Ottawa fan pens lockout poem

I’ve always loved the game on ice, yes hockey as I knew it.

The Game
by William Heslop

I’ve always loved the game on ice,
yes hockey as I knew it.
The crowd, the roars, “he shoots, he scores”
as voiced by Foster Hewitt.
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The players were our heroes then,
Syl Apps, and Jean and Teeder,
Maurice Richard, and big Frank too
and his little brother Peter.
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During Hockey Night in Canada,
a tight game was a “squeaker.”
The golly gees and willickers
belonged to Howie Meeker.
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But something sadly has gone wrong,
the players aren’t the same.
They’re chasing bucks instead of pucks.
What’s happened to our game?
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The referees don’t make the calls,
like King or Bill or Red.
The clutch and grab or trip and jab
seems the norm instead.
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The cost of games are out of reach,
when will this spiral stop?
Guess when they play for “normal” pay
or when attendance drops.
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T’hat is why I’m one of those
who’s feeling out of sorts.
I’ve learned you see, to some degree,
there is life after sports.
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The game needs us in numbers
or things won’t work to plan,
so please be wise and realize
you need us most . . . . . the fan!
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