Oktoberfest was a great success last night, except for the first 3 periods, as the A-Trains took a Doc Holiday and got bad-fisted by the MBPs. BWH played D for 30s to start the game and was on a nice pace to surrender 90 goals. Solecki smashed into Big Wad at mid-ice for some fine entertainment, and encored in the 3rd by deking Tullio on a breakaway only to do the tazer dance and miss the empty net. Can neither confirm nor deny that electric Benoit balls were involved. Check Pissington for a remote. Game 2 was just OK, workmanlike win by Pointless Visor with new power forward LevBarn terrorizing all 3 zones and just imposing his will. Drives the women here in Cleveland (PQ) wild! Dateable roof-job by El Hume-ador late in the game, near-marriage material.

Honorable mention to our new favorite ref for blocking the puck three times in one period. Big fan, just needs a nickname.

But let’s stop fucking around – the real story of the night is our two-time defending Bud Light Player of the Game and friend of the BLT community, one Thomas LaCorte the Turd. First shift of the game a puck bounced off a Fat & Smooth nutsack right on his tape for a silky smooth back door finish reminiscent of Peter of the North. After a mind-numbing 15 minutes of shinny, the Jort Lord busted it wide open in the 2nd with 3 assists of varying Sullivanity. The beard was feared again in the 3rd, with two more apples and THEN an egregiously long goalie dig for his 2nd goal to make it 8-2. In such a tight game emotions ran high, and T La-C celebrated the clutch effort by carrying on like a not-the-father on Maury Po-Po: in-your-faces, windmill fist pumps, the whole NEIN yards. You know where this is headed next – a min or two later, Bill “Sadam” Hussa made some slick moves and sauced a perfect backhand toward the post, and Tommy Boy roofed that SOB for the hattie. I think everyone blacked out. It was like Squeak Scolari nailing down the final psyche-out, Jimmu Shitwood hitting the winning jumper in Hosers, and the nerdy son getting laid in stepmom porn all rolled into one. The ice got littered with German hats and the fans begged for a 6-minute celebration to bleed out the runny clock, but no dice. Our favorite villain even did a victory lap at the end. 3 goals, 8 points, one magical night for our favorite ne’er-do-well.