Predators on Top: A Score to Remember
Posted: Thu May 29, 2025 6:45 am
Blackhawks @ Predators, Mayhem in Music City
In the sultry South where the ice runs thin,
The Hawks came struttin’ with a toothy grin.
But Nashville boys had blades to grind—
They danced, they dipped, they rode behind.
With sticks held firm and passion hot,
The Preds came early, and boy—they shot.
Fantilli slipped in first, no time to tease,
He found the net with practiced ease.
Then Jarvis came, not far behind,
He tickled twine with goal in mind.
He worked the slot, he knew the drill—
That wrist release could make hearts still.
The Hawks? They flapped but failed to fly,
Their feathers ruffled, hopes ran dry.
Though Gallagher gave a thrust or two,
He found the crease but little else to do.
Cooley, oh Cooley, twice he scored—
One quickie, then a power play reward.
His stick did speak in double time,
He buried deep—both low and fine.
Katchouk got rough, and couldn’t behave,
He took a seat, then hit the cave.
A game misconduct—hard and fast,
His night was short, his temper vast.
Kochetkov, the goalie knight,
Stood erect and firm all night.
With 29 denied and none astray,
He said, “Not now, boys—not today.”
They came, they shot, they grunted loud,
But couldn’t please the hometown crowd.
Raanta, poor chap, was left exposed—
Preds undressed him, fully posed.
The fans were teased with third-period drought,
But the first two left no room for doubt.
The Preds had scored, both puck and pride—
They rode the Hawks, and turned the tide.
So raise a glass in Broadway bars,
To double dips and shooting stars.
A game of thrust, of charge, of grind—
The Preds came first. The Hawks? Behind.
In the sultry South where the ice runs thin,
The Hawks came struttin’ with a toothy grin.
But Nashville boys had blades to grind—
They danced, they dipped, they rode behind.
With sticks held firm and passion hot,
The Preds came early, and boy—they shot.
Fantilli slipped in first, no time to tease,
He found the net with practiced ease.
Then Jarvis came, not far behind,
He tickled twine with goal in mind.
He worked the slot, he knew the drill—
That wrist release could make hearts still.
The Hawks? They flapped but failed to fly,
Their feathers ruffled, hopes ran dry.
Though Gallagher gave a thrust or two,
He found the crease but little else to do.
Cooley, oh Cooley, twice he scored—
One quickie, then a power play reward.
His stick did speak in double time,
He buried deep—both low and fine.
Katchouk got rough, and couldn’t behave,
He took a seat, then hit the cave.
A game misconduct—hard and fast,
His night was short, his temper vast.
Kochetkov, the goalie knight,
Stood erect and firm all night.
With 29 denied and none astray,
He said, “Not now, boys—not today.”
They came, they shot, they grunted loud,
But couldn’t please the hometown crowd.
Raanta, poor chap, was left exposed—
Preds undressed him, fully posed.
The fans were teased with third-period drought,
But the first two left no room for doubt.
The Preds had scored, both puck and pride—
They rode the Hawks, and turned the tide.
So raise a glass in Broadway bars,
To double dips and shooting stars.
A game of thrust, of charge, of grind—
The Preds came first. The Hawks? Behind.