Twas the night before Playoffs.

'Twas the night before playoffs when all through the rink
Ed Belfour was stirring himself a hard drink;

The fans in their seats look on in despair,
In hopes that Saint Nicklas would score on Giguere;

The children in Nashville, cheering the Preds,
With visions of Tootoo bashing in heads;

The 'Hawks in Chicago, with an eye on the cap,
May trade Brent or Brian, and keep those name Pat;

Then after the whistle there arose such a clatter,
Vokoun was just hoping it wasn't Keith Ballard;

Away to his homeland, he'll fly like a flash,
If Kovy is not re-signed by the Thrash;

New York on behest of GM Garth Snow,
Upturns his snow globe named DiPietro;

At the East's bottom rankings, what should appear?
A 14th seed Flyers, yet a healthy Briere;

With a little old scorer, so quick and lively,
I knew by the size it was St. Louis;

Some fans trying jeering the opponents at the game,
And oft-times chant Goalie when they don't know his name;

There's Hiller! And Miller! Now, Schneider and Salak!
And Conklin! And Huet! Two Masons and Halak!

From Luongo and Lundqvist and the Bulin Wall,
Stick save and a glove save and a pad save for all!

As the van leaves for Ottawa, the Wild had to fly
In some new equipment, as fire lit the sky;

And down the league standings, the Red Wings, they flew;
With the Canucks, and Ducks, and St. Louis, too;

And then in an instant, the Wachovia roof
Was the unconscious vision of the kid they call Booth;

He just turned his head, and was turning around,
Down came an elbow, Booth's brain was not found;

Let's hear it for Richards! Let's hear it for Perry!
'Cause where you were born's what matters to Cherry;

Running his mouth, I shake my head no,
When is McLean taking over the show?

Todd Fedoruk is missing some teeth,
And when you see his x-ray, you'll shout Good Grief!

He had a broad face and a big, fat belly,
Some called him Kyle, his friends called him Welly;

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old fuck,
They don't get much fatter than ol' Keith Tkachuk;

A wink of Marc's eye, and despite the bad wreck,
Big Bert skates on, even with Steve's broken neck;

He doesn't save often, and puts it poor worko,
We filled all the nets when guarded by Turco;

And pointing my finger against their best wishes,
The Kostitsyn's told me I'd be sleeping with the fishes;

He sprang to the bench, to his team with much thunder,
"Hundo on Dallas" said Tocchet, "and I'm takin' the under";

And we heard that Letang, when Hartnell and he did fight,
"Happy Holidays to all, and my finger he did bite"