‘Twas the week before Christmas, when all-through looked Shaq,
Not a creature was stirring, not even an ESPN hack,
The banners were hung in the rafters with care,
In hopes another would soon be there.
The fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of unrealistic trades danced in their heads;
With Mitch at the helm, and held by the cap,
The roster seems settled for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter,
Away to the window I flew like Flash,
Faster than Smush out with the trash.
The moon shone brightly for the Wolves,
And gave lustre to the unbelievable fools,
When, what to my wondering eyes should be seen,
But a miniature ‘Toine and virtually invisible Green.
They pulled a sleigh with such wasted skill,
I knew in a moment it must be Coach Phil,
More friendly than ex-celtics in bed,
He whistled and laughed with his players instead,
‘Now Kwame! Now, Ariza! Now, Sasha and Fish,
On, Drew! on Odom! on, Ronny and Chris!
Never fear the trolls and their daily slatings!
Dash away, dash away, atop the power ratings!
And then, as they stepped on the Clippers,
I heard their feet shed Spurs for slippers,
As even the critics were turning around,
Down the chimney leapt Kobe with a single bound.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He filled the stat sheet, worked and wasn’t a jerk,
Without a trade and a tough looking start,
Winning 60% was all about heart.
He sprang to the court, to his team gave a whistle,
And they all flew away like Parker’s pistol,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove away bold,
“Happy Christmas to all, I’m still purple and gold!”