"'Twas the night before the night before Christmas, and all through the thread
not a poster was worried, not even that guy who liked Ned
In the net would be Hutch, unused to his Wings
On the line'd be Simon, showing us things
Equipment was hung in the dressing room with care
By trainers quite jealous of Mo Seider's hair
The team it was snug in the belief they were worthy
Tho' back to back and sniffing the air in New Jersey
And Mal the brown dog, and Moxie the foster
Read up on the changes to tonight's roster
When on the TV there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter
Hard to the remote I flew with a flash
Pressed on the un-Mute, and increased it a dash
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a full hockey team, their road sweaters so clear
With a rumpled old coach, bald as an ice pond
I knew in a moment it must by LaLonde
More rapid than slap shots his players they came
And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name
Now Larkin, Now Joey, Now Kaner, and Ras!
On Spronger, On Simon, On Seider, and Hutch!
On Fischer, On Compher, On Raymond, and Copp!
Now D-cat, Now Fabbri, Now Chiarot, and Ghost!
Now Petry, Now Czarnik, and back is Perron!
To the top of the slot! To the top of crease!
Now shoot away! Shoot away! Let you never cease!
So into the O-zone the forwards they flew,
With a bag full of pucks - and some mouth guards to chew
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the flue
The stomping and the kick of a hockey-sized shoe
As I put down the remote, and was turning around
Down the chimney St. Yzerman came with a bound
He was dressed in Armani, from his head to his foot
And his suit was all tarnished with ahes and soot
A bundle of contracts was flung on his back
And he looked like a scheming skilled peddler just opening his pack
His eyes - how they lazed, his foes smoking hot
His phone warbled high - it was buzzing a lot
His droll little mouth was drawn tight with concern
He wanted his team to go out there and earn
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He talked a slow pace, never letting the other party
Know he was stealing their assets with a margin most hearty
He was chummy and clear, a right jolly GM
And I knew when I saw him it'ud be right in the end.
A wink of an eye and twist of his head
Said about this young season I had nothing to dread
He spoke not to me but went straight to his work
Plugged in his spare charger and dealt like a clerk
Then laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his chopper, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
- Plausible Keats