Oh Great, All-Powerful and All – no, wait! –

Oh Balls on Skates, Goal Masters, Great Muckers and Grinders, Givers of Pain, Hear Our Prayer!!

Heavy is the root of our sorrow. Grief is the master of Caps Fans, watching as – relieved of hard-earned largess – we follow the sag wagon of early elimination, scarcely daring to hope for fear of  incurring the indignant wrath of outrageous officialdom.

How can our beloved lads of GMGM’s most resplendent team possibly understand the pain and suffering of the Red Multitude?  They are not of this place, nor do they rate our hated nemesis much above their own childhood rivals – paltry Western teams of no account compared to the insufferable arrogance of the taunting Penguins -- one need only close one's eyes and it cometh to mind:  Penguin lips besmirching the sanctified sheen of the Cup; raspy effeminate Penguin cackles polluting our living rooms for an entire off-season! whilst our own brave lads disperse like dandelion seeds on an ill wind – No! Let it not be, we beseech thee!  Not this year!  Rather, hear our prayer oh gods of hockey, and inspire our boys; sanctify our mantra thusly:

The Red follows the Caps

The Caps follow the Boudreau

The Boudreau follows the Way to Stanley Glory

The Glory follows the Red.

Let the Goat be in good voice

Let the Horn Guy rouse the Red melodiously

Let the Red unleash the Fury

Let our brave lads score, and win, and bring home the Grail

Let it be this year; let it be now!

Is it too effing much to ask????

In the name of the Hunter, Bondra, and the Holy Kolzig,

AMEN!

Mention has been made on this site of the need for a team song.  After thinking about this, I’ve concluded that our beloved Caps deserve more, and have applied myself to the Wagnerian task of composing an epic hockey opera, the first of its kind.  And probably the last.  Still…the libretto is a work in progress: 

High notes and gasps sung by the opposing teams and their faithful villagers.

            Cameo performances by the great Prince Fedorov and the beloved Duke of Bondra.

            Chorus provided by the Faithful.

            Recurring leitmotif by Horn Guy.

            Opposing team characters feature Toskala, Pandolfo, Bergeron and the evil Sidfried, mostly for their operatic-sounding names -- but in the case of the evil Sidfried, the running mascara adds a certain verisimilitude. Very-smellitude. Whatever.

            Day One, Act One has an Olympian flavor.  The Caps, led by their dignified and mysterious Green Man, search through the melting snow of the mountains for their prized, though recklessly insane, gap-toothed fire-breathing lamb.  Dotty but loveable old Uncle Ted laughs mischievously, having been the one who opened the pen.  The heroes follow a trail of discarded McD’s hamburger wrappers and rejected cafeteria slop, pausing only to enjoy a pig roast on a palm-studded beach (chorus provided by bikini-clad beach bunnies in that all-too-brief scene). 

            Their search begins to be rewarded when they come upon the young Varlamov, who, suffering from unrequited love, sings the hauntingly beautiful aria, “My Tears Fall not at the Sight of Heavy-set Girls – What, Are You Kidding, These Babes Are Gorgeous! – But Because of Their Cold, Cold Hearts (Sigh)!”  (to be known by its short title, “My Tears Fall!”)  He can’t keep up with the beautiful Lindsey Vonn or the majestic Julia Mancuso, who laughingly taunt him with the hauntingly beautiful duet, “There is no Trapezoid on the Slopes of Love!” The US Women’s snowboarding team urges him to find solace at McD’s, before the platitudes of Grandfather Tretiak drive him insane.  Shattered, the young Varlamov decides to end it all, but the heroic Caps intervene.  Deus ex machina-like, the legendary Prince Fedorov reminds him of his true calling with the hauntingly beautiful aria, “In this Hell They Make Clay Pots, My Lad.”  As if from afar, Horn Guy reinforces this priceless advice with the hauntingly beautiful musical leitmotif, calling to the young goalie’s soul. As the Red Chorus rejoices, the Caps exit in triumphant procession with the young Varlamov on their shoulders.

            That bit is done, more or less.  I’m now at work on the second act, wherein the Caps continue their epic search for the insanely reckless gap-toothed lamb, encountering the dark and dangerous Jurcina and the young Count Fleishman looking over the battlefield, and later – much later, as is the way with Wagnerian epic hockey operas – they encounter the evil Sidfried, who grunts ungraciously in falsetto voice, but doesn’t actually have much of a role during this Act.  Harpy penguins descend upon the stage from almost invisible wires.  Semin appears, and after receiving medical treatment for something, stands in the prow of a big eagle boat with lots of mist and leads the Caps on in their search for the insanely reckless fire-breathing lamb, with the hauntingly beautiful aria, “When, Oh! When, Will We Get Some Real Food In This Place And Why Does Varly Get All The Babes?”