Robservations: Butchering a Christmas classic, again
For the third — count ’em, third — big year in a row, we offer our most sincere apologies to Major Henry Livingston Jr. (1748-1828), original author of the inspiration for the column which follows:
‘Twas the day before Christmas, and still shopping to do,
Not a present was purchased, not even a shoe;
So outdoors I went, just as cold as a Predator,
Your old friendly neighborhood sports section editor;
———
I headed out early, left the family in bed,
even little old Rocky hadn’t lifted his head;
’cause I needed to hurry, and hustle back home,
before anyone there realized I was gone.
———
In front of the store that I’d better not mention,
for fear of arousing my bosses’ attention,
I saw such a sight that my legs started shakin’
An empty Standard rack! I must be mistaken!
———
“What should I do?” I managed to croak,
“No papers to sell? Oh, no! We’ll go broke!”
But what to my still-sleepy eyes should appear,
But a sleigh full of papers, being pulled by some deer.
———
And up front in the buggy, driving the team,
Was my old sidekick Stubby, with his eyes all agleam.
“I’ll help you out, Rob,” he said with a wink,
“We’ll get all your presents, faster than you think.”
———
We burst through the store doors, and quickly we saw,
a great gift for coach Eades! A new rack of b-balls!
Now all of her shooters can practice with glee,
as they fill up the hoop, firing all of those three’s.
———
And for good old Chris Madewell, a brand-new weight room,
so his Pioneer footballers can swell like balloons.
And then there’s Chris Turner, we won’t forget him,
we’ll find a small forward who can jump out ‘da gym.
———
For J.W. Holt, here’s a 20-win season,
“Stars” sweatshirts for Upton — he knows the reason;
And for Anthony Brewer, sure, we’ll grant his wish,
here’s a sign to show folks so they’ll know he’s not “Fish.”
———
For Sarge Ernie Brewington, what do you get?
How about a pick-up, on a seven-ten split!
For Maxwell and Duval, state title contenders,
And for our friend Andy J., 30 bucks — legal tender.
———
“But wait,” I asked Dale, “Will our friends be upset,
“When they hear about all of the presents they get?”
“Hey, it’s Christmas,” he told me, “They know it’s in fun,
and at least you’ve tried not to leave out any one.”
———
“Besides, man,” he added. “They could be just as sleazy,
they could make fun of you, it would really be easy.
“They could mock all your comics, your dirty ball hat,
and you root for the Cubs? How pathetic is that?”
———
I knew he was right, so I headed on home,
hoping nobody would take offense at my poem.
But if anyone does, I guess those are the breaks,
’cause it filled up this column, and that’s all that it takes!