Thomas in the Crease


The Outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Beantown six that day:
The series stood three to three, with but overtime to play.
And then when Marchand died in the crease, and Chara 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 Thomas could get down and set  –
We’d put up even money, now, with Thomas in the net.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the muck,
For Thomas, mighty Thomas, was going to stop the puck.

There was ease in Thomas’ manner as he stood in his place;
There was pride in Thomas’  bearing and a smile on Thomas’ face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed a sign,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas Thomas in front of the twine.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with hurt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing Ovechkin ground the stick into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Thomas’ eye, a sneer curled Thomas’ lip.

And now the vulcanized – covered disc came hurtling through the air,
And Thomas  stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy stickman gave Thomas a shove –
“That ain’t my style,” said Thomas. ” Careful,” said the ref while tapping the goalie’s glove.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
“Kill him! Kill the referee!” shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they’d a-killed him had not Thomas raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Thomas’ visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to Hendricks, who thought he saw a hole;
But Thomas still missed it, and the scorekeeper said, “That’s  a goal.”

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Thomas and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Thomas wouldn’t let that puck go by again.

The sneer is gone from Thomas’  lip, his teeth are clenched in vice;
He pounds with cruel violence his stick upon the ice.
And now Ward holds the puck, and shoots it so mad,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Thomas’ pad.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children yuck;
But there is no joy in Beantown – mighty Thomas has missed the puck.

Black Guys Haunt Tim Thomas ...Don't They?

*A ‘ few ‘ minor adjustments were made to Casey at the Bat

by Ernest Lawrence Thayer ©

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2 Comments

  1. Icedogg

     /  April 27, 2012

    Bye Bye Timmy Tunes! Pretty clever, Rickster. Not that you asked but… After going a respectable 5-3 in the first round of the NHL playoffs – including predicting L.A.’s upset of Vancouver – here are my 2nd Round Picks: Rangers over Capitals in 6, Flyers over Devils in 6, Kings over Blues in 7, Nashville over Phoenix in 6.

    Reply
    • Thanks …good job much better than my picks 2 -6 ..oh well you cannot win them all. Check out my round two picks on my site ! Thanks for reading …:)

      Reply

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