The Night Before Capsmas

Well as you know by now I am attending my first game tomorrow. It kinda feels like Christmas Eve, so I thought I'd write a poem about my excitement. Enjoy...

'Twas the night before Capsmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, Slapshot Eagle or mouse;

The ice skates were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicklas Backstrom soon would be there;

I was nestled, all rocking the red,

While visions of hat-tricks danced in my head;

And Joe B in his suit, and I in my cap's hat,

Had just settled in and began to clap,

When out in the rink there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from Verizon to see what was the matter.

Away to the boards I flew like a flash,

Banged my hands on the glass and threw up the sash.

The scoreboard on the breast of the newly zamboned ice,

Gave the lustre of "worth it" to the ticket price,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature Zamboni, and great eight in the clear,

With a little old leader, so lively yet slow,

I knew in a moment it must be Boudreau.

More rapid than eagles his skaters they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and cursed them by name;

"Now, Hendrix! now, Marjo! now, Knuble and Greeny!

On, Chimera! on Semin! on, Alzner and Ovi!

To the top of the blue line! to the top of the crease!

Now shoot away! pass away! smash away all!"

As slapshots that before, the faceoff circle fly,

When they meet with a goalie stick, mount to the sky,

So up to the top shelf the wristers they flew,

From the stick of Ovechkin, and Nicklas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the PA

The goal alarm sound, and a point for Po-tay (Poti)

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the ice Vokoun came with a bound.

He was dressed all in Pads, from his head to his foot,

And his jersey was tarnished, his helmet kaput;

Bruce had his suit jacket flung on his back,

And he looked like a genius just leading his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the dome on his head was as bright as the snow;

The stump of a marker he held tight in his teeth,

And the joy it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he cursed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I cheered when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

To bring us a championship; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, to Philly he rose;

He sprang to his Mercedes, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all went like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Capsmas to all, and a win every night."