Out of the silent darkness, a light starts with a blink
Reveals a ghostly mist that curls and floats above the rink
Across the empty seats, it seems all signs of life have frozen
But one by one the patrons show to come and fill the rows in.

As the swarms of eager fans begin to settle and relax,
The players make an entrance, tattered numbers on their backs.
With a trembling fist, the coach pulls them over for a chat,
“We’ve trained for long enough,” he yells, “now knock those suckers flat!”

Then the teams take to the rink, the crowd abuzz with thrill,
Brandish their sticks and glare about as if their looks could kill
The referee, all dressed in stripes, slides across the ice
He sets the puck upon the line, grins and shouts, “Play nice!”

Now the shrill cry of the whistle, and the men race for the puck,
And they clash and brawl in fury, and things promptly run amok.
Skulls are shattered, faces battered, the puck whizzes in the air,
But it’s just a couple molars in a bloodied clot of hair.

Soon the crowd erupts in a massive, roaring cheer.
Shirtless fans all rise and clink their cans of beer.
I survey all the chaos in search of any sort of reason,
Then I leave the arena and choose to wait for baseball season.