On Your Radio

I've got two younger brothers, we all played violin

Had lessons in succession, we took turns going in

Otherwise outside waiting in the car

Before I got older and switched to guitar

Turn on the radio, flip to sports

Music was work and we didn't want more

Hockey was poetry in a violent guise

Canuckleheads lost or if we're lucky they tied

Late nineties, early aughts, not good times

Shorty and Tom, long suffering guys

They got theirs in 2005

Won the 50-50 in the building, on the air live

For me that was life intruding on a fantasy

Announcers have to eat, yeah and even feed their families

Back from the intermission 20,000 richer

Teams switch sides, and how they do paint the picture

Right to left on your radio

Through your car stereo

See it in your mind

You could almost feel

The shot that teased the twine

But then the battery died

Bingo bango bongo, his name's Roberto Luongo

Better than any veteran we ever got from Toronto

Never got caught letting a shot in from the red line

Never got mugged instead of getting to practice on time

O Captain! My captain! Have him replace Naslund

Light a fire, pump his tires, call him a distraction

Crush him under the weight of collossal expectations

Postgame shows that make me want to change the station

Tell a lot about a town by how it treats its team

Good times, the bad times, the times in between

We got a special soft spot for soft spoken Swedes

Unique kind of pessimism that always believes

Vancouver's a fragile city, tell us we're pretty

Tell us you don't mind all our panhandlers and dirty hippies

We'll get them out the way when you come around

Pull a Ralph Klein, give 'em bus tickets out of town

Right to left on your radio

Through your car stereo

See it in your mind

You could almost feel

The shot that teased the twine

But then the battery died

I played a show in Boston when we lost in game three

I didn't wear my jersey it was such a massacree

Between you and me, I don't mind we didn't win

If that's sacrilege, sacrifice a coach for my sins

But the lack of a cup kinda defines me as a person

Always striving always diving always trying to be deserving

Never certain of my worth, never come away a winner

With a sickly sweet smile like poison come to dinner

Don't cut parts out for the sake of the picture

They're a classy team that maybe might lightly bite your finger

Regular guys except like a thousand times richer

6'1", 201 average but they could be bigger

And if they win it all, what about next fall?

What if it's boring, what if it all seems banal?

Like, sure the world moved but my life it didn't change

Drove through the tunnel, now the signal's in range

Right to left on your radio

Through your car stereo

See it in your mind

You could almost feel

The shot that teased the twine

But then the battery died