I did the following for a comment thread at St. Louis Game Time (where I go by the name Rich of GASL), and I enjoyed it so much I thought I'd share.
Rich of GASL: Oh, would that we had one of those superstars in St. Louis that will do no skating today!
Andy Murray: What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Rich of GASL? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do the Blues loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one injured superstar more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
(Unless it be those bastards of the Winged Wheel)
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet a playoff spot,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from the IR list:
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one Kariya or Johnson more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Rich of GASL, through the scoring and checking lines,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
(Yeah, I said purse! The pussies!)
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of St. Catherine of Genoa:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Catherine.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Which seems unlikely given hockey demographics,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Catherine’s:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
Where that jackass of a Angeleno slashed him!
And say ‘These wounds I had on Catherine’s day,
As well as a five minute major for fighting.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Oshie the King, Jackman and Juan,
Perron and Fragile Jay, RFJCC and Winchester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Saint Catherine’s shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
Or the beginning of training camp,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
(I’m looking at you Janssen!)
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in St. Louis now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Catherine’s day!!!!!!!
Rich of GASL: Oh, would that we had one of those superstars in St. Louis that will do no skating today!
Andy Murray: What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Rich of GASL? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do the Blues loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one injured superstar more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
(Unless it be those bastards of the Winged Wheel)
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet a playoff spot,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from the IR list:
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one Kariya or Johnson more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Rich of GASL, through the scoring and checking lines,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
(Yeah, I said purse! The pussies!)
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of St. Catherine of Genoa:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Catherine.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Which seems unlikely given hockey demographics,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Catherine’s:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
Where that jackass of a Angeleno slashed him!
And say ‘These wounds I had on Catherine’s day,
As well as a five minute major for fighting.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Oshie the King, Jackman and Juan,
Perron and Fragile Jay, RFJCC and Winchester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Saint Catherine’s shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
Or the beginning of training camp,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
(I’m looking at you Janssen!)
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in St. Louis now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Catherine’s day!!!!!!!
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