defeat?

For a mere $2, Philip has sold me his mask. That might mean that you see a new marmot skating around, one that is much more likely to raise sticks, fire pucks high, and play without care or caution.
Then again, maybe I won't wear it. Philip assures me that the black lines are much more fashionable than the white ones -- judgment I trust. Having worn his gear last Friday night (and having my proverbial butt kicked by Andrew's son Bryn, not to mention continual goals by Alex and Colin), I think Philip knows a thing or two about fashion. Never before have a felt so, um, well, not naked, but, um, vulnerable.
Perhaps this mask will make me a better hockey player.
And the music that goes with this incredible event? Nothing other than Black Sabbath's immortal "The Mob Rules."