Que Sarah, Sarah

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

'Twas the Night Before Christmas, Blackhawks '08 Remix

By Sarah Spain
December 23, 2008 04:02 PM

It's that time of year. Sarah Spain shows off her more creative side with a hockey spin-off of the holiday classic. The old Christmas poem, revisited...Blackhawks-style and just in time for the upcoming Winter Classic against the Detroit Red Wings.


'Twas the night before Christmas and all through Wrigley,

Not a creature was stirring, not even Versteeg.

Skates had been placed by the lockers with care,

In hopes that come New Years they still would be there.

The Blackhawks were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of hat tricks danced in their heads;

And Dale in his pjs, and Joel in his cap,

Had just settled down for a pre-Classic nap,

When out on the ice there arose such a clatter,

Joel sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Out to the dugout he flew like a flash,

Raced up the steps and kicked over the trash.



The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave a goal-light glow to the ice rink below,

When, what to Joel’s wondering eyes should take place,

But a magic zamboni rounding first base,

With a little old driver so full of glee,

He knew in a moment it must be McD.

Speeding like fastballs his skaters they came,

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

"Now, Kaner! now, Sharpie! now, Toews and Eager!

On, Khabby! on Campbell! on, Havlat and ‘Steeger!

To the top of the crease! All the way to the boards!

Now skate away! Skate away! Skate away, Lords!

Like Mikita and Savvy, Hull and Hall,

They owned the ice, one and all.

From blue line to blue line the skaters they flew,

Duncan and Barker and Seabrook, too.

And then, in a twinkling, Joel saw on the ice

Burish and Johnson—healed up all nice.

As he waved his hand, and smiled with glee,

Off the zamboni jumped a sprightly McD.



He was dressed all in Gucci, from his hat to his boots,

And he shined with the sparkle of freshly-made loot.

From his sack a handful of giveaways he plucked,

Bobbleheads, posters and autographed pucks.

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 in a smile,

Spread ear-to-ear like a crocodile.

A Hawks TV schedule held tight in one fist,

In the other a team nice-and-naughty list;

He had graying hair and a face slightly pinched,

He looked like a happier, friendlier Grinch.



He was lean and tall, a right jolly old elf,

Cool and collected and sure of himself;

He looked off in the distance, as if to dream,

And Joel knew he was hatching a marketing scheme;

He went straight to his work and spoke no words,

Pinstriped the jerseys and ivy’d the boards.

Called up Jeremy Piven to sing “Here Come The Hawks”

Dubbed “Hockeyville” the stadium and it’s surrounding blocks.



Joel leapt up from bed—it was all just a dream,

Fans weren’t there for the hype, they were there for the team.

“Thanks, McD, for all you’ve done.”

“But our real ONE GOAL is to be number one!”