Apologies, BIIHers and fans across the world, I’ve been on IR with a case of the beer flu, but I’m back, baby! Just in time for the best part of the season: PLAYOFFS. The regular season? Meaningless. The Peking Cup is what separates the heroes from the pylons. Who’s stepping up when it matters? Who’s blaming their beer league failure on the refs? And who’s gonna get so buckled they’ll wake up in their gear, wondering why they missed the Awards Party. I’ve been watching. And while I can’t say I’m impressed, I have developed a strange affection for you beauties and benders alike. You hold a special place in my cold, dead hockey heart…right next to my last broken stick and the memory of every blown breakaway I’ve ever seen. So let’s take a look back at how we got here because some of you have been absolute weapons, and some of you… well, let’s just say your team’s success isn’t thanks to you.

The Bears barreled their way through the season like a pack of angry… well, Bears? Finishing in a respectable third place—which, in beer league terms, means they were just good enough to chirp the teams below them but not quite good enough to avoid getting chirped themselves. Led by fiery captain Selley and elite shotgunner Trav, the Bears were impossible to miss, both for their intimidating, bruising style of play and their unapologetically pink jerseys that made them look like a gang of very aggressive flamingos. Stats-obsessed Jordan Forman led the team in both points and never shutting up about his points, while Bob Xu, Selley, and rookie Ian Medcalf kept opposing defenses guessing (and mostly panicking). The Father-Son duo of Ilya and Vlad Konstantinov made sure the Bears were a multi-generational nightmare for opponents, and steady Finn Brown was the glue keeping it all together. On the blue line, Dan Penny crushed not just beers but also dreams, standing tall on defense alongside long-time enforcer Greg Brown. Rounding out the squad were newcomer Carl Gjedlnes, Andrew Vologdin, and Yogurt—before he mysteriously vanished mid-season (presumably to a dairy farm somewhere). They came, they crushed, and they drank—sometimes in that order, sometimes not. Now, can they maul their way to Peking Cup glory, or will they be left licking their wounds in the parking lot?

The Bulls were a force to be reckoned with this year… but don’t worry, they’ll remind you. Loudly. And often. Finishing second place in the standings, they played with the confidence of a team that just won the Stanley Cup—despite, you know, not actually winning anything yet. Captain Kusy and Noah led the charge, keeping the Bulls looking like the picture of teamwork—at least when they weren’t too busy patting themselves on the back. Their scrappy forwards, Taboner, Savitch, and rookie Cuttsy, crashed the net harder than a BIIHer trying to make it to warmups on time, while the defense core of Younger, Georgie, the Commish, and Kyle Baker did their best to make life miserable for opposing forwards. Meanwhile, Doc, Cooker, and Malmo Li brought some extra bite to the attack, and newcomer Howie had a strong rookie season, proving that not all new Bulls are just here for the post-game beers (though let’s be honest, that locker room is fire). We even saw some appearances from BIIH legend Kyosti. With a stacked lineup heading into the playoffs, the big question remains: Can they finally back up all their chirping with a Peking Cup win, or will they be spending the finals sulking in the stands, blaming the refs? 

The Expos might have finished in 6th place, but let’s be real, they never let something as trivial as winning get in the way of a good time. Led by young Richie and wise sage JZ, this squad looked fantastic all season—strictly in terms of jersey aesthetics. On the ice? Well… let’s just say their game plan was about as structured as a BIIH breakout after six pints. Defensively, Fleming and Xiner admirably filled in when Larry and Charlie went MIA. Meanwhile, Russian wrecking balls Dima and Vitaly added some brute force to the lineup. Joining the chaos were Finnish duo Marko and Jussi, trying their best to bring some structure to the madness—emphasis on trying. Up front, Andreas, Ames, and resident Brit Alex Moore rounded out the squad, ensuring that at least the post-game pints were executed with more precision than their play. With a miracle being their only realistic shot at the Peking Cup, the Expos now face one big question: Can they suddenly turn into a real hockey team just in time for playoffs, or should they just spend their time drinking highballs and Asahis at Tori Tei?

