A Grand Tip of My Hat Hey ho, I am the minstrel Who sings upon the cathedral forecourt Of the Church of the Holy Chapel. Though I am poor, a volunteer, Rich only in the holes of my woolen sweater, I am nonetheless fulfilled. Deeply satisfied with our heroes: Four points out of three Over the last two games. Bolduc, Anderson, Gallagher, And an excellent performance By the goaltender Montembeault. Enough to be happy on Earth. Of course, the referees. Of course, the travel. Of course, shortened sleep. To ask for more than this Would be to ask the impossible. Our brave ones gave courage, Our hardworking men did the work. The first two periods Were steeped in excellence; The third experienced A slight drift of fatigue. As for me, I gather my three points out of four With joy and satisfaction. I am happy, But it is a little cold On the cathedral forecourt. So I return home. Good night, good lords. Good night, fair ladies. I hear the owl’s hoot, The moon shines, pure and limpid, Beneath the celestial vault. If ever you see The fairest maiden of the village, Tell her that I love her still. May Saint Maurice Richard bless you, Nobles and commoners alike. And so I withdraw Into the poetry of the night, Beneath the Milky Way.
