onionbagblog
Wot No Rushforth?
LA Kings 4, Anaheim Ducks 1, 29/09/07 (still can't believe I've just typed that...)
Watching the LA Kings face off against the Anaheim Ducks was a bit of a change from my usual Saturday afternoon non-league football fare. The Show had come to South East London and I absolutely LOVE the NHL.
The West Coast rivalry of two teams playing a Conference game transported some five and a half thousand miles to a South East London shithole is like Spurs and Arsenal playing a Premiership match in California. It could never happen, could it?
My last NHL game was some seven years ago when I had a two-week whirlwind tour of Chicago, Detroit, Buffalo (weird,) Toronto and Philadelphia. A different day, a different airport, watching The Show and generally whooping it with the rest of them.
My last hockey match in Docklands was some five years ago; I lived the Dream, home and away, for five years of my life. The dream died, thanks to that nice Mr Anschutz pulling the plug on the London franchise and putting the Knights 'on ice' (his words, not mine.)
It's been St reatham for me ever since. Even the most robust Redskins fan would be forced to admit that it's some step up from the English National League Division One (South) to The Show. To say that I was excited about Saturday is like saying that hockey players have a brain. Of course they don't, and I wasn't just excited, I was exhilarated, enraptured and electrified - and that was just at the thought of watching the warm up.
Strange how St reatham doesn't quite have this effect on me.
Thirty years of hockey watching and my interest has waned in recent years. The let down of the London Knights, swiftly followed by the plucky (but doomed to fail) London Racers has left me frozen out of UK hockey. I was about to walk away from the great game for good. I needed the NHL Show to start off my interest once again.
With the traditional pre-hockey ritual of watching Slapshot (the greatest film EVER ...all about hockey) the night before, and I was all set up for Saturday afternoon. I was rather hoping that my next hockey match in South East London would feature the Knights, but at least I was amongst familiar friends and faces once again. I was almost expecting an airing of the Bracknell Family Retard song during the first period break.
LET'S PLAY HOCKEY!!!!
Um, but first let's have an argument with the Security Guard at the Dome With No Soul.
'That's not a consumer camera, Sir.'
'Absolute crap - are you calling me a professional? If so, give me a media pass and put me in a front row seat.'
'Sir will have to leave the camera with us for his own safety.'
'What utter nonsense. What are you expecting me to do? Sit on the lens and get it wedged up my arse?'
The Security Guard didn't seem the sort who reads Digital Photography Monthly. And neither and I, come to think of it.
'What size lens is deemed the cut off point between a professional and a consumer model?' I enquired.
'Oh, um, 35 mm?' came back the rhetorical answer.
'All's fine and dandy then,' I replied as I barged past him and pointed out some bollocks about an amateur aperture adjustment mechanism.
'You are SO naughty,' remarked mrs onionbagblogger.
But she was having her own spot of bother with the bag searchers:
'The fuckers tried to take my water bottle off me,' she said.
'What did you tell them?' I asked.
'That I'm on critical medication and I need water, else I'm in danger of spontaneously combusting.'
Woh! Way to go, girl.
She may have won the moral high ground (as per usual) but I won the Who Can Spot the First London Knights Top competition. Plenty of Panthers (well, what else is there to do in Nottingham?) some Steelers, and even a caravan of Invicta pikeys from down the road.
And one lone London Knights top. London Arena was a lonely place, after all.
Keeping with the Old Time Hockey tradition (Eddie Shore!) our seats were right on the blue line, the exact same location where we watched five years of hockey at the old London Arena. Shame we needed to charter a plane to get all the way up to our place. I squinted down and could just about make out a genuine NHL star.
'Nope, that's a hot dog seller,' said mrs obb.
As well as importing the players, the North American enorm-o-dome culture was also in force. The strict bag search meant no food or drink was allowed to be brought into the arena. And so instead of out of date cheese and onion pasties (49p for two at Sainsbury's,) I took a look at the prices for the pre-packaged plastic food on sale and thought FUCK OFF.
mrs obb buggered off to buy a £10 portion of cheese on toast masquerading as a pizza,' whilst I watched the warm up. Watch the Puck at ALL Times, but there was no danger of being hit on the head sitting up in the heavens. Despite our high altitude, the view was actually superior to St reatham. You don't say...