The Hot Wings dominated the season, losing only two in regulation (both to the Bulls, once was self-inflicted) and doing it all while having absolutely zero fun. Seriously, this team treats winning like a chore—if you listen closely, you can almost hear them sighing after every goal. Captains Tiger and Liam led this well-oiled machine, composed of two distinct groups: people named Michael and the entire Worrall family. Somehow, it worked. Up front, rookie Michael Diener and returning legend Baggsy spearheaded an offense so efficient it ran smoother than a BIIHers excuse for missing a backcheck. Meanwhile, Zoe and Crystal were a force to be reckoned with, proving that girl power in hockey means speed, skill, and outplaying whoever gets in their way. Squirrel, Asher, Pekka, and yet another Michael (Li, in case you lost track) brought a mix of finesse, size, and a general refusal to lose. On the blue line, Tiger, Michael Wang, Deryk, and Sebastian Worrall anchored a defense that boasted the best goals-against average in the league—which is impressive, considering they played the entire season like they were allergic to having fun. So now, the biggest question: Will they hoist the Peking Cup and enrage the Commish by filling it with ginger ale, or will their robotic efficiency finally short-circuit under playoff pressure?

Despite finishing in 7th place, the Oilers still somehow managed to make a name for themselves—mostly as the league’s grittiest, greasiest bunch of underdogs who refuse to die. If there was a trophy for playing like every game was a bar fight, they’d already have it. Led by captain Scotty K and Jord, the Oilers bulldozed their way through the season with a combination of stubbornness, pure chaos, and just enough actual hockey skill to keep things interesting. Lintai Li and Alex Ouellet led an offense that was scrappier than a BIIHer fighting for a girl at Bacardi, with Finnish sniper Justus and the Swiss Sensation Stefano adding some unexpected finesse to the carnage. Feng Tan, Chris Hayden, Selam, and Bird rounded out this grimy, hard-nosed crew, while Marat brought enough personality to make up for all the missing teeth. Tilo Brandt shut down as many breakaways as he crushed beers, and SSG on defense was a one-man wrecking crew who played defense like he was auditioning for a demolition derby. So here’s the warning: Don’t sleep on the Oilers in the Cup. They may not have finished anywhere near the top, but they’ve got just enough grit, guts, and possibly bad decision-making to shock the so-called “big boys.” And if they don’t win? You’ll at least leave the game feeling like you got run over by a Zamboni driven by a guy six beers deep.

Revs, Revs, Revs. If there’s one thing worse than running suicides after a game, it’s watching you lot try to backcheck. But credit where it’s due—you somehow turned this season around after suffering the tragic departures of G-Money and Maradona. Two absolute beauties, gone too soon… don’t worry, they’re still alive, they just got the hell out of Beijing. Led by Filly Z and Chesh, the Revs ended as a solid middle-of-the-pack squad, finishing in fifth place—not exactly an underdog Cinderella story, but hey, at least you’re not the Oilers. Up front, Will Liu carried the offense on his back (probably because he knew what was waiting behind him), with Mikko, Peebles, Jack, and Dragos putting up points when they weren’t too busy admiring Taylor Kelly’s cellies. Moose and Wei Lei, had great seasons, proving scoring goals is still easier than playing defense. Speaking of defense, Dizzy brought some actual flair, while 10-year BIIHer Thomas Xu provided the experience (read: he’s seen some things). The Revs have been red-hot lately, but the big question remains: Is it elite leadership? A new system? Or just the fact that they picked up the guy who lives at the rink? Whatever the case, let’s see if they can pull off a miracle run to the Peking Cup, or if they’ll just end up running more suicides in the parking lot.

