Dear Ron MacLean. Dear Coach s Corner. I m writing in order for someone to explain to my niece the distinction between these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission and the rallies at Nuremburg. Specifically the function the ritual serves in conjunction with what everybody knows is in the end a kid s game. I m just appealing to your sense of fair play when I say she s puzzled by the incessant pressure for her to not defy the collective will, and yellow ribboned lapels, as the soldiers inexplicably rappel down from the arena rafters (which, if not so insane, would be grounds for screaming laughter). Dear Ron MacLean, I wouldn t bother with these questions if I didn t sense some spiritual connection. We may not be the same but it s not like we re from different planets: we both love this game so much we can hardly [bad word] stand it. Alberta-born and prairie-raised. Seems like there ain t a sheet of ice north of Fargo I ain t played. From Penhold to the Gatineau, every fond memory of childhood that I know is somehow connected to the culture of this game. I can t just let it go. But I guess [bad word] down to what kind of world you want to live in, and if diversity is disagreement, and disagreement is treason, well don t be surprised if we find ourselves reaping a strange and bitter [bad word] that sad old man beside you keeps feeding to young minds as virtue. It takes a village to raise a child but just a flag to raze the children until they re nothing more than ballast for fulfilling a madman s dream of a paradise [bad word] is reduced to black and white. How do I protect her from this cult of death?