Not with fists. With tiny plastic sticks and a rattling metal puck.
Marcus threw his hands up. “That’s it. I’m challenging the ceiling fan to a rematch.” table hockey hijinks mofos
“You ready to get embarrassed, mofo?” Marcus cracked his knuckles, gripping the worn-out red goalie rod like a baseball bat. Not with fists
Slapshot Shenanigans: Table Hockey Hijinks, Mofos mofo?” Marcus cracked his knuckles
Score was 2–2. Sudden death. Jen’s winger broke free on a breakaway. Marcus, out of options, leaned over and blew on the puck. It rolled left, hit a crack in the table, and slid—agonizingly slow—into his own net again.
The lights were low. The beer was cheap. And on a wobbly table in the corner of Dave’s basement, two so-called legends were about to throw down.