Back in 2001 after the Detroit Red Wings dropped four straight to the 7th seed Los Angeles Kings to eliminate themselves from the Stanley Cup Playoffs, the Detroit Free Press ran a headline that read: PAST THEIR PRIME? And that is exactly how I felt holding back hangover tears on my 4ish hour ride home on Sunday from Saint Ignace.

This year more than anything, I felt like an old man. I turned 29 in January and I understand that is a far cry from 21 when I first started going to this tournament, and yes technically, mathematically speaking I was the oldest I have ever been up there. But shaking this hangover has been harder than trying to bring down Derrick Henry on third and short. Seriously, if I could describe how I felt on Sunday evening this is the only thing that would do it justice:

And it hasn’t stopped. I’ve told myself I can’t drink two days in a row anymore, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that a three day bender where a Canadian pilsner did not leave my hand, and the only thing I ate was concession stand pizza, hoagies, and pasties put me completely out of commission for 3 days and counting now. There are whispers on the street that one member of the Snakes still hasn’t made it into work since the debaucherous weekend concluded.

After going 4-0 and taking home the Platinum Championship last year, and doing the same in the Gold Division the year before that, the Snakes felt poised they could make another championship run in Platinum, and come home with the three-peat. But circling age thirty and a brutal schedule would ultimately be the Snakes downfall in 2020, going 1-2 on the weekend.

The disappointment started early for the Snakes this year, as their jerseys were delayed shipping from China due to the coronavirus. Not kidding. We had originally planned on going full Phoenix Kachina’s on their ass, but the package unfortunately did not arrive in Michigan until yesterday. This is what we missed out on.

I am still unreasonably upset we didn’t get these on time, and am getting a little choked up just looking at them. In an attempt to make up for the error, the company who made them sent these over in a panic to recover:

The boys liked them. I hated them. But nonetheless it had no barring on the outcome of what the tournament results would ultimately be. We went 1-2, winning our first game 14-13, then losing 7-6 in overtime, and then again 18-9 Saturday afternoon.

The thing about this tournament, is that you have to go 3-0 in divisional play to get a chance to play in the championship on Sunday. We played one of our buddy’s teams Friday afternoon at 12:30pm, and after storming out to 12-6 halftime lead, the Snakes absolutely began to piss down their own legs and completely laid down, but kept it just close enough to edge out a W. I took a pretty wicked stick to the face during this game…and yanno what happens when you take a wicked stick to the face then proceed to drink 100 beers till 2am at age 29? Your face looks like this at 8am the next morning:

This face, this picture, this whole everything pretty much sums up the Snakes run after Friday. The magic had worn off. We were in the same jerseys as last year, a year older, not using the badass speaker we used last year as walk-in music and definitely missed that lightning in a bottle feeling we had in 2019. I mean, look at me, I look like someone left me in the microwave for too long. In that video, you can hear a fellow Snake literally throwing up behind me. I’m not posting it because that video (even that screenshot really) has no business living on the internet forever.

The 9am game. It’s the most daunting game you can ask a team to play up at Saint Ignace. And not only did we have the 9am game, we played against a local team that slept in their childhood beds the night before and didn’t drink. Not kidding. We played goodie two shoes. I don’t even think these guys swore. My mans puking his balls off in the screenshot video thing above was out there absolutely clueless. He might as well have been skating the rings of Saturn he was so lost. The Snakes were a mess, yet somehow, someway, down 6-4 with under 2 minutes left, the boys were able to grit out two goals and force overtime. There was a legit Ignace crowd around our rink cheering for the local team. Anytime they won a puck battle there was a god damn uproar from the locals. We would ultimately fall in this game 7-6, a game I personally really wanted to win.

With our championship hopes dashed, we still had one more meaningless game at 1:30. The team we played was decent, but we went into halftime with a 7-6 lead. And it was at the moment the boys seemed to finally wake up for the day. The 9am game and everything in between this game seemed to just be a foggy kinda mysterious drunk/hang over dream. With that lead however, we all cracked beers, cheers’d each other saying things like “The Snakes are back baby” then promptly got dotted 10 straight goals and lost the game like 18-9 or whatever I wrote a couple paragraphs ago.

While we lost on the ice, we absolutely crushed it everywhere else. Acie Ducie, euchre, and black jack dominated the hangout scene, while Blue Lights flowed like the Mighting Hocking. We hung out in the Ignace tent, watched live music, watched freakshows walk by and crushed pulled pork sandwiches and hot dawgs.

One Snakes even got so drunk, that for his final act on Saturday night he jersey swapped with a member of the band at the casino. I shit you not.

He traded his 2018 Championship Snakes jersey for some shitty, undersized SCARKASM tee shirt. I can’t make this shit up.

So whilst the boys went 1-2 on the scoresheet, and probably deep into the red gambling wise…the boys were still winners of this 9th glorious year at Ignace, even though this current week feels like a major L.

Until next year boyce #hssssss 🐍

– Frank