The Mighty Canadians

Ode by Gord Jennings


The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Canadians that day;
The score stood seven to six, with but twenty minutes to play,
And then when Leech misses the net and Hubbard 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 air;
They thought, if only Johnny could get some shots -
We'd put up even money, now, with Johnny in the slot.

But Jack was the referee, and Conners was his bitch,
And the former blew the whistle and the latter sat and itched;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sought,
For there seemed but little chance of Johnny getting a shot.

But late Jennings scored, to the wonderment of all,
And Johnny, the point king, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
The Canadians were still in the game, eight - seven was the score.

Then from fifty 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 flat,
For Johnny, mighty Johnny, was advancing to the net.
There was ease in Johnny's manner as he ran to his place;
There was pride in Johnny's bearing and a smile on Johnny's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly cupped his dick,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Johnny and his stick.

One hundred eyes were on him as he rubbed his stick for luck;
Fifty tongues applauded when he yelled “Draught’s Suck”.
Then while Jack the referee dropped the ball with a quip,
Defiance gleamed in Johnny's eye, a sneer curled Johnny's lip.

And now the orange plastic sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Johnny stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy stickman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my forehand," said Johnny. "High Stick," the Referee said.
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 Ref!" shouted someone on the stand;
And it's likely they'd a-killed him had not Johnny raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Johnny's visage shown;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the Ref, and once more the spheroid flew;
And Johnny thought it was in, but the Goalie Paul said, "****You."
"Fluke!" cried the maddened crowd, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Johnny and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Johnny wouldn't miss the net again.

The sneer is gone from Johnny's lip, his teeth are clenched and set;
He pounds his stick with cruel violence and Yvon leaves the net.
And now the Canadians have the ball, an extra man in the lot,
The pass is made and the air is shattered by the force of Johnny’s shot.

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 shout;
But there is no joy for the Canadians—mighty Johnny has struck out.