Hello folks. Men. Women. Boys. Girls. Kings fans.

We are gathered here today because we share a mind, a common coalescence of swelling pride, immutable thrill and overwhelming anticipation. For we, my friends, my bothers and sisters, my amassed lovers of puck, we watch tonight as our very own Los Angeles Kings take the ice in game one of the Stanley Cup Finals.

Let’s savor that,

The Stanley Cup Finals.

Motherfucking Finals.

Fuck me.

The Finals.

We have waited, we have paid, we have sowed seeds of discord and confidence, anxiety and patience, malcontent and unconditional love. All for this. All for this chance. Tonight the child of the sun opens its eyes upon the galaxy of darkness. Fire and brimstone dares to halt our brilliance. Devils stand to succor what glory we have to give.

I had written a very personal article yesterday at 37,000 feet in the sky as I hurtled towards New York. Unfortunately technology bested me and that article seems to be inexorably lost to the data-sphere. But no matter. I write to you now from the Eastern Seaboard, ready to cheer for our Kings at the Prudential Center, feeling closer to this team than I have ever dared to feel, to tell you that our moment has come. Our time is not now. It is our future that is upon us. Only once the dreams of the West have been fulfilled shall the time that dared to be now be proclaimed as having been. When lips touch glistening silver, when chalice rises over head.

But challenges stand in our way. New Jersey, a team that has beaten odds as unfavorable as our our own, means to strip of us our prize. So shall they be stricken down. So shall they be undone.

One game at a game. Four games to go. For each victory, we pray and for this first we balance on bended knee.

Say it with me kindred hockey spirits, for ours is the glory and the glory be unto the Lord of Stanley’s Cup.

In the name of the Captain, the Son of Philly and the Holy Goalie.

Glory be to the Captain,
And to the Son of Philly,
And to the Holy Goalie
As it was in the beginning, is now,
And ever shall be,
Playoffs with the Cup end. Amen.

Bless us Oh Hockey Gods, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through LA Kings, Our Team. Amen.

Blessed are You, Kings our Team and Team of our fathers, Team of Dionne, Team of Luc and Team of Gretzky, the great, mighty and awesome Team, exalted Team, who bestows bountiful goals, who creates all wins, who remembers the insanity of the fans, and who, in love, brings a redeemer to their fans’ children, for the sake of Our Kings.

In hockey heavens who is great? Thou Kings art great!
On ice who is great? Thou Kings art great!
When thy voice resounds in hockey heaven, the hockey gods fall prostrate!
When thy voice resounds on ice, the NHL kiss the snow!

Peace be upon no New Jersey fan, without mercy or blessing of Kings.

Holy Sutter, Holy Stevens;
We give you thanks
that your Schemes, Attitude and Leadership
Are manifest with Power and Pressure
throughout all zones,
within all lines,
and we accept your Tutelage now,
in defense and forecheck.

I pray to the wunderkind, the play-maker, destroyer of all cap space, the enemy of forwards, of great brilliance, the descendent of Orr and of Borque, the one who shines like the Dewey flower.

I invoke and call upon thee O Father Mitchell,
Lord of long stick, Master of all lanes and gaps.
I invite you to the blue line;
Defend it, sustain it, make it home.

Blessed is he who is The Piece for the sake of wholeness.

As it was,
As it is,
As it shall be
O Thou Carter
Of goals!
With the forehand
With the backhand
O Thou Carter
Of goals!
With the forehand
With the backhand

Our Rookies, King of steadfastness, strengthened Nolan, Voynov foothold, support us against the disdainful people.

I profess myself a Penner-worshipper, a Pennercakean, having vowed it and professed it. I pledge myself to the well-played puck, I pledge myself to the well-delivered hit, I pledge myself to the well-fed monster.

Let us know victory.
For as long as the skates shall glide,
For as long as the chemistry shall flow,
For as long as the goal light shall shine,
For as long as the confidence shall grow,
Let us know victory.

Voices above,
Voices of Fans,
Yell from your couch or barstool;
Voices below,
LA King’s Inner-voices,
Speak from the dreams of childhood;
So may our playoffs be beautiful.

Our Kings, who art in New Jersey
Hallowed be thy game.
Thy kingdom come, thy wills be done
On their ice as it was in thy first three rounds.
Give us this day our daily goals, and forgive no Devil their transgressions,
As we pound into submission those who trespass against us.
And lead us past this final round,
Past these evil Devil fucks.

Hail Kopi, full of grace, the fans are with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst players and blessed are the fruit of thy skills, goals.
Holy Kopi, dominant of centers, play for us sinners,
Now until the hour of our Cup.

Go fucking nuts.