level. Swapping into sensible black, Captains Eric Selley and Travis “Downing a Beer” tried to drag this team into relevance, and somehow it worked. After a first half that looked like a public skate with commitment issues, the Bears clawed their way back to finish fourth. Not impressive, but in this league, it counts.

On the back end, last year’s defenceman of the year Scott Young showed up and did his usual thing, blocking shots, collecting injuries, and slowly sacrificing every remaining tooth. Alongside him, Mikko, DP, and Greg Browner formed what can only be described as a very tall, very white wall that occasionally remembered to play defense. Not pretty, but effective enough.

Up front, rookie Andrew Durocher wasted no time making an impression, linking up with Alex Ouellet like they’ve been running the same playbook for years and burying some absolute filth. Meanwhile, fellow rookie Ian Wilkinson brought hustle, heart, and absolutely zero goals, still searching for his first like a BIIHer on the prowl at the Local. The Wang’s OK and Victor kept things steady, which in Bears terms means they didn’t actively make things worse. All in all, a team that’s peaking at the right time, which in BIIH terms means they might accidentally make a run.

Bulls

The Bulls rolled into this season under new leadership with Josh Savitch and David Fleming… and somehow got even more insufferable. Same smug energy, just rebranded. Backed once again by Baker bombing clappers from the point, this year joined by Dave Hanssen, the choppiest guy in the league, out here hacking like he’s clearing brush in Chaoyang Park. Rookie Scott Bachor turned out to be the steal of the year, which immediately raised questions about what kind of back-hutong-alley scouting operation the Bulls are running.

Up front, Ian Medcalf and Rob Tabone brought an exhausting amount of energy, buzzing around like they just crushed three Red Bulls in the Parking Lot, with Lintai Li right there in the mix. Marat went down mid-season but is back just in time for playoffs, because nothing says BIIH like healing through beer and bad decisions. Him and Moose both became dads this year, proving once again that BIIHers will do literally anything except backcheck. Meanwhile, everyone’s favourite Finn, Kyosti, casually flew in from Bangkok like it’s a quick Didi ride, just to remind everyone he’s still better than them.

Another Dad moment, Hugo Savitch officially became the youngest BIIHer to ever hit the ice, already showing better discipline than half the league. I’ll keep it respectful though, I don’t chirp children… especially ones with more skill than their dads.

And of course, the Bulls finished first. Loud about it. Proud about it. Acting like they’ve already engraved their names on the Peking Cup. The question isn’t if they’re good, it’s whether anyone can shut them up when it actually matters.

Expos

The Sexpos came out of the gate 7-0, strutting around like the Cup was already engraved… then completely forgot how to play hockey and cooled off fast, like a BIIHer striking out at the bar after opening with way too much confidence. Led by Little C Richie Zhou and Big C Ames, this team can be summed up in one word, Russian, skill, vodka, and a loose understanding of what a system is supposed to be.

BIIH rookie Dima Poliakov showed up with filthy hands and elite flow, basically dragging this team to third while making the rest of the roster look far more competent than reality suggests. Norbie and Big Dima held things together on the back end with Richie, while Diener bounced between defense and yelling like he’s mic’d up for a documentary nobody’s watching. Finn “the Other Center” Brown leaned fully into his goon era, taking penalties like they were incentives and contributing just enough offense to avoid getting benched.

Up front, Shay Nelson kept running the same one-goal-a-game scam and somehow nobody adjusted. Sasha and Vitaly kept things loud but mostly functional, which is about as organized as this team gets. Taylor Kelly got deported and still made it back just in time to eat shit in key moments, which honestly feels on brand. And then there’s rookie Easton Hoover, who was so good the rest of the league collectively cried about it… and now he’s not even allowed to play playoffs. Classic.

If they don’t implode, get distracted, or drown in vodka, they’ve got the skill to make a run. Problem is, they’re usually their own biggest opponent.

Oilers

The Oilers came into the season under Captains Scotty K and Jordy with a bold strategy, draft one defenseman and just… figure it out. And honestly, it showed. They parked themselves right in the middle of the standings all year, not bad, not good, just kind of there, like a late-night QS run, messy, questionable, and hard to explain the next day.

