Without Sticks?

Coach came in and said
"Boys, we're gonna play this one without sticks."
and Pierre said "Huh?"
I said "What?"
and Valeri said something in
his native Russian
that sounded like an angry
cartoon character.
It was absurd, of course.
Coach was fond of huffing
paint thinner
when he loses at the dog track.
That was all I could think of
when he said
no hockey sticks against Toronto.
Our team looked at each other,
big burly guys pale as can be
padded for cold weather.
Pierre was still bleeding from his nose.
I'm sure he didn't want to break it again.
Not unless he was armed with a
non-regulation stick
made from metal.
To be honest,
everyone had this scared
little boy look on their
faces,
like mommy forgot to pack us
lunches.
Asking a hockey player to play
stickless
is like asking John Holmes to
detach his cock before a fuck-scene.
It's sacrilegious.
Sacrifices dignity and ethics.
I was unsure what to do.
Coach was clearly insane.
If this were the NHL instead
of college
our stickless team would be seen
kicking around
the hockey puck on Sportscenter's
funniest clips of the year.
I doubt refs would call it either.
That's golden entertainment.
I had to do something.
Softly, but with force, I spoke.
"Coach, I'm fine with playing
without sticks
so long as I can do it without clothes too."
I watched his eyes bulge as he laughed at me.
I could smell the whiskey,
even from far away.
"Are you crazy McGonigle?!"
Other players were silent.
Maybe this was all an episode
of "Punk'd" on MTV
but they knew it wasn't;
he was just baked.
"Girls," Coach said choking on the
saliva in his throat,
"Let's all laugh at McGonigle for wanting
to flap around his cock
like the gay Ice Capades!"
Everyone laughed at me and this
good ol' boy moment
allowed coach to glance
at his watch and forget
his previous commands.
We played regularly that night,
and afterwards
everyone bought me a beer.
Sometimes you gotta take one
for the team,
which would have been our motto
had we lost our sticks.