A wind blows in from the west, sometimes peppered with rain, sometimes burdened with icy chips of snow, and following along with it will come news of either victory or defeat at the hands of the thrice damned Canucks.
Tonight we discover the mettle of our lads from Edmonton. Tonight we see if there are deeper wells of strength and determination than hither we have observed on the ice sheets of October. This night, our boys will fight to hold their heads high after demolishing an ever unworthy foe in godless Vancouver.
Our prayers go with you, Sons of Petroleum, Princes of Oil. They go fighting the bitter yowlings of a tempest blown, full of sound and fury, but like those bastards of the coastal game, signifying...nothing. Our wishes scale the cold rock of stormy mountain, descend the black depths of shadowed vale. They stop in for a cup of Cinnamon Dolce Latte at Starbucks, but ever to go, to go forward to the arena.
Like seers of another, more mystical age, we will look deep into our magic pools, spying the events as they occur while demonic voices sound in our ears, interpreting the play we shall witness unfold before us.
We will know of your highs and lowes, of your moments of shame and pinnacles of greatness.
Fare thee well, warriors, and return anon.
Victorious.
***UPDATE***
Inglorious.
.
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3 comments:
Wow. That moved me.
May Penner shapeshift into the mighty bear. Hemsky into the lethal black panter. Gagner the cunning fox. Cole the unstoppable bull. Okay I'll stop.
rawrr!
*cough, cough* ... hairball. Perhaps that's the last of it :-)
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