Miracle on ice

the masters of hockey got papers in pockets
so what if they're spitting their teeth onto ice
they're paid well and fed well, and given warm farewell
at least for the victories, and even for ties
the player slyly check at your body
puts foot to mouth, and rolls again
but in the ends he drags his legs and
instead of hoc-kay walks with cane
as if he's dead, you're partner's laid
that's no big matter: so let him lie!
just don't let down: God wants the puck in!
He's in the grandstands, so don't defy!
for masters of hockey, no hooking or knocking
is counted as foul: the refs go blind!
no wonder for years no one could come close:
no schoolboy can possibly tangle with thugs!
but just of late their main ace is ace no more, just solved-out trick
with their own weapon they have been beaten,
torn and defeated both with speed and sticks
first he is beat up, and then he's knit up
and their main pop--this time no luck!
he knew before it: this time they'll blow it,
had them pray for it--alas, no puck!
so let them boast, and drink their toasts,
and let them be called 'masters of the game'--
this time we're better, so see you later!
and soccer players..YOU'LL TOO WIN SOMEDAY!