(Chris Hannah)
Dear Ron MacLean
Dear Coach's Corner
I'm writing in order
For someone to explain
To my niece the distinction
Between these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission
And the rallies at Nuremberg
Specifically the function
The ritual serves in conjunction
With what everybody knows
Is in the end a kid's game
I'm just appealing to your sense of fair play

When I say she's puzzled by
This incessant pressure for her to not defy
Collective will [and] yellow-ribboned lapels
As the soldiers inexplicably rappel
Down from the arena rafters
If it not so insane
They'll be grounds for screaming laughter

Dear Ron MacLean
I wouldn't bother with these questions
If I didn't sense some spiritual connection
We may not be the same
But it's not like we're from different planets
We both love this game so much we can hardly fucking stand it
Alberta-born and Prairie-raised
Ain't a sheet of ice north of Fargo I ain't played
Penhold to the Gatineau
Every fond memory of childhood that I know
[Is] somehow connected
To the culture of
This game; I just can't let it go

I guess it comes down to
What kind of world you want to live in
If diversity is disagreement
Disagreement is treason
Well don't be surprised if we find ourselves reaping

A strange and bitter fruit
That sad old man beside you
Keeps feeding to young minds as virtue
It takes a village to raise a child
A flag to raze the children
Till they're nothing more than ballasts for fulfilling
A madman's dream of a paradise
Complexity reduced to black and white

How do I
Protect her from
This cult of death?