not a creature was stirring, not even a spouse.
The uni's were hung by the lockers with care,
In hopes that a trophy soon would be there.
"> not a creature was stirring, not even a spouse.
The uni's were hung by the lockers with care,
In hopes that a trophy soon would be there.
">

‘Twas the Night Before Football…

<I> "Twas the night before football and all through the field house, <BR> not a creature was stirring, not even a spouse. <BR> The uni's were hung by the lockers with care, <BR> In hopes that a trophy soon would be there. <BR> </I>

The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of wins danced in their heads.
Drew with his haircut, Wyche with his cap,
Had just settled in for a long season's nap.

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the doorway I flew like a flash,
Threw open the doubles and made a big dash.

The lights on the lines of the newly laid field,
Gave the appearance of grass so I had to yield.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a marketing man inspiring fear.

With a little old manager, so slick and so flighty,
I knew in a moment it must be ‘Ol Whitey.
More rapid than eagles, his stooges and cronies they came,
He hooted and hollered and called them by name:

"Now Pasquerelli! Now Carucci! Now, Clements and Wyche!
On, Mularkey! On, Berchtold! On Web crew, hurry on bold!
To the top of the news! No mention to small!
Fix Humpty, fix Humpty! Now dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when met with an obstacle, show a bill-of-goods to their eye.
So up to the office and to the ether they flew,
With a bag full of white-ones and ‘Ol Whitey too.

And then in my e-mail, I saw a real sale,
A Q&A of excuses for each little fail.
As I scratched my head and made a puzzling sound,
Down the web came a pic of ‘Ol Whitey building a mound.

He was dressed in a suit he had bought with his loot,
The points that he made were invalid and moot.
A bundle of tall ones he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler getting ready to talk smack.

His eyes how they twinkled, his voice like a howl,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a dowel.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
As the hair on his head was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pen he held firm in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled a mirror as a sheath.
He had a wide grin, and a devious chin,
He looked ready to spin, and then gave his grin.

He was shifty and sly, and smug in himself,
He said on the postage, to save it myself.
A roll of his eye and a shake of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had much to dread.

He spoke many a word and went straight to his work,
And filled all the media, then gave a smirk.
Not caring how many fan he would hose,
Then with a nod off the podium he goes.

Two years of rebuilding was not in the cards,
He spoke of all this with no mention of yards.
Two years became three, Then four and then five.
He said for some wins, This team it must strive.

He sprang to his office, to his coaches and players gave a whistle,
And downhill they all flew like the drop of a missile.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
I'll be back next year, you'll see that I'm right!

Comments: mweiler.billsreport@cox.net


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