Looking around and the UK Hockey community was out in force. These are the people I have grown up with and followed around the country on domestic and European road trips. The British hockey ruling Establishment is forever fractured with in fighting and political squabbles as to which ruling power controls the puck. The UK hockey community is always left to pick up the pieces as teams fold and franchises move on. How wonderful then for a weekend of first class hockey with no interference from the fools that have ruined the British game in recent years.
The National Anthems left a nasty taste in the mouth, especially so the Star Spangled Banner. When inRome LA, etc, and so I politely removed my cap (as requested) and let rip with a silent but violent special.
I sat down for God Save the Queen. JUST DROP THE BLOODY PUCK!!!!
And so finally, after a five year sabbatical, pro hockey was back in South East London. And boy - it was back BIG time.
But first... remember how it was 'will the last person to leave the Dome please switch off the lightst' back in Mr Tony's day? Seems like the Dome is still sucking up money as we had a fifteen minute delay due to 'lighting difficulties.' That nice Mr Anschutz has a history of 'equipment failure' with the plexi glass once famously going walkabouts in Docklands.
We finally faced-off for a first period of dump and chase hockey. But it was NHL dump and chase, so that makes it all right then. The 'home' LA crowd weren't cheered on at 11:25 with a five on three power play led to the King's opening goal. The Duck's defence was deader than a London Elite League franchise.
1-0 at the first period break and then something utterly remarkable happened: Streatham Redskins played a period of hockey in the NHL. Blimey Charley! The under-10 Streatham Braves faced off against a team from Slough. One goal apiece seemed about fair, even if the officiating from a man wearing a Lion costume wasn’t. The Good 'Ol Hockey Game kept us entertained as the double (!) zambonis did their laps of honour.
The start of the second period and Come OnPanthers! Knights! Racers! Jets! Streatham! um, Ducks.
Quack quack oops.
Old time hockey! Eddie Shore! Watch the red light in the penalty box as here comes another TV break for the folks back home in Beverley Hills. Put yer burritos down, fella - 29:45 and King's had a 2-0 lead with a second goal from Mike Cammalleri. This was something I was rather hoping for as it set up the fun for hat trick and my chance to test the NO OBJECTS TO BE TTHROWN ON THE ICE policy.
Old time hockey! Eddie Shore! Caps on the ice!
A lifetime ban at the O2...
A third goal came in the third, but not from Cammalleri; a fantastic one timer worth the £25 price of the ticket alone. Thoughts of a shut out for the Kings disappeared when Ducks scored with six minutes remaining. With the net minder pulled for the final 1:30, no surprises that Kings added a short-handed empty netter to wrap up the game.
And so this year in South London I've watched Le Tour de France, the National Hockey League and there's National Basketball League still to come. Oh - and don't forget that Dulwich are next at home to the Thuggers & Muggers of Tooting on Tuesday night.
technorati: nhl
| Sunday 30 September, 2007 |
LA Kings 4, Anaheim Ducks 1, 29/09/07 (still can't believe I've just typed that...)
Watching the LA Kings face off against the Anaheim Ducks was a bit of a change from my usual Saturday afternoon non-league football fare. The Show had come to South East London and I absolutely LOVE the NHL.
 You are SO naughty |
My last NHL game was some seven years ago when I had a two-week whirlwind tour of Chicago, Detroit, Buffalo (weird,) Toronto and Philadelphia. A different day, a different airport, watching The Show and generally whooping it with the rest of them.
My last hockey match in Docklands was some five years ago; I lived the Dream, home and away, for five years of my life. The dream died, thanks to that nice Mr Anschutz pulling the plug on the London franchise and putting the Knights 'on ice' (his words, not mine.)
It's been St reatham for me ever since. Even the most robust Redskins fan would be forced to admit that it's some step up from the English National League Division One (South) to The Show. To say that I was excited about Saturday is like saying that hockey players have a brain. Of course they don't, and I wasn't just excited, I was exhilarated, enraptured and electrified - and that was just at the thought of watching the warm up.
