Forming a beer-league hockey team is not that easy

by Neate Sager, Out Of Left Field

Shame on you for thinking that setting your fantasy football lineup is a brain-squeezer.

Like no disrespect, eh, but you have nothing on that subspecies of the Canadian male, the beer league hockey manager, who's got a tougher job of roster construction than the people who will choose our 2010 men's Olympic hockey team.

There are hundreds, possibly thousands, of managers across Canada (and a few in the U.S.) who have spent the past few weeks making agonizing roster decisions. It's neither here nor there that their teams bear names such as Old Puckers, Rusty Blades, and, true story, the Shawinigan Stranglers (inspired by this).

For some time, a primer on the basic beer-leaguer types has been passed along from one e-mail account to another, kind of like a viral legend. It's time to bring it out of the realm of the personal e-mail account, punch it up a bit so it can belong to the ages. Hopefully the original author will not mind.

The point of this is that it is all about balance. No team can be successful in beer league hockey — i.e., your team wins more than it loses, but no one gets too emotional over it — without a proper mix of these guys:

The Ringer — Some teams wait until the playoffs to bring out the big gun. Others go with it right from the opening face-off. Either way, without a ringer, your team is deader than John McCain's candidacy.

The challenge with the ringer is getting him past the soul-probing question, "How can I lower myself to be around these plugs?" This can be accomplished a number of ways, including promises of goal-scoring glory and awestruck teammates, who will listen rapturously to stories about The Ringer's days when he was surely ticketed for the big time, until the day he found out he wasn't. (Note: Do not ask about that day, ever. As the old joke about Vietnam veterans goes, You weren't there, man!)

A simpler way is let The Ringer play for free. It's simple math, really. Everyone else chips in an extra $50 toward the league fee and everyone else gets a shot at winning the D Division. It's win-win.

Young Guy — Can often be confused with The Ringer; he'll often still have hockey socks and a equipment bag from a junior or college team. However, the time has come to put away childish things and that means an office job. The young guy stays in shape for the first half of the year. Sadly, an increasingly sedentary existence and late-night partying catches up to him by Christmas. Fifteen to 20 pounds later, he's just another player, huffing and puffing with the rest with a waistline toing and froing in the wrong direction.

Welcome aboard, kid.

Old Guy — Forget the 50-and-over league; that's not for him ... even though his gloves reach up to his armpits, he still uses a wooden stick and still uses a garter belt to hold up his socks. To be fair, the old guy can be an effective player, especially if he's a wily old guy — a hook here and a chop there, because that's how they did it when pro athletes were real men. "Eddie Shore -- now there was a hockey player! Lost an ear against the Montreal Maroons. Sewed it back on himself. Never missed a shift."

(This is mostly true. Eddie Shore almost lost an ear, but did not sew it on by himself. He did make the doctor re-do the stitches, without anesthesia mind you, when it was not done to his satisfaction.)

The Fashionably Late Goalie — Hey, thanks for showing up. Only five minutes gone in the first period. At least you don't play a crucial position or anything. Take your time, A-hole. We borrowed the goalie from the peewee team that was practising before us.

The Beginner — Cheap laughs are his stock in trade. On some level, you gotta admire the beginner. It takes a lot of courage, not to mention a fair chunk of change, to buy brand-new equipment and take up hockey as an adult. On the other hand, how about learning to take a pass, man? It's right on your stick, for Christ's sake. How does that knock you over? And now you're friggin' offside! The Beginner shows up at every game, no matter what time or what day. You have a playoff game on Sunday night at 11 p.m., and someone accidentally told him the game was at a different rink on the far side of town? Mr. Beginner will be there.

The Complete Psycho — Also good for a few giggles ... just not when he's around. Most likely a cop or firefighter. The Complete Psycho is capable of anything: Running the goalie, challenging an entire bench, breaking a stick over the boards or the crossbar — it's all in a day's fun. Do not feed the Complete Psycho. He doesn't want to be fed. He wants to hunt. Look for him to carry on his act in the bar after the game, and be prepared to run like hell.

Naked Guy — The bane of the dressing room. Most players have the courtesy to stretch their hamstrings while at least sporting underwear, but oh no, not Naked Guy. He'll carry on full conversations, and you had better maintain eye contact like your life depended on it ... or come face to face with the swinging sausage.

Newly Attached Guy, or NAG-ged — An excellent way to lower everyone else's fees is to load up on a few of these. The NAG-ged will show up to three games, tops, so his payment will contribute to the league fee without anyone losing ice time.

Be aware that the guy with that Newly Attached Guy could become Just Got Married Guy. He never misses a game.

