‘Twas the Night before hockey, when all through the rink,
The fans were all shaking, sitting right at the brink.
Fantasy Drafts done with meticulous care,
In hopes that the trophy soon would be theirs.
Lord Stanley locked back in the case in T.O,
One more sleep till the puck drops, let’s fuckin’ go.
The NHL emerges from its summertime nap,
Forgetting that Tampa was $18m over the cap.
When out on the ice there arose a big scene,
I shout from the stands, probably something obscene.
The beers disappear down the hatch like a flash,
Back and forth to the bar ‘till we run out of cash.
“Hockey is back” we exclaim with delight,
Ginos and apples, perhaps even some fights.
When what to our wondering eyes should appear?
The teams hit the ice to a chorus of cheers.
McDavid, MacKinnon, those fuckers are quick,
Tom Wilson still running around like a dick.
The refs overdo it, demanding their fame,
Blowing calls left and right, calling players by name.
Now Kaner, now Crosby, now Ovi, and Drai,
Six “A”s for the Blueshirts, can’t you just pick a guy?
To the top of the slot, or out high off the glass,
Breakaway, powerplay, shoot it or pass.
The goalies all ready, with weird superstition,
Thirty-two squads, all with one mission.
The Leafs praying “please, let it just be our year”
Knowing the first round is all they’ll get near.
The Buffalo squad fully out of contention,
It’s honestly not even worth it to mention.
Eighty-two games from now ‘til the spring,
Biz and Gretz in the booth, what a glorious thing.
We sit and we wait, only one more long night,
We pray for our teams, and we cling to them tight.
So hear me exclaim as into the season we bound,
HAPPY HOCKEY, IT’S TIME, IT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN!
The Morning Skate 
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