A speech upon an auspicious morn

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more

Or plug up the table with our Galaxy goals!

In pre-season there's nothing so becomes a man

As modest restraint and humility;

But when the drum of battle sounds in our ears,

Then imitate the action of the tiger:

Draw your muscle taut, summon up the blood,

Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage,

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect,

Let the brow overwhelm it

As fearfully as the cliffs

Overhang and jutty his confounded base,

Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,

Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit

To his full height. On, on, you noblest Galaxy

Whose blood is fet from fathers of goal-scoring,

Fathers that, like so many Cobi Joneses,

Have in these parts from morn til even fought

And ceased their scoring for lack of argument.

Dishonor not your mothers. Now attest

That those whom you called fathers did beget you.

Be copy now to those of younger blood,

And teach them how to score. And you, good

footballers, whose limbs were made in Los Angeles, shows us here

The mettle of your city. Let us swear that you are worth your breeding

which I doubt not, for there is none of you so mean and base

That has not noble luster in your eyes.

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

Straining upon the start. The game's afoot.

Follow your spirit, and upon this charge

Cry "Goals for Bruce, Los Angeles, and the Galaxy!"