There’s many legends told of those who tended to the nets
Whose abilties made grown men weep and bookies hedge their bets.
One ‘tender’s special gift was to make the goal lamp glow
Therein begins the woeful tale of Red Light Racicot.
The story starts at Longueil in Quebec’s junior ranks,
Where pimply youths have slapshots that seem like they’re fired from tanks,
And flashy cat-quick goaltenders will often steal the show;
Alas, no such heroics came from Red Light Racicot.
The ease he was beat stick-side left his goalie coaches dumb.
Granby supporters prayed as one that they would trade the bum
They called him “Ancient Mariner” (stopping one in three or so),
Surely Les Habitants would not sign Red Light Racicot.
But indeed, Les Canadiens dragooned him in the draft,
Fully convincing one and all that Serge Savard was daft.
Children throughout the province prayed “Dear merciful God, No!
Don’t let our Forum bear the taint of Red Light Racicot.”
But there came that fateful day when Roy’s work had been poor,
And Hayward and Vinny Riendeau had each been shown the door.
And Montreal fans heard the saddest words they’d ever know:
“…Starting in goal this evening is Red Light Racicot.”
He flailed at wobbly wristers and ended up on his butt.
And he gave up much more five-hole than any village slut.
Even cross-check befogged Savard knew it was time to go
And mercifully, he released poor Red Light Racicot
In Heaven there’s a glowing rink where gods of hockey skate:
Maurice Richard, Howie Lorenz, all of the truly great.
In one net, Georges Vezina makes saves with stick and toe
But someday they’ll all float soft goals past Red Light Racicot.