We shake hands. "Good game," we lie. Dave wins the face-off (read: he slaps the center rod so hard the magnet falls off the puck). He charges down the left wing.
Time slows down. The puck hits the ceiling fan blade. The ceiling fan is on. Thwack-thwack-thwack. table hockey hijinks
What begins as a gentleman’s game usually ends with a flipped coffee table, a war crime of a "body check," and someone’s wedding ring flying into the fish tank. We shake hands
I line up a shot. I channel my inner Al Iafrate. I shove the rod. We shake hands. "Good game
He misses the puck entirely.