|
MJK's poem from the 2005 club supper:
The martial artist takes up hockey
Some say hockey’s a feminine sport
But this ignorance, easily bought.
At speeds of 90 miles per hour
This is no bouquet, it holds no flower.
A cannonball, fired at the speed of thought,
A flashing bullet that could stop you short.
The team is our tribe, each man is vital,
It’s a weapon in your hands, not a bible,
Stopping your opponent requires guile,
Queensbury rules? Not your style!
Be brave, be resolute, be reliable
In the heat of war, smite your rival.
For this is battle, this is tribal.
Fair play? Drop that particular notion
For this is combat and all’s in motion
It’s speed of thinking, swiftness of feet
That gives a samurai the edge he needs
Be strong: you’re more powerful than you imagine
Behind the crouching tiger, there’s a hidden dragon.
Amassing our collective strength,
We are speeding up our passing.
Hear these words: this is no mere gassing,
We are martial artists, shogun assassins
And, occasionally, we will take a battering
Amidst rising anger and tempers snapping
The cool mind hears the sound of one hand clapping
Break out, shake off your shackles,
Warriors of Goosedale*, be ready for battle.
A worthy enemy is no fool,
Sometimes we break the rules
Hockey’s for men, not boys who cackle,
So spit out that dummy, toss out that rattle
And hit him hard when you make the tackle.
Remember, friends, a warrior is too humble to be cocky
There is artistry in opponent blocking
This is full-blooded war, no mockery
This is hard-core – this is hockey.
|
