by Darcy Richardson

Nov. 6, 2012

 The lockout continues, Day fifty-two?

I just want to watch some good Hockey with you.

The dollars and cents just don’t matter to me,

We just watch at home where some games are still free.

 

The cost of a bus, and of tickets for two,

More than the wages of both me and of you,

While they all bicker of digits and zeros,

The fans just want to go cheer on their heroes.

 

It’s not that their hungry, it’s not that their poor,

But with dollar signs comes the wanting for more.

The guys that once played and the guys that once bled,

Took an offseason job to keep moving ahead!

 

But now there are Sponsors and big Corporate deals,

Draining the life from the fans that have zeal,

They think their entitled and only want more.

I’d like to see fans lined up at the door.

 

But not for the profit and not for the bucks,

The ones that are there with their eyes on the pucks!

Forget the rich clients the Sponsors will woo,

Or forget the fans that built this great league for you.

Halloween Surprise

Darcy Richardson

October 31, 2012

They come to the door and scream “Trick or Treat!”
Here comes a small boy as he trips on his feet.
A big red moustache and some curly hair too,
This child’s excitement, it really shines through.

The socks on his legs look familiar to me,
Who is this boy trying to be?
He unzips his coat with a bit of a gaffe.
His Dad and I both have a pretty good laugh.

I reach out with candy, he tells me “Not yet.”
He’s ripping his coat, his Dad smiles again.
He gets off his coat and he shows me a C.
He’s got Lanny McDonald’s first Flames Jersey!

MVP

by Darcy Richardson

October 31, 2012

The kids get dressed up as a Goblin or Ghoul,
Out to get treats and worked up after school.
But there is a practice and someone will go,
And be disappointed if the Goalie doesn’t show.

So he wipes of his make-up and packs up his gear.
Maybe he’ll get to collect treats next year.
He gets to the practice, a dressing room bare.
Him and two Coaches are all that is there.

For weeks they all revel in sugar and screams,
He smiles and remembers the night of his dreams.
The night they all had something better to do,
He worked with two Coaches until he was blue.

The first Tourney Day comes while they’re all fat and worn,
He’s had things to work on; this is why he was born.
The ref drops the puck as he turns them away.
Two more MVP’s the day after today.

by Brenda McFarlane

Hi, I’m Brian’s daughter and I am considering putting together a small self-published hockey poetry book.  I work on this site for my Dad.  I’ve noticed we get a lot of visitors here seeking out hockey poetry and even a couple comments asking for anthologies.  

As poets and writers probably know, the internet offers on-demand  publishing tools like Lulu.com.  The resulting books tend to be expensive but at least they exist as options for small niche markets.

So, I am seeking hockey poetry submissions, if anyone is interested.  It is okay if the poem has been published before but make sure you have the right to re-publish. Continue reading »

I wrote this poem and recited it for Keith McCreary at a roast in his honor in Bolton, Ontario several years ago

McCreary’s First Goal

Photo by Bobolink

On a stormy night in Sundridge
In nineteen forty‑two,
The kids were playing hockey,
What else was there to do?
When a young lad named McCreary
Took his place at centre ice.
He couldn’t skate and couldn’t score,
And he fell down once or twice,
Still he loved the game the other boys
Played happily every day.
And late at night with the covers drawn
This is what he’d pray;
“Dear Lord, let me score a single goal,
Let me find the net with a shot,
Let me learn how to skate, and stickhandle too,
For I’m giving it all I’ve got”

One night in the snow (it was 20 below)
Little Keith was given the puck,
he stepped on it, fell on it, pushed it on ahead,
And then…through a stroke of some good luck,
The wind blew up, blowing snow in the eyes
Of the goalie facing his shot,
The puck skipped in, Keith roared with a grin,
“Fantastic! It’s the first goal I’ve got!”

