I title this 0.05%
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our fallen fans.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a fan
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of goal horns blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of Johnny Canuck;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a stantion
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest Canucks.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Stanley Cup winners,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And laid down their sticks for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good fans,
Whose limbs were made in Vancouver, show us here
The mettle of your ice rink; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like Orcas in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Henrik, Daniel, and the Vancouver Canucks!'
