(With apologies to Shakespeare and Hamlet…)
To Red Wing or not to Red Wing, that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of missed puck droppings,
And take up Sherwood against a sea of administration,
So by opposing, show them!
To cry, nay, to weep;
No more; and by a weep to say we end
The heart-ache of a thousand unfortunate bloggings
The Internet is heir to — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To cry, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep what dreams might have come,
While sloughing off this higher call
To market icy sport...
The Wing’ed warriors need not hold
Anger toward Office, and the spurns
That fans lavish of th'unworthy takes,
When they themselves Champion the rink,
And clutch the silver chalice.
Instead proclaim resolute disagreement
And suffer the absence steeped in nobility.
Claim that which is against,
Yet arrive for the common good
Which is to gamely carve yon frosty sheet,
And make us forget ills we carry
But for a few great hours.
Thus conscience stated and tried make heroes to us all,
Those few, good men of resolve, knowingly wagering their word
Who, not sickled by their thoughts,
Instead proudly forfeit their comrades’ capital
As wages for their conscience,
While losing us none of the action.