In scientific terms, the Aces might be compared to a flat, featureless Euclidean plane - no highs, but no lows either. Or perhaps we can consider them to be the cosmic background radiation of the COTHL - an all-encompassing energy field of mind-numbing uniformity almost too weak to be detected... until they KICK YOUR ASS. While other teams might ice one or two stars, they are also stuck with some weaker players to balance things out. Not so the blackshirts. No superstars, but no deadwood either. Everyone pulls together in a robotically consistent way to lull the opposition into a false sense of complacency. "How can we not be beating these guys?" you can almost hear the other teams saying to one another "We have one or two stars, but they do not. "
While their opponents scratch their heads in befuddlement, the Fox News-like Aces machine quietly goes to work. Before they know what happened, the game is over and the scoreboard says Aces 4, Bloor Battlers 2. Again.
Goal scorers this week: Rich, Ralph, Mike and Art. Special mention: every other Aces player.
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