The Warriors finished in fourth place, which shocks absolutely no one—because TripleW and Neil the Real Deal lead this team like they’re storming the gates of a medieval castle. With a flair for theatrics that makes every game feel like a Hollywood blockbuster, the Warriors didn’t just play hockey—they made it an emotional rollercoaster. Phil Chen peaced out early, probably realizing that sticking around would shave years off his life. That left rookies Pavel and Mungo—who is an absolute wildcard on and off the ice —to take over the offense, alongside Hambrook, Shuai, Brian Lee, and Yu Ren. Ok Wang and Ander Day added some depth, while latecomer Victor Wong showed up fashionably late to bring some extra firepower (or at least body count). On defense, Norbie stood tall, stoic, and German, while his Captain did his best to hold the blue line and his sanity. Now the question is: Can the Warriors actually keep their cool and make another deep playoff run, or will they go full WWE cage match the moment a call doesn’t go their way? Either way, it’s going to be entertaining.

The true backbone of the BIIH, the Guardians are the only reason half of you aren’t waking up in cold sweats after your latest defensive disaster. These absolute legends bail you out game after game, covering up your missed assignments, lazy backchecks, and questionable life choices. And how do you repay them? By screening them and then blaming them when the puck goes in. Shay Nelson leads this group of saints, despite knowing deep down that none of you deserve him. Aken Zhang recorded the shutout of the season, which, let’s be honest, was probably harder than getting a BIIHer to show up sober. Ray Xu is the biggest goalie in the league—with a six-pack, no less—making the rest of us question our entire existence. Jin Yu (JY) plays goal like a man who has seen it all and fears nothing, while Finnish sensation Olli has the heart of a lion and the patience of a kindergarten teacher dealing with this league’s defensive breakdowns. So next time you cough up the puck at your own blue line, just remember: these guys are the only thing standing between you and total humiliation. Maybe—just maybe—buy them a beer for once.

Ah, the refs. The unsung anti-heroes of BIIH. You love to hate them, but deep down, you know without them, we’d just be a bunch of beer-league degenerates skating in total anarchy. And let’s be honest—it’s basically anarchy with them, just with added whistles and the occasional slurred explanation of a penalty that may or may not have actually happened.These fine gentlemen (and we use that term loosely) are not professionals. They’re not even amateurs. They’re just guys who, for reasons unknown to modern science, have volunteered to take abuse from hungover, out-of-shape hockey players for 56 grueling minutes. Their qualifications? A whistle, a beer in hand, and the ability to skate upright for most of the game. So now, the million-dollar question: Who the hell is reffing the Peking Cup? Will it be George, the human penalty machine, who will send half your team to the box for thinking about tripping someone? Or will we get WWW, the one who could witness a triple homicide in the crease and still not call it because, and I quote, “it’s beer league, man.” Maybe it will be Scotty K, who actually explains calls, lets you chirp him without instantly tossing you, and somehow makes you feel bad for arguing a penalty because he’s just so damn polite. Either way, buckle up. The refs are coming. And so are the missed calls, the bad calls, and the calls that make you question whether your ref actually knows what hockey is. See you at the Peking Cup. Try to stay out of the box—unless George is reffing. Then, well… good luck.

Finally, the only thing that matters, the Parking Lot. Not a team? Who cares. It’s my blog, I do what I want. And if we’re being honest, these beauties are the real MVPs of the BIIH. While the rest of the league is out there sweating, backchecking (or pretending to), and blaming the refs for their own incompetence, the Parking Lot People are grinding it out where it really matters—post-game, beers in hand, under the cold Beijing night. This is where the real work happens. The sprints are real, shout out to our fastest BIIHer, Cuttsy. The chirps are ruthless, often better executed than any team’s breakout. The injuries pile up, usually from poor life choices rather than hockey. And the trophies? Well, those don’t last long, because nothing survives the Parking Lot for long—not pride, not dignity, and certainly not cheap hardware. The elusive win may escape many a BIIHer on the ice, but in the lot, everyone is a champion. This is the heart and soul of the league, the true spirit of beer league hockey, and frankly, way more important than the Peking Cup. The Parking Lot Trophy lives on… in shambles, just like all of us. Hell of a season, boys (and girls). Now grab a beer and lace up for the real game.

You won’t win the Parking Lot Trophy, ugh, I mean the Peking Cup Saturday…

– The All Seeing Puck