Friends, New Yorkers, Rangerstownians, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Alain Vigneault, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Alain Vigneault.
The man deemed “savior” has seen his empire wither and crumble.
Built on a foundation of gold and steel, supported by sticks and cloth
Alain Vigneault led blindly. Trusting those with years instead of talent
A once proud and noble team turned sour by hubris and age.
The excuses many and varied but all swords turn to one man
The one at the head of it all, standing above his charges
like a King on a throne of Glass.