I never had the pleasure of meeting Dale, although I did get a chance to watch him seal his own fate during last spring’s playoffs. He wasn’t one to fuss about ceremonies too much, so I’ll keep this as short as possible.
Dale Kenton Weise was born in Winnipeg on August 5, 1988, and so began the journey of the man we’re here to celebrate. A friend, a player, the Dutch Gretzky, a dead man walking.
Dale was a well-liked player, and he had many friends around the league. He was known for his high spirits, his inability to operate Gatorade bottles, and more than anything, his inherit capacity to mock Milan Lucic‘s neanderthal-driven actions.
One might say that Weise probably shouldn’t have openly laughed at Lucic’s exuberant empty-net goal celebration, but that’s just the way Weise lived his life. He was never afraid to push the envelope, and this is what eventually led to his downfall.
So here’s to you Mr. Weise. You messed with one of God’s own prototypes when you mocked Milan Lucic. A high-powered mutant of some kind, never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die. You almost reduced him to tears, and for that you will pay.
We shouldn’t dwell on the fact that Milan Lucic is going to fucking kill Dale Weise tonight, since the forward’s fate is already sealed. Instead, we should celebrate that we grew to love Dale, and even though he is soon to be no longer with us, we were privileged and honoured to have had him play with the organization.
When on the road to sweet Montreal,
Hurroo, Hurroo,
When on the road to sweet Montreal,
Hurroo, Hurroo,
When on the road to sweet Montreal,
A stick in me hand and a tear in me eye
A doleful damsel I heard cry,
Dale Weise I hardly knew ye.
