‘Twas the Night Before Game 7
‘Twas the night before Game 7, when all through the city,
Not a celebrity was stirring, not even P. Diddy,
Playoff towels were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Playoff Penner would soon be there.
The hockey children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Stanley Cups danced in their heads.
And Mama Kelsey in only a Kings jersey, not even a cap,
Couldn’t settle her brain for an eight hour nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter!
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like Steve Nash!
Tore open the shutters, threw up the sash!
The moon on the Infinity Edge Pool,
Gave lustre of mid day to objects, you fool.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear!
But a world class tendy and 24 hockey playing reigndeer!
With little old Sutter, so lively like Quick.
I knew in a moment a repeat would be but a small trick.
More rapid than Eagles, the players they came,
We whistled and shouted and called them by name!
“Now Penner, now Kopi, now Slava and Brownie!
On Dewwy! On Lewwy! On Muzzin and Greener!
To the top of the crease, to the top of the boards!
Now score away, score away! Score away all!”
As ice that before the wild Icecapades fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, they mount to the sky!
So up to the conference-top the Kings they flew,
With a sleigh full of Popcornopolis and Sutter’s fatass too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof,
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney the Kings came with a bound.
Sutter was dressed like Slava, covered in Ed Hardy,
And his clothes were glittery like he had been to a party,
A bundle of game tapes he had flung on his back,
And he looked like EuroTrash opening his fanny pack.
His hawkeyes-how they twinkled! His scowl was a-tweak!
His cheeks were like blowtorches, his nose like beak!
His droll little mouth was shoved up to his nose,
And his hair on his head as white as the stuff Amanda Bynes blows.
The stump of a broken stick he held tight in his teeth,
Because frustration encircled his head like a wreath,
He had a square face and a little round belly,
And he never ever laughed, not even for Jelly.
He wasn’t really chubby or plump, but looked like an elf.
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink in Carter’s eye and a twist of Richie’s head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
Quick spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
And stopped every freaking shot, then turned with a jerk.
And laying out Galiardi, smacking him straight on the nose,
Quick gave a nod, and up the Playoffs we rose.
Quick sprang to the sleigh; to his team he gave a whistle,
And away they all skated like the down of a thistle.
But I heard Penner exclaim, after they won Game 7 that night,
“Happy Series to Kings fans, and to all a good-night!”