(Chris Hannah)
Dear Ron MacLean
Dear Coach's Corner
I'm writing in order
For someone to explain
To my niece the distinction
Between these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission
And the rallies at Nuremberg
Specifically the function
The ritual serves in conjunction
With what everybody knows
Is in the end a kid's game
I'm just appealing to your sense of fair play
When I say she's puzzled by
This incessant pressure for her to not defy
Collective will [and] yellow-ribboned lapels
As the soldiers inexplicably repel
Down from the arena rafters
If it not so insane
They'll be grounds for screaming laughter
Dear Ron MacLean
I wouldn't bother with these questions
If I didn't sense some spiritual connection
We may not be the same
But it's not like we're from different planets
We both love this game so much we can hardly f**ing stand it
Alberta-born and Prairie-raised
Ain't a sheet of ice north of Fargo I ain't played
Penhold to the Gatineau
Every fond memory of childhood that I know
[Is] somehow connected
To the culture of
This game; I just can't let it go
I guess it comes down to
What kind of world you want to live in
If diversity is disagreement
Disagreement is treason
Well don't be surprised if we find ourselves reaping
A strange and bitter fruit
That sad old man beside you
Keeps feeding to young minds as virtue
It takes a village to raise a child
A flag to raze the children
Till they're nothing more than ballasts for fulfilling
A madman's dream of a paradise
Complexity reduced to black and white
How do I
Protect her from
This cult of d**h?