‘Twas The Night Before Wizmas…

…A BIG thank you to my fellow Union Blue friends, Richard Gethin, who penned today’s ‘Twas The Night Before Wizmas— and to Brian Klein who embraced Wizmas as much as I have.

‘Twas The Night Before Wizmas…

 

 

‘Twas the
night before Wizmas, when all through the ‘Wide

Not a creature was stirring, and no one could hide.

The sticks were stacked by the locker room with care,

In hopes that The Wiz soon would be there.

 

The boys were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of goals danced in their heads.

 

With Arniel in his ‘kerchief, and Howson in his cap,

Had just settled their brains for a long seasons nap.

 

When out on the boulevard there arose such a clatter,

Scott sprang from the office to see what was the matter.

Away to the window he flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

 

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

 

When, what to Scott’s wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature pair of skates and eight tiny beers.

With a little ol’ driver, his hair all a frizz,

He knew in a moment it must be St Wiz.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Nasher! now, Carter! now, Dorsett and Brass!

On, Umby! On, Tyutin! on Clitsome and Russ!

To the top of the steps! to the top of the ‘Wide!

Now Nash away! Nash away! Nash away all!”

 

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the arena-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of sticks, and St Wizmas too.

 

And then, in a twinkling, Scott heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of skates that were flameproof.

As he drew in his head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St Wizmas came with a bound.

 

He was dressed all in Blue, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished, but he wasn’t kaput.

A bundle of pucks 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 teeth in his mouth as white as the snow.

 

The stump of a stick he held tight in his teeth,

Then he twirled it around his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and really no belly,

That shook when he laughed, when he answered the telly!

 

He was slender and slim, a right jolly ol’ elf,

And Scott laughed when he saw him, in spite of himself!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave Scott realize he had nothing to dread.

 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stalls, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But Scott heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

“Happy Wizmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

 

Again, many thanks to Rick Gethin.  Merry Wizmas and I’ll see you at Nationwide!

Twitter@FiredUpCannon

Twitter@rickgethin

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