Not one. Not two. Not three. Actually it is two. But who’s counting? Me that’s who. I’m no good at simple math, but that comes out to one ‘ship for each year I’ve called this city home. After a glorious 9-1 season capped by a loss-avenging finals victory, the crew decided a celebration was in order. Some champions get a parade, this bunch settled for ice cream.

More images after the break.

As the dust settled and the banners were hung (ok, I just propped up a dinky plaque in my cube) we gathered at River’s Brooklyn backyard to throw down burgers and beer.

I had an ulterior motive. It took a bit of warming up, but when the first frame was formed they all fell in line.

What about a group shot you say? Outside we went. Before anyone could strike a pose the siren song of an ice cream truck drifted around the corner. Dan was the first (and second) to cave, and soon everyone had succumbed to sweet nothings.