Strange how St reatham doesn't quite have this effect on me.
Thirty years of hockey watching and my interest has waned in recent years. The let down of the London Knights, swiftly followed by the plucky (but doomed to fail) London Racers has left me frozen out of UK hockey. I was about to walk away from the great game for good. I needed the NHL Show to start off my interest once again.
With the traditional pre-hockey ritual of watching Slapshot (the greatest film EVER ...all about hockey) the night before, and I was all set up for Saturday afternoon. I was rather hoping that my next hockey match in South East London would feature the Knights, but at least I was amongst familiar friends and faces once again. I was almost expecting an airing of the Bracknell Family Retard song during the first period break.
LET'S PLAY HOCKEY!!!!
Um, but first let's have an argument with the Security Guard at the Dome With No Soul.
'That's not a consumer camera, Sir.'
'Absolute crap - are you calling me a professional? If so, give me a media pass and put me in a front row seat.'
'Sir will have to leave the camera with us for his own safety.'
'What utter nonsense. What are you expecting me to do? Sit on the lens and get it wedged up my arse?'
The Security Guard didn't seem the sort who reads Digital Photography Monthly. And neither and I, come to think of it.
'What size lens is deemed the cut off point between a professional and a consumer model?' I enquired.
'Oh, um, 35 mm?' came back the rhetorical answer.
'All's fine and dandy then,' I replied as I barged past him and pointed out some bollocks about an amateur aperture adjustment mechanism.
'You are SO naughty,' remarked mrs onionbagblogger.
But she was having her own spot of bother with the bag searchers:
'The fuckers tried to take my water bottle off me,' she said.
'What did you tell them?' I asked.
'That I'm on critical medication and I need water, else I'm in danger of spontaneously combusting.'
Woh! Way to go, girl.
She may have won the moral high ground (as per usual) but I won the Who Can Spot the First London Knights Top competition. Plenty of Panthers (well, what else is there to do in Nottingham?) some Steelers, and even a caravan of Invicta pikeys from down the road.
And one lone London Knights top. London Arena was a lonely place, after all.
Keeping with the Old Time Hockey tradition (Eddie Shore!) our seats were right on the blue line, the exact same location where we watched five years of hockey at the old London Arena. Shame we needed to charter a plane to get all the way up to our place. I squinted down and could just about make out a genuine NHL star.
'Nope, that's a hot dog seller,' said mrs obb.
As well as importing the players, the North American enorm-o-dome culture was also in force. The strict bag search meant no food or drink was allowed to be brought into the arena. And so instead of out of date cheese and onion pasties (49p for two at Sainsbury's,) I took a look at the prices for the pre-packaged plastic food on sale and thought FUCK OFF.
mrs obb buggered off to buy a £10 portion of cheese on toast masquerading as a pizza,' whilst I watched the warm up. Watch the Puck at ALL Times, but there was no danger of being hit on the head sitting up in the heavens. Despite our high altitude, the view was actually superior to St reatham. You don't say...
Looking around and the UK Hockey community was out in force. These are the people I have grown up with and followed around the country on domestic and European road trips. The British hockey ruling Establishment is forever fractured with in fighting and political squabbles as to which ruling power controls the puck. The UK hockey community is always left to pick up the pieces as teams fold and franchises move on. How wonderful then for a weekend of first class hockey with no interference from the fools that have ruined the British game in recent years.
The National Anthems left a nasty taste in the mouth, especially so the Star Spangled Banner. When in
I sat down for God Save the Queen. JUST DROP THE BLOODY PUCK!!!!
And so finally, after a five year sabbatical, pro hockey was back in South East London. And boy - it was back BIG time.
But first... remember how it was 'will the last person to leave the Dome please switch off the lightst' back in Mr Tony's day? Seems like the Dome is still sucking up money as we had a fifteen minute delay due to 'lighting difficulties.' That nice Mr Anschutz has a history of 'equipment failure' with the plexi glass once famously going walkabouts in Docklands.
