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03-27-2012, 12:25 PM
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Originally Posted by Hankenstein View Post
I came in here expecting a meticulously crafted play on "Casey at the Bat."
I don't mean to hijack the thread, but I couldn't let an idea like that go to waste

Dubi At the Net
The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the NYR that day:
 The score stood three to one, with but one period more to play.
 And then when Boyle missed an empty net, and Mitchell did the same, 
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They thought, if only Dubi can get one good shift, they bet -
We'd put up even money, now, with Dubi at the net.

But Girardi preceded Dubi, as did also Brandon Prust, those two are not goal scorers, despite the crowdís great trust;
So that stricken multitude could do nothing but fret,
For there seemed but little chance of Dubi's getting to the net.

But Girardi let drive a point shot, with a little bit of luck,
And Prust, the gritty scrapper, reached out and tipped the puck;
And when the lamp was light, and the men saw what had occurred,
The Rangers trailed by one with two minutes in the third.

Then from Torts on the bench rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the blue seats and the other team would pay the price,
For Dubi, mighty Dubi, was stepping on the ice.

There was ease in Dubi's manner as he skated into his place;
There was pride in Dubi's bearing and a stache on Dubiís face.
And when, gliding to the faceoff dot, in position he got set,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt that Dubi would drive the net.

Eighteen thousand eyes were on him as he won the faceoff clean;
Eighteen thousand tongues applauded when they knew that that would mean.
Then DelZ whipped a stretch pass up ice for the teamí break out,
Defiance gleamed in Dubi's eye, a sneer curled Dubi's mouth.

And now the rubber disc came hurtling towards the line,
And Dubi stood a-watching it carefully taking his time.
Close by the lanky linesman the puck unheeded sped-
"I tipped that in," said Dubi. "Icing," the linesman said.

From the benches, blue with jerseys, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! This game is fixed!" shouted Torts on his stand;
And its likely he'd a-been fined had not Sully raised his hand.

With a look of pure jam great Dubi's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on . As he barreled towards offensive zone, he took a mighty stride;
But Dubi ignored the blue line, and the linesman said, "Offside."

"You suck!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo said so too;
But during the break a shameful dance from Larry made him, not Dubi, target of the boos.
Then they saw Dubi back on the ice, his face stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Dubi wouldn't let that puck go by again.

The sneer is gone from Dubi's lip, his blue shirt drenched with sweat;
He wins the draw forward and powers towards the net.
And now the goalie holds his ground, and now he kicks his pads out quick,
And now the air is shattered by the rip from Dubiís stick.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
A goal song is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere scoring records are set;
But there is no joy the Garden - mighty Dubiís missed the net.

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