If the Sexpos are Russian chaos, the Oilers are pure Beijing energy, loud, scrappy, and always one shift away from turning things into a full parking lot scrap behind ORG. Xinner led the charge up front with Bob “we’ll see if he shows” Xu, keeping everyone guessing. Howie dropped back to defense with Scotty K, which mostly meant two forwards cosplaying as defensemen. Joe Zhang, fresh off dad duty, played like he had something to prove, occasionally picking corners, occasionally missing the net by a full postcode.

Jack Hao clearly studied all that game film all offseason and actually showed up, putting together a strong run alongside the silent assassin Abdu. Cuttsy yapped his way through the season, mixing in some solid numbers with some all-time misses. Alex Moore, Britain’s sweetheart, came back bigger, better, and somehow still everyone’s favourite. Andreas Neuman quietly rounded things out while the rest of the team tried to decide what they actually are.

A team with no real structure, one actual defenseman, and just enough chaos to be annoying, the Oilers aren’t scaring anyone, but they’re exactly the kind of team that’ll drag you into a mess you didn’t want to be in.

Hot Wings

Oh boy, the Hot Wings. Everyone’s favourite team to hate… and this year, honestly, mostly pity. Led by veteran captains Liam and Tiger, they managed the impressive feat of finishing dead last, no amount of ginger ale magic left to save them this time. You’d think Liam finally getting a girlfriend and retiring from Tinder would free up some mental space for hockey, but apparently not. Priorities remain questionable.

To their credit, rookie Mark Richardson worked like a dog up front, while Zoe Worrall and little Sergey brought some flashes of offense. Mark Futerman was putting together a legit wildcard run… right up until he absolutely demolished his leg doing what can only be described as standing still and losing the battle. Tough look. Lance Wu’s tragic blue helmet haunted the league for half a season before Harry Wang stepped in, an immediate visual upgrade if nothing else.

Ben Begley showed up in full Scotsman mode, kilt, no underwear, letting it all breathe, including the team’s dignity. On the other end, the Commish played out his final BIIH season like a man serving time, soul completely gone, the kind of empty you feel stumbling out of QS at 4am. Big Sergei showed up with cured fish and defense, two things the team desperately needed, while Asher delivered pizzas and the occasional goal, keeping morale barely alive. Cooker made cameo appearances like a washed-up celebrity guest star, but even that couldn’t save this group.

In the end, the Hot Wings didn’t just finish last, they earned it. No controversy, no excuses, just a full season of chaos, heartbreak, and absolutely brutal hockey.

Revs

The Revs, easily the most controversial team this year, came out flying with Jersey Gate, ordering two full sets before anyone else and then somehow never managing to have everyone wear the same colour at the same time. A logistical masterclass. Led by Filly Z, and George for a brief cameo before he disappeared like a guy dodging a Parking Lot round, the Revs built a roster of guys who play like they’ve got a strict curfew.

Baggsy was back, strong as ever, including his iron stomach, not a single puke, which honestly feels off brand. Young gun Michael Wang stepped up to lead, with newcomer Yang Xu quietly putting up points while no one was really paying attention. Vlad and Dad returned as a greasy little duo, while Wei Lei and Darcy Day chipped in some offense when they felt like it.

Malmo somehow locked down MVP by serving bench minors like it was a full-time job, and rookie Chris White actually looked like he belonged, rare for this group. Charlie was leading things for a while… until he fucked off, and whatever structure they had went with him.

In the end, the Revs finished sixth, proving that even with two jersey sets, you still need a team.

Warriors

Led by veteran captain TripleW and rookie captain Tilo, the Warriors somehow turned a group of guys who show up late and hungover into a team that actually wins hockey games. On paper, this roster looks like it barely made it out of bed. On the ice… still rough, just slightly more functional.

Mark Mungo continued his run as the league’s resident psychopath, picking up a few assists, and yes, this is purely here because he begged for it like it’s a contract bonus. The Warriors doubled down on their Finnish takeover, with Jussi leading alongside his second and third wives, Marko and Jan. No one understands what’s going on there, least of all them, but somehow it keeps working.