We finally faced-off for a first period of dump and chase hockey. But it was NHL dump and chase, so that makes it all right then. The 'home' LA crowd weren't cheered on at 11:25 with a five on three power play led to the King's opening goal. The Duck's defence was deader than a London Elite League franchise.
1-0 at the first period break and then something utterly remarkable happened: Streatham Redskins played a period of hockey in the NHL. Blimey Charley! The under-10 Streatham Braves faced off against a team from Slough. One goal apiece seemed about fair, even if the officiating from a man wearing a Lion costume wasn’t. The Good 'Ol Hockey Game kept us entertained as the double (!) zambonis did their laps of honour.
The start of the second period and Come On
Quack quack oops.
Old time hockey! Eddie Shore! Watch the red light in the penalty box as here comes another TV break for the folks back home in Beverley Hills. Put yer burritos down, fella - 29:45 and King's had a 2-0 lead with a second goal from Mike Cammalleri. This was something I was rather hoping for as it set up the fun for hat trick and my chance to test the NO OBJECTS TO BE TTHROWN ON THE ICE policy.
Old time hockey! Eddie Shore! Caps on the ice!
A lifetime ban at the O2...
A third goal came in the third, but not from Cammalleri; a fantastic one timer worth the £25 price of the ticket alone. Thoughts of a shut out for the Kings disappeared when Ducks scored with six minutes remaining. With the net minder pulled for the final 1:30, no surprises that Kings added a short-handed empty netter to wrap up the game.
And so this year in South London I've watched Le Tour de France, the National Hockey League and there's National Basketball League still to come. Oh - and don't forget that Dulwich are next at home to the Thuggers & Muggers of Tooting on Tuesday night.
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technorati: nhl
| #permalink |
A Shaggy Dog's Tale
I thought it was about time I paid Ally Pally another visit. There's little chance of me dragging my freezing South london arse all the way up to N22 for the hockey in the winter. St Reatham High Road is severe enough. But like most things right now, it was all about the bike.
Much to my surprise, it seems that I'm a half decent hill climber. I bonk with the best of them each Saturday morning at the velodrome. I get to carry out my track cycling fantasies, but I'm no sprinter.
Instead I've been building up over the summer to become King of the South London Mountains. don't laugh; if David Millar can wear Le Tour's polka dot King of the Mountains jersey (for Canterbury and Belgium,) then I challenge any one to take away my crown from me.
Students of South London OS maps may remark that there's few Category 1 climbs in South London. But I still feel like the South Londoner who went up a hill and came down a mountain.
Lordship Lane is a decent start. Dodge all the Dulwich Mum's and you can soon be spinning out towards Kent. College Lane close by is slightly steeper, but sadly that leads to Crystal Pal-arse.
And so that's South London covered then - time to take on the North London knobbers with my two wheels. Ally up - and up, and up, and up...
First things first: My Fuji Fixie was summoned from the fleet for the climb. Gears are for girls and brakes are for law-abiders. And just to give the ride some real symmetry, I started off with the Crystal Palace climb, looked across London towards Ally Pally and gave the North London knobbers a big wave. See you, oh, in just under an hour?
And so I rolled out back down College Road, which is actually rather hard work on a fixie as you're fighting against the momentum of your fixed wheel. A familiar route through Brixton, past onionbagblog HQ II and The Oval, around an overcast Elephant (is it ever anything else?) and I crossed at Blackfriars. That's the scenic South London part seen to, now for North London.
It was all downhill from here. If only. I cut through Clerkenwell, up Upper Street (you call that a 'hill?' - ha!) and hello Highbury Corner. I use to be a bit of a regular around these parts; the old Rocket club, The Garage and God knows how many job interviews for indie labels, whose lack of commercialism made my lifestyle look like the leader of the World Bank.
I pedaled through Finsbury Park, 'scuzzy' being an adjective that even knobber estate agents would admit to having to use. But forget property postcode prices - here comes THAT Ally Pally hill...
I had been looking forward to this all morning. I was even wearing a helmet. The technique is not to stop, especially when you are cleated down on a fixed wheel death trap. You need all the momentum that you can, and try to keep the chainring revs to around sixty a minute.
