Dear Coach's Corner

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 Nuremburg 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 Yellow-ribboned lapels As the soldiers inexplicably rappel Down from the arena rafters If not so insane Would 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, prairie-raised Ain't a sheet of ice north of Fargo I ain't played From Penhold to the Gatineau Every fond memory of childhood that I know Is somehow connected To the culture of this game, I can't just 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 'Til they're nothing more than ballast 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?