CruzDude
Senior Member sharing a brew with bajaden
Twas the night before Christmas, when under the roof
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Maloof.
The banners were hung in the rafters with care,
In hopes that The Larry O'Brien soon would be there.
The rookies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of playing time danced in their heads.
And brother Gavin in his ‘kerchief, and Geoff in his cap,
Had just settled their brains from a long winter’s rap.
When out on the floor there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the gym to see what was the matter.
Away to the tunnel I flew like a flash,
Tore open the drapes, tripped and fell on my ash
The lights on the breast of the new team captain
Gave the lustre of mid-season to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature point guard, and eight healthy players so dear.
With a little old driver, so lively and merry,
I knew in a moment it must be St Jerry.
More rapid than eagles his draftees they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Jimmer! now, Tyler! now, Isaiah and Marcus!
On, Cousins! On, Evans! on, Salmons and Hayes!
To the top of the arena! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane abuzzing,
When they met with an obstacle, they fed it to Cousins.
So up to the division-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of A-players, and St Jerry too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the night
The prancing and pawing of each size 16 Nike
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the tunnel St Jerry came with a bound.
He was dressed all in sweats, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all rumpled with years of soot.
A bundle of winners he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the hair of his head was as white as the snow.
The stump of a cliché he held tight in his teeth,
And the metaphors encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of chili!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had something to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the slots, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up to the rafters he rose!
He sprang to his desk, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like they just got a technical.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he spoke out of reason,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-season!"
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Maloof.
The banners were hung in the rafters with care,
In hopes that The Larry O'Brien soon would be there.
The rookies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of playing time danced in their heads.
And brother Gavin in his ‘kerchief, and Geoff in his cap,
Had just settled their brains from a long winter’s rap.
When out on the floor there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the gym to see what was the matter.
Away to the tunnel I flew like a flash,
Tore open the drapes, tripped and fell on my ash
The lights on the breast of the new team captain
Gave the lustre of mid-season to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature point guard, and eight healthy players so dear.
With a little old driver, so lively and merry,
I knew in a moment it must be St Jerry.
More rapid than eagles his draftees they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Jimmer! now, Tyler! now, Isaiah and Marcus!
On, Cousins! On, Evans! on, Salmons and Hayes!
To the top of the arena! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane abuzzing,
When they met with an obstacle, they fed it to Cousins.
So up to the division-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of A-players, and St Jerry too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the night
The prancing and pawing of each size 16 Nike
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the tunnel St Jerry came with a bound.
He was dressed all in sweats, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all rumpled with years of soot.
A bundle of winners he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the hair of his head was as white as the snow.
The stump of a cliché he held tight in his teeth,
And the metaphors encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of chili!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had something to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the slots, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up to the rafters he rose!
He sprang to his desk, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like they just got a technical.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he spoke out of reason,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-season!"
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Merry Season Eve to you as well!
