Bard Marchand, well known poet, was heavily moved the other night when Patrice Bergeron fought former teammate Blake Wheeler. So moved, in fact, that he had to write about it. Here is an excerpt from his latest work.
(dropping BERGERON's gloves) If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gritty sin is right:
My fists, two smiling draftees, ready stand
To rough that soft touch with a tender fight.
Good rookie, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in light,
For stars have sticks that fighters' hands do touch,
And puck to goal is elite scorers' fight.
Have not stars hands, and elite scorers too?
Ay, rookie, hands that they must use in goals.
O, then, all star, let fists do what pucks do.
They score; grant thou, lest lead turn to despair.
Stars do not move, though grant for scorers' sake.
Then move not, while my scoring’s effect I take.
Thus from my fists, by thine, my win is purged.
Then have my fists the win that they have took.
Win from thy fists? O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my win again.
They punch again
You fight by th' book.