12 October, 2008


I would be amiss, before I let loose my Sunday evening rant, If I did not post this wonderful prose from our Panther Bro Peter, written upon his return to The Great White North.

Read and enjoy.

Canadian Pantherfanz 2008

From the north, the horde they came,
Clubs in hand, and shirted same,
To help their Cats protect their park,
And on their arms, a salute to Marc.

In Charlotte, at the Garden Inn,
Is where their quest would sure begin.
A night spent quiet, to review the plan,
And mugs of mead for every man.

And in the morn, as heads, they healed,
In groups of four they took the field.
Their clubs unsheathed, they rang like chimes,
The flags were captured, eighteen times.

And in the eve, allies were met,
And stomachs filled, and lips made wet.
Fish was prepared, and likewise cattle,
To steel them all, for the next day’s battle.

And maidens fair, too, joined the feast,
And late it was, when the drinking ceased.
On Sunday morn, the horde made ready,
Although same hands were quite unsteady.

Some northern drink, brought by the horde,
Was offered up to maid and lord.
And exotic foods, cooked by the hosts,
Was gobbled down, between the toasts.

And then the battle, twas over quick,
We had our way, pass, run, or kick.
The horde, they cheered, in cloud-clear weather,
As the field, it filled, with Chieftain feather.

For a few more days, the horde, they stayed,
And friends came out, and drank and played.
But then was time, to head back home,
And to their friends, they said shalom.

But remember from afar we cheer,
And dream about our trip next year.

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