Andrei Borodin came back bigger, stronger, and playing like he thinks body contact earns extra points, running through teams like it’s a different league. Tan Feng stayed quietly competent, which on this team basically makes him a superstar, while will Liu brought veteran wisdom, meaning a lot of yelling and absolutely no backchecking.

Tony Compagnaro made his BIIH debut looking like a newborn deer, but after a couple beers, somehow became way more coordinated. SSG stayed silent as ever, just casually being a menace and getting under everyone’s skin without doing anything flashy. And somehow, despite this collection of personalities, questionable decisions, and zero visible structure, the Warriors finished second.

Proof that in BIIH, you don’t need systems, discipline, or even basic coordination. You just need enough chaos, confidence, and delusion pointed in roughly the same direction.

Guardians

The Guardians, the backbone of the league, BIIH royalty, the reason any of this circus actually functions. Led by Captain Shay Nelson, this group of beauties keeps the whole operation alive. And yes, I’ll give them their flowers… right before absolutely roasting them.

Olli held it down in net and casually announced he’s becoming a dad, hoping his kid has better positioning than he does. Shay, meanwhile, spent his Sundays playing goalie, forward for the Expos, reffing, and somehow being everywhere at once, raising serious questions about whether he has anything resembling a personal life. Aken came back looking strong, still missing the occasional thing directly in front of him. It might be time to upgrade the prescription, big guy.

Richie Zhou gave goalie a spin and honestly didn’t hate it, but let’s be clear, not even close to goalie shape. Tomasz and Alex rotated through the crease like it was a community resource, and of course Moose had to jump in as EBUG, because nothing says BIIH like a random appearance by Moose. Easton Hoover also laced them up, shook off the rust quickly and went back to making Liam cry. And JY, the wise old man of BIIH, showed up alongside Ray, proving once again that experience mostly just means knowing where to stand and when to complain.

The Guardians keep the league running, keep everyone organized, and somehow still find time to look like a group chat that accidentally made it onto the ice.

The Parking Lot

Now you didn’t think I forgot the Parking Lot, did you? Let’s be clear, this is the only thing that actually matters. I don’t give a single fuck about your stats (yes, Mark Mungo, I’m looking directly at you). Your goals, your assists, your cute little backhand pass, meaningless. Absolutely meaningless. The real league, the real battles, the real legends are made in the Parking Lot, and this year… you either showed up or you didn’t.

The only thing the Hot Wings accomplished all season was having the Commish in the Lot, a man in his final BIIH tour absolutely carrying the team on his back, beer for beer. He made up for about 10 seasons of Hot Wings no shows in the Lot. The Warriors made a strong push with TripleW, Tilo, and Mungo, who stayed out late enough to ruin everyone else’s night while Mungo held the group hostage with stories about his life and his “game.” No one asked. He told you anyway.

Cuttsy kept the Oilers barely relevant in the Lot, all talk, zero hustle, not a single sprint, ASP is disgusted. Meanwhile, any time Alex Moore and Jordy showed up, the morale instantly improved, mostly because they actually know how to be decent human beings. Rare.

And then, of course, the Sexpos. Still the undisputed Parking Lot champions. Ames and Richie running the show like seasoned professionals, with Taylor Kelly contributing when he wasn’t getting deported. Easton fully embraced the lifestyle, out late, beers flowing, letting the rest of you play his Bumble.

We had shotguns, squat challenges, and enough dressing room banter to derail entire friendships. And Rink Guy? Still somehow the least fun person in Beijing, proving once again that you can’t fix a personality with free beer.

This is where heroes are made. Not your games, not your standings, not your sad little stats. The Parking Lot. And honestly? Some of you should be embarrassed. What are you doing going home early? Who raised you? You have one shot of redemption at the Year End Party. If I don’t see your sorry asses stumbling out of QS at 4am, full of regret, poor decisions, and absolutely zero dignity, then what are we even doing here. Be better. Or at least be worse in the right way.

You won’t win the Parking Lot…I mean the Peking Cup next Saturday.

-The All Seeing Puck