Twas the night before hockey, when all through the Can
Not a creature was stirring, not even an Av.
The ice skates were hung by the lockers with care
In hopes that Lord Stanley soon would be there.
The fans were all nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of victories danced in their heads.
And Varly in his goalie pads, and I in my lucky hat,
Had just hunkered down for a long season's stretch.
When out on the ice arouse such a banter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
Away to the glass, I flew like a flash,
Tore off my toque, and started to bash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Zamboni being driven by Pierre Lacoiux swilling beer.
With a wise old coach, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it could only be St. Patrick.
More rapid than eagles, his courses they came,
He whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now Dutchy! Now Iggy!
Now Varly and Barrie
On, MacKinnon! On, McLeod!
On Landy and Tangs!
To the top of crease!
To the back of the net!
Now score away! Score away!
Score away all!”
And then with a thrashing, I heard on the ice,
The dashing and passing of each mighty Av.
As I held in my breath, and my heart pounding too,
Down the rink, Natty Mac blew.
He was clad in his blue, from his head to his skate,
And his jersey was all covered in blood from his mate.
A bundle of pucks, he shot at the net,
And by the looks of it -- we were all set.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! His new hair cut so dapper!
His cheeks were like roses, his skates --even faster!
His stick he held tight to himself,
And with precision, the puck flew top shelf
He spoke not a word, but threw up his hands
And the crowd shouted aloud from the stands!
He sprang from his knees, to his team he gave a whoop
And away they all flew, in one fell swoop.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he went out with his better halves:
“Happy Hockey Season to all, and as always go Avs!”
