This is for the stars in the show and the guys going to the show, the boys in
the juniors living the dream and the die hards lighting up the beer leagues.

This is for the snipers, the playmakers, the grinders, the plugs, the fighters, the power
forwards, the high of the glass d-men, the bottle fillers, the men in the pipes, the pine riders, and the boys in the box.

This is for sniping ginos, chizzlin apples, dirty sauce, undressing tendies,
banging home rebounds, back door peeps, making big glove saves, and burying OT winners.

This is for the dirty dangles, sick toe drags, backhand toe drags, spin-o-ramas,
bar and ins, top tits, One-Tees, snappers and clappers, big-time celly's, poke-
checks, pad-stacks, big hits and hip-checks, yardsales, and toe-to-toe
tillies

This is for the long bus trips, the early morning practices, the bag-skates, the
battles in the corners, the jibs, the flow, the playoff beards, the
chews, the beers, the tears, the laughs, the team shakers, the beauties wheeling
hot broads, and the gongers wheeling swampers.

This is for the wins, losses, and ties, the end-to-end overtimes, the gruelling
training camps, the pre-season exies, the regular season battles, the playoff
wars, and raising cup.

This is for anyone who knows what all this means, because you are a part of
the greatest game on earth.

There's a hundred years of history
and a hundred before that
All gathered in the thinkin'
Goin' on beneath this hat.

The cold flame burns within him
'Til his skin's as cold as ice
And the dues he paid to get here
Are worth every sacrifice.

All the miles spent sleepy drivin'
All the money down the drain,
All the "If I's" and "nearly's",
All the bandages and pain.

All the female tears left dryin'
All the fever and the fight
Are just a small down payment
On the ride he makes tonight.

It's guts and love and glory
One's mortal's chance at fame.
His legacy is rodeo
And cowyboy is his name.

From 8 seconds. Lane Frost*