I was making easy work of it and took pleasure in passing two other lycra climbers who had given up and taken to walking. The majestic Ally Pally, um, Palace was within sight. A slight curve in the road and it was gone. But I knew I was close.
'Keep your head and shoulders still - let your lungs do the work.' Fine advice from Mr Millar. Stick some EPO up yer arse as well.
I reached the peak of the first leg of the climb with still some energy to spare. I'd need it to see the job through. I was a little lost and a little disorientated. We're not quite talking dear old Tom Simpson on the slopes of Mont Ventoux, but I could have done with a Mars Bar.
I asked a North London Dulwich Mum (an Ally Pally Prima Donna) if she knew where I needed to cycle for the second leg of the mountain climb. She took quite a shine to my lycra and became a little over-friendly:
'But dahhhling! (I hope this was just North London talk) look down below and you will see Ally Pally Park!'
I had shot my load with the Ally Pally Prima Donna. King of the North London Mountains? Time for the Coronation...
Climb 1 was in fact Climbs 2 & 3 as well. I had some freewheeling downhill to take me to my destination. Or not, as the case was with my fixed wheel.
And so I arrived at Ally Pally within the hour, had a quick look around and did the photo thing. I sat down beside the duck pond, just as a terrier type tried his luck with the swans.
'Monty!' (Monty?) Monty!' screamed an Ally Pally Prima Donna dog fancier. 'Please help poor Monty! he can't swim!'
Monty was out of his depth in the duck pond, and so was I. Did I really want to get wet in North London? I know the place is a dive, but I had taken my morning swim back in the Beautiful South at the lovely lido before the Crystal Palace climb.
But the comical was becoming the slightly concerning. Monty looked a dog gonner. I left the park bench and prepared to wade in up to my ankles - every dog has his day, after all.
But bugger - my King of the Mountains top was ruined with water now up to my neck. A duck pond, you say? These North London types like to do things to make a point.
A bit like Monty, who by now had miraculously learnt how to doggy paddle. And breaststroke, and backstroke and even the bloody butterfly. He had hauled himself out of the pond and was receiving a big fat wet kiss from the Ally Pally Prima Donna.
My head was just bobbing above the water, when the Ally Pally Prima Donna remembered me.
'What a hero!' she gushed.
'I never knew Monty could swim!'
Um, cheers, luv.
I never knew North Londoners could be so self-centred. I cycled back down to the Beautiful South with a wet arse, thinking about the bitch (in a canine way of course.)
Doggy style 'aint for me. I'm looking for my Queen of the South London Mountains.
technorati: ally pally
| Friday 28 September, 2007 |
I thought it was about time I paid Ally Pally another visit. There's little chance of me dragging my freezing South london arse all the way up to N22 for the hockey in the winter. St Reatham High Road is severe enough. But like most things right now, it was all about the bike.
Doggy style 'aint for me |
Instead I've been building up over the summer to become King of the South London Mountains. don't laugh; if David Millar can wear Le Tour's polka dot King of the Mountains jersey (for Canterbury and Belgium,) then I challenge any one to take away my crown from me.
Students of South London OS maps may remark that there's few Category 1 climbs in South London. But I still feel like the South Londoner who went up a hill and came down a mountain.
Lordship Lane is a decent start. Dodge all the Dulwich Mum's and you can soon be spinning out towards Kent. College Lane close by is slightly steeper, but sadly that leads to Crystal Pal-arse.
And so that's South London covered then - time to take on the North London knobbers with my two wheels. Ally up - and up, and up, and up...
First things first: My Fuji Fixie was summoned from the fleet for the climb. Gears are for girls and brakes are for law-abiders. And just to give the ride some real symmetry, I started off with the Crystal Palace climb, looked across London towards Ally Pally and gave the North London knobbers a big wave. See you, oh, in just under an hour?
And so I rolled out back down College Road, which is actually rather hard work on a fixie as you're fighting against the momentum of your fixed wheel. A familiar route through Brixton, past onionbagblog HQ II and The Oval, around an overcast Elephant (is it ever anything else?) and I crossed at Blackfriars. That's the scenic South London part seen to, now for North London.
