I was supposed to recap the Hawks/Sens game but real life got in the way. However, the main talking point has been the performance (or lack of same) of a certain bibulous backup. Such ineptitude can really only be expressed through the medium of verse and, considering its Halloween and all… I give you

The Khabbi

with eternal apologies to Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and beery,
Over a game where I had nearly lost count of the score
While I stared, hardly blinking, suddenly there came a clinking,
As of someone heavy drinking,drinking outside my basement door.

`’Tis some lonely wino,’ I muttered, `drinking outside my basement door –
Only this, and nothing more.’


Ah, distinctly I think over, it was in the bleak October

And the start of a hangover had me shaking to the core.

Eagerly I wished for more booze; – vainly I had bought too few
To help me deal with the view -the view of the final score
For the five goals given up by a “Wall” with  open door-
Playing here for evermore.


I turned off “Chelsea Dagger” and with many a slur and stagger,
In there lurched a figure from the lousy years of yore.
Not a single shutout made he; nor enough shots stopped or stayed he;
But, with a face like week old gravy, slumped against my basement door –
Slumped by a Boilland shirsey hanging by my basement door –
Slumped and drooled and nothing more.


Then this boozy Russkie shaking, his knees already quaking,
A Toews bobblehead breaking when he knocked it to the floor,
“Though thy clothes be torn and shabby”,’ I said, `”And your vodka tits are flabby,
Ghastly grim and ancient Khabbi wandering from the liqor store –
Tell me what were you  thinking letting bloody Corvo score?”
Quoth the Khabbi, `Manymore.’


“Goalie?” said I “More like ‘Sieve': five goals I can’t forgive

Poor Crow is going to have to play 70 games or more

If everytime you’re starting your legs you are parting

As though you were farting as you let in another score

Will there be other nights like this, tell me, I implore?

Quoth the Khabbi “Manymore”


And the Khabbi , never saving, still is playing, still is playing

And my nerves are fraying as the opposition score

His SV% looks like shit and he gives the blueline fits

As his saggy vodka tits cry out for another pour

And the Goals Against column will be added to galore

As Khabbi lets in “Manymore”

Samhain shona daoibh, as we say in the Old Country