“Marchand at the Puck”: Flyers defeat Bruins

With apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer, here is a spur of the moment reworking of his classic poem “Casey at the Bat”.

The Philadelphia Flyers and Boston Bruins battled tooth-and-nail on Monday night, and it all came down to beautiful, memorable ending. At least, for the Orange and Black. Here’s my tribute to one of the most fitting and satisfying conclusions to a Philadelphia sporting event that I can remember in a long time.

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The outlook sure was brilliant for the Boston club that day:

The score stood five to two, with just half the game to play,

But then Coots scored a goal, and Bunnaman did the same,

An air of doubt was cast upon the outcome of the game.

The Flyers potted one more marker by Travis Sanheim.

The teams clung even 5-5, headed to overtime.

Fans thought “Please someone score,

We simply can’t take this shootout snore”.

Back and forth action commenced in the extra minutes,

But neither team could find the goal that it would take to win it.

So upon the stricken multitude the dreaded feeling came.

The stupid shootout would be needed to decide the game.

Hayes shot first but couldn’t score, nor could Pastrnak.

Then Giroux and Coyle failed as they each gave it a whack.

Couturier attempted to give the fans a start,

Yet he was stopped, but so was Jake DeBrusk by Carter Hart.

To extra frames the shootout went; there was no end in sight.

Then each of Farabee and Krejci failed to end the night.

At last Travis Konecny skated in and beat Halak.

Right off the post, the goal was good, impossible to block.

The stage was set then, and one more save was required to win the game.

Well maybe not even a save, just no goal, ‘twould be the same.

Then off the Boston bench came a troubling sight.

Brad Marchand, licker of faces, would attempt to prolong the night.

The hated, ratty chap had skill, of that there was no doubt.

His shot, his dekes, his puckhandling could extend this shootout.

The Bruins faithful trusted him and knew he would come through.

Star players make their living here, and their piles of money too.

That look upon his face, here was The Little Ball of Hate,

Fans in Philly and in Beantown held their breath throughout the wait.

He gathered speed, approached the puck, prepared to tie the score,

But few anticipated there was one thing that Brad Marchand would ignore.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;

And somewhere Bruins fans are happy, when players remember pucks,

But not in this case, oopsy daisy, Brad Marchand flat-out…stinks.

Again, feel free to change the rhyme.