The goalie grinned, unfixed his pad and threw it from his leg,
Then told about a shot he’d stopped one night in Winnipeg
“That shot,” said he, “was moving fast. I can almost feel it yet:
For it bent me in the middle and it hurled me through the net,
Through the backboards and the red brick wall and when I scrambled to my feet
I discovered I was standing on the sidewalk in the street!
But I sold the puck to someone (that was clever don’t you think?)
For a buck to buy a ticket to get back inside the rink.
“Some shot!” laughed the defenseman, “But one I’ll not forget
I took myself one night and, as it whistled o’er the net
They say it took a brick out in the arena near the roof
And it won a game a mile away—but of course I have no proof.”
“That’s the very night,” he said, “That I bodychecked Bill Gawk
And the last I saw of William he was sailing o’er the clock!
But the next day in the paper I was stunned to read the news
That he’d played the last ten minutes for a team in Syracuse.