Chevy
12-06-2010, 10:13 AM
A little something for the Holiday season.......
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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the clubhouse,
Not a player was stirring, not even a Hscanovic.
The red kits were hung by the goalposts with care,
By Malcolm, who’s hoping a number ten soon would hang there.
The lads were nestled all snug in their beds,
But visions of Christmas Timbers danced in Chad’s head.
And Guz with his ‘fro, and Garcia in banded head,
Looked like they finished fleeing – from some Feds.
When out on the pitch there arose such a clatter,
Jake sprang down the wing to see what was the matter.
Away down the sideline he flew like a flash,
And entirely missed it – lord he makes too much cash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Told Earl ‘tis the season to release those that blow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
Could that be Donadoni, Klinsmann or more likely Kinnear?
With a little old diver, somewhat lively and quick,
Is there anyone who doubts that Schelotto’s a d**k?
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
Mista left just as quickly, and with just one ounce of fame!
"Now Johnston! Now Carver! Now Cummins and Preki!
On Robert! On Ruiz! On Casey and Cunny!
To the top of the steps! To the top of them tall!
Now Jump off! Jump off! Jump off all!"
Like dry leaves that during the wild hurricane fly,
When Nicky L scored, we all knew it was the sky.
So up to the top rows they ran, ran quick as,
Honouring number after number, one day could it be Braz?
And then, when I was-a-tinkling, I heard on the new roof,
The thumping and pawing of one very large hoof.
As I put on my free tuque, and finished my beer,
Down the South End St. Danny came with a sneer.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his toes,
His clothes, covered they were with the blood of his foes.
Nine bundles of goals he had flung on his back,
And he looked about ready to kick that keeper, in the sack.
He spoke not one word, but went straight to his work,
Until he spotted Tommy, then said simply, “Jerk.”
And laying his boots on the pitch just once more,
He gave a bald nod, and up one-twelve he did soar!
He stomped to his sleigh, to his club gave a shout,
And away they all flew, even DeRo, who did not pout.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
------------------------
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the clubhouse,
Not a player was stirring, not even a Hscanovic.
The red kits were hung by the goalposts with care,
By Malcolm, who’s hoping a number ten soon would hang there.
The lads were nestled all snug in their beds,
But visions of Christmas Timbers danced in Chad’s head.
And Guz with his ‘fro, and Garcia in banded head,
Looked like they finished fleeing – from some Feds.
When out on the pitch there arose such a clatter,
Jake sprang down the wing to see what was the matter.
Away down the sideline he flew like a flash,
And entirely missed it – lord he makes too much cash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Told Earl ‘tis the season to release those that blow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
Could that be Donadoni, Klinsmann or more likely Kinnear?
With a little old diver, somewhat lively and quick,
Is there anyone who doubts that Schelotto’s a d**k?
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
Mista left just as quickly, and with just one ounce of fame!
"Now Johnston! Now Carver! Now Cummins and Preki!
On Robert! On Ruiz! On Casey and Cunny!
To the top of the steps! To the top of them tall!
Now Jump off! Jump off! Jump off all!"
Like dry leaves that during the wild hurricane fly,
When Nicky L scored, we all knew it was the sky.
So up to the top rows they ran, ran quick as,
Honouring number after number, one day could it be Braz?
And then, when I was-a-tinkling, I heard on the new roof,
The thumping and pawing of one very large hoof.
As I put on my free tuque, and finished my beer,
Down the South End St. Danny came with a sneer.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his toes,
His clothes, covered they were with the blood of his foes.
Nine bundles of goals he had flung on his back,
And he looked about ready to kick that keeper, in the sack.
He spoke not one word, but went straight to his work,
Until he spotted Tommy, then said simply, “Jerk.”
And laying his boots on the pitch just once more,
He gave a bald nod, and up one-twelve he did soar!
He stomped to his sleigh, to his club gave a shout,
And away they all flew, even DeRo, who did not pout.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"