The Organizer — You can trust him to file all the paperwork with the league and collect everyone's money, but you can't trust him to take a pass.

This guy is absolutely brutal, but since he did all the dot-the-I's and cross-the-T's stuff, he gets to play — typically, at least two divisions above his level. The Organizer can barely skate, let alone shoot the puck without losing his balance and falling flat on his face, but nobody gets mad at him, since he's a really nice guy.

He is frequently heard in the dressing room saying, "Sorry guys, that one was my fault." After a couple seconds' silence, somebody will say, "No worries, Donny, it's a team effort." What everybody is really thinking is "Hey Donny, my grandmother is a better player than you and yes you are right, that was your fault." If you are lucky, The Organizer is usually smart enough to take himself off the ice in critical situations.

The Minor Hockey All-Star — Inevitably, you will be seduced by his reasonably competent skating and puck-handling, but after you get zero passes you'll get the picture. This guy topped out as a hockey player at age 14, thanks to the huge blinders attached to his helmet that prevent him from ever seeing his teammates. His paradigm play is an energetic rush down the wing, (no passing), then into the corner (still no pass), behind the net (as you stand open in front of the net, tapping your stick on the ice), then over to the other corner (everybody has gone back to the bench to watch) followed by a blind pass that sends the other team on a 3-on-1 rush toward your goal. Cut this guy.

The Johnny Try Hards — Great to have on your team but they suck to play against because they have somehow managed to keep themselves in ridiculously good shape. Is probably a school teacher. They were probably the star on their high school hockey team and won athlete of the year because they played hockey, volleyball, soccer and track all in the same year. Probably belongs to a running club. Play is characterized by constant hustle which if caught off guard can embarrass the more talented yet fatter player. Cut one of these guys every year, just as a warning to the others.

The Stanley Cup champion — This player will raise their hands and cheer when they score. If this is an opposing player you must nip this behaviour in the bud by catching him off-guard with a sick open-ice hit that knocks the wind out of him. If this player is on your team quickly chastise him in front of the other team to let them know that this is not how the rest of your team rolls. Remind him how much of a loser he is by retrieving the puck from the net the next time he scores and presenting it to him in front of the other team.

The Tough Guy — The ultimate alligator mouth hummingbird ass guy who has never been in a fight in his life, but loves to push the envelope on the ice. In extreme cases he will "cheap shot" another player.

The fact that your league does not allow fighting has given this guy a false sense of courage. He's under the illusion that this will prevent someone from knocking his teeth out if he cheap shots the wrong guy. There is a number of fun ways to handle this player which all end with him lying on the ice bleeding, looking for his teeth and crying.

The Wrong Guy — Not to be confused with The Complete Psycho. This guy shows up, doesn't say much and pretty much flies under the radar screen. The kid that gave him the cheap shot him will eventually Google him and get links to Drop Your Gloves, Hockey Fights and ohltoughguys.com.

Never Getting Old Guy — Like some combo of Idi Amin and the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket, only not quite so friendly.

This guy is one of your better players, but is unable to take it down a notch (OK, fair enough, several notches) and adjust to the lower level of play. At the best of times he will try to coach players on the fly and help The Organizer and The Beginner score their first goal of the season. At the worst of times, he will code-red and call his entire team "pathetic" and say that his daughter's peewee team could play better.

He believes the game should be played a certain way and despises "pond hockey," where there is no defence or positional play. He is most likely is suffering from a complex of "unfinished business" from his previous hockey career and is looking to capture old glories via the rec-league championship and coaching his daughter's peewee team (in a sure sign that God is the original stand-up comic, Never Getting Old Guy has been unable to sire a son).

This guy is probably better off playing with his own kind in a top senior league. Also, he never offers to buy the first round of beers, ever. Good luck cutting him without getting Chaconed.

Corporate Guy — At first glance, what you see is what you get. He's got a high-paying job, nice car, brunette wife, children and a Labrador. Once he enters the locker room, it is party time — over a pregame beer and smoke, he'll spin wild stories from his last trip to Vegas that might sound suspiciously like they've been lifted from old Entourages but sure do have everyone roaring with laughter. This guy is Reg Dunlop in Slap Shot meets Frank The Tank in Old School — rah-rah, let's-kick-some-ass, run-up the score, the ref-beats-his-wife, non-stop chatter on the bench. Has above average talent and knows it, but is more focused on making sure his teammates show up and enjoy themselves at the post-game festivities at the Canadian ballet. He always carries an extra set of clothes in his trunk.

Two or three Corporate Guys will make your team unstoppable. But if you have four or five, the only thing stopping your team will be itself. In short, beer league hockey will be just like life.