It was all downhill from here. If only. I cut through Clerkenwell, up Upper Street (you call that a 'hill?' - ha!) and hello Highbury Corner. I use to be a bit of a regular around these parts; the old Rocket club, The Garage and God knows how many job interviews for indie labels, whose lack of commercialism made my lifestyle look like the leader of the World Bank.
I pedaled through Finsbury Park, 'scuzzy' being an adjective that even knobber estate agents would admit to having to use. But forget property postcode prices - here comes THAT Ally Pally hill...
I had been looking forward to this all morning. I was even wearing a helmet. The technique is not to stop, especially when you are cleated down on a fixed wheel death trap. You need all the momentum that you can, and try to keep the chainring revs to around sixty a minute.
I was making easy work of it and took pleasure in passing two other lycra climbers who had given up and taken to walking. The majestic Ally Pally, um, Palace was within sight. A slight curve in the road and it was gone. But I knew I was close.
'Keep your head and shoulders still - let your lungs do the work.' Fine advice from Mr Millar. Stick some EPO up yer arse as well.
I reached the peak of the first leg of the climb with still some energy to spare. I'd need it to see the job through. I was a little lost and a little disorientated. We're not quite talking dear old Tom Simpson on the slopes of Mont Ventoux, but I could have done with a Mars Bar.
I asked a North London Dulwich Mum (an Ally Pally Prima Donna) if she knew where I needed to cycle for the second leg of the mountain climb. She took quite a shine to my lycra and became a little over-friendly:
'But dahhhling! (I hope this was just North London talk) look down below and you will see Ally Pally Park!'
I had shot my load with the Ally Pally Prima Donna. King of the North London Mountains? Time for the Coronation...
Climb 1 was in fact Climbs 2 & 3 as well. I had some freewheeling downhill to take me to my destination. Or not, as the case was with my fixed wheel.
And so I arrived at Ally Pally within the hour, had a quick look around and did the photo thing. I sat down beside the duck pond, just as a terrier type tried his luck with the swans.
'Monty!' (Monty?) Monty!' screamed an Ally Pally Prima Donna dog fancier. 'Please help poor Monty! he can't swim!'
Monty was out of his depth in the duck pond, and so was I. Did I really want to get wet in North London? I know the place is a dive, but I had taken my morning swim back in the Beautiful South at the lovely lido before the Crystal Palace climb.
But the comical was becoming the slightly concerning. Monty looked a dog gonner. I left the park bench and prepared to wade in up to my ankles - every dog has his day, after all.
But bugger - my King of the Mountains top was ruined with water now up to my neck. A duck pond, you say? These North London types like to do things to make a point.
A bit like Monty, who by now had miraculously learnt how to doggy paddle. And breaststroke, and backstroke and even the bloody butterfly. He had hauled himself out of the pond and was receiving a big fat wet kiss from the Ally Pally Prima Donna.
My head was just bobbing above the water, when the Ally Pally Prima Donna remembered me.
'What a hero!' she gushed.
'I never knew Monty could swim!'
Um, cheers, luv.
I never knew North Londoners could be so self-centred. I cycled back down to the Beautiful South with a wet arse, thinking about the bitch (in a canine way of course.)
Doggy style 'aint for me. I'm looking for my Queen of the South London Mountains.
technorati: ally pally
| #permalink |
South London Siesta| Wednesday 27 September 2007 |
I'm like a child with a new toy - nope - I REALLY AM LIKE A CHILD WITH A NEW TOY.
I'm finding much happiness with the
It's all about bright sky photography; I'd hate to see how it performs under bad light, or better still, at some of the wedding bookings I've got coming up (I really wouldn't, would I?)
And so here we have SW8 saturated, aka the walk to Sainsbury's, Nine Elms. Fitting that the South Mediterranean colours make an appearance around Sunny Stockwell's Little Porto.
Happy Shopper, Happy Holga.
technorati: sunny stockwell
| #permalink |
