Two points, or not two points: that is the question:
Shall the Jets’first line globetrot and pummel
The slings and arrows of a fossilized Schmaltzy forecheck,
Or rather take arms against Vejmelka’s straw-dog wall,
And by a hail of even- or short-handed shots end him?
Shall Ehler’s virtual second line muzzle these Dogs,
And allow them to score
No more;
And to the Mighty McLardo we say do the full send
Call again on the insane skill
And inflict cardiac seizures and sundry shocks
Upon thy Yutish brethren, ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d.
Another wins, another game coming from behind is overt greatness,
But to win again; aye -
To slay this nameless hockey squad, to drive them before us,
There’s the rub;
For in that sleep of wins what dreams may come
When the Jets have slipped the bonds of Utah’s dusty coil
Must give us pause.