Now, decades later, Keith still says his prayers
Every night when his Carol tucks him in,
“Dear Lord, believe me, I’ve been a good boy,
My life is devoid of all sin,
Lord help me, please help me before I’m too old,
And my teammates tell me I’m through,
Help me relive that great day in my life,
Please help me score goal number two

I like to imagine that this hockey poem could have been written by Albert Forrest, the youngest goalie ever to play in a Stanley Cup series (in 1905, for Dawson City, versus Ottawa. Forrest lost the second game by a 23–2 score).

The Night I Faced One-eyed Frank McGee

Yes, I’m the boy who stood in goal,
Facing pucks he hurled at me.
Yes, I’m the lad whose job it was
To stop the Great McGee.

I tried my best but failed the test,
For the record shows that he
Scored 14 goals in a single game,
And all of them on me.

Oh dear, oh my, it was a catastrophe!

They cheered him loud, they cheered him long.
It was quite a sight to see.
Each time he scored, the more they roared,
“You’re our hero, Frank McGee.”

I stood there shaken, looking on,
The victim of his spree.
Oh yes, he scored those 14 goals,
It was easy as could be.

I wish he’d done it somewhere else,
And on someone else—not me!
When he tired, his mates took up the slack
Till the score reached 23.

Oh dear, oh my, it was a catastrophe!

Someday, when I’m old and grey
With my grandson on my knee,
I’ll tell him of the night I faced
The mighty Frank McGee.

I’ll tell him of his blazing shot
And his boundless energy
And how he played with one bad eye—
Why, the man could hardly see!

But his scoring touch was a gift from God,
At least, that’s my philosophy.
I’ll talk about Lord Stanley’s Cup
And how it slipped away from me

Because of hockey’s greatest star,
Old one-eyed Frank McGee.

Oh dear, oh my, it was such a catastrophe!

To read more about Albert Forrest look for my book, The Youngest Goalie at your local library or try finding it :

In Canada at this link:The Youngest Goalie

In the US at this link: Youngest Goalie

Dedicated to my granddaughters, Samantha and Aubrey, who are fine young women and talented hockey players. I am very proud of them both.

Threw on my pads, slipped on my skates
Grabbed my stick and rushed through the gates
Buzzed around the ice, so cold and slick
Nothin’ like a grip on a hockey stick cause…

I’m a hockey girl
I’m a hockey girl
Love the game that’s fast and rough
Love the game, never get enough

Took a pass, knocked a girl down
Grabbed that puck and went to town
Split the defense, I was on a roll
Took my best shot and scored a goal

I’m a hockey girl
A hockey girl
Love the game that’s fast and rough
Love the game, never get enough

A man said, Hockey girl, come play against me
He gave me the elbow, gave me the knee
“This is a man’s game sweetie,” is what he said
“Give it up, darlin”—and I saw red! Cause…

I’m a hockey girl
A hockey girl
Love the game that’s fast and rough
Love the game, never get enough

That man sneered as he rushed my way
But I stopped him cold, stole the puck away
Dropped him like a stone with a solid hip check
Didn’t look back when he hit the deck! Cause…

I’m a hockey girl
A hockey girl
Love the game that’s fast and rough
Love the game, never get enough

Mastered the slap shot, learned how to deke
Scored my first hat trick just last week
Heard the crowd roar when we won the game
I found my passion and my life is not the same… cause

I’m a hockey girl
A hockey girl
Love the game that’s fast and rough
Love the game, never get enough

Bonded with the other girls on my team
Making the Olympics is my dream
Playing for my country would be so nice
I’d be the happiest player on the ice… cause

I’m a hockey girl
A hockey girl
Love the game that’s fast and rough
Love the game, never get enough!


If you can believe it, there’s a whole collection of poems and lyrics all about Hockey called Going Top Shelf: An Anthology of Canadian Hockey Poetry. Would you consider this bookshelf or bathroom reading material?

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.

© 2014 Brian McFarlane's IT HAPPENED IN HOCKEY Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha