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 Nuremburg, 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
Which, if not so insane, would 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, prairie-raised
Ain't a sheet of ice north of Fargo I ain't played
From 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
Diversity is disagreement, disagreement is treason
Well, don't be surprised if we find ourselves reaping
A strange and bitter fruit that that sad old man beside you
Keeps feeding to young minds as virtue
It takes a village to raise a child, just a flag to raze the children
Until they're nothing more than ballast 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?