Lyrics
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 the incessant pressure for her
To not defy the collective will, and yellow ribboned lapels
As the soldiers inexplicably rappel down from the arena rafters
(Which, 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 and prairie-raised
Seems like there 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
But I guess it comes down to what kind of world you want to live in
And if diversity is disagreement, and 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 but just a flag to raze the children
Until they're nothing more than ballast for fulfilling a madman's dream of a paradise Where complexity is reduced to black and white
How do I protect her from this cult of death
