‘Twas the night before Christmas, when at the store sale,
Not a creature was stirring, not one single quail.
Our boots were hung in the locker room with care,
In hope the 2017 league schedule soon would be there.
The first team was nestled all snug in their beds,
Visions of lifting a new trophy danced in their heads.
And once the last customer left the club’s Team Store,
Our merch staff closed shop and prepared to lock the door.
When out in the back there arose such a clatter,
Our staff sprung from their chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the desks we flew like a hound,
Tore open the doors and looked all around.
The moon shining through the skylight all bright,
Revealed the figures though a lustre of midday light,
When what to our wondering eyes saw in a blitz,
But a flurry of players decked in Old Glory Red kits.
With two men whose smiles surpassed the myth,
Who else should appear than Coach Buckle and Pres. Smith.
Faster than quails, their players they came,
And they whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
“Now, Emrah! Now Gissie! Harry and Wilson!
On Daniel! On Danny! On Augie And Newton!
To the Tower Bridge! to the Capitol Mall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
They stood frozen, like fans before the club scores,
When they suddenly flashed towards the doors,
So up back toward the front, the players they flew,
With a bag full of gifts for fans, and staff too—
And then, in an instant, we heard upstairs,
A prancing and pawing that could have been bears,
As we drew in our breath and were turning around,
Smith and Buckle came back to HQ with a bound.
Buckle was dressed in a suit, tailored head to toe,
And behind his glasses, Smith’s eyes were aglow;
A bag of soccer balls, Buckle flung on his back,
As he prepared eagerly to return and lead his pack.
Smith’s eyes—how they twinkled, looking so wise!
Warren grinned as he clearly planned a surprise!
Exchanging looks, the two plotted and planned,
On how they could make next year even more grand.
From thrilling finishes, and signing new players,
Soon there would be not a single naysayer,
They weren’t sure what to expect the next day,
They knew it would be better to live, work and play.
With preseason inching to almost within sight,
Next year would be time for the boys to fight,
For another glistening silver trophy to lift;
Winning the league—the perfect Christmas gift.
And so the two turned and went straight to work,
Filling the stockings of fans, and wearing a smirk,
And then they winked, and with a twist of their heads,
We knew next season was nothing to dread.
Outside the team sprang to the feet, as Buckle he whistled,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But we heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Glory Glory Sacramento! Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when at the store sale,
Not a creature was stirring, not one single quail.
Our boots were hung in the locker room with care,
In hope the 2017 league schedule soon would be there.
The first team was nestled all snug in their beds,
Visions of lifting a new trophy danced in their heads.
And once the last customer left the club’s Team Store,
Our merch staff closed shop and prepared to lock the door.
When out in the back there arose such a clatter,
Our staff sprung from their chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the desks we flew like a hound,
Tore open the doors and looked all around.
The moon shining through the skylight all bright,
Revealed the figures though a lustre of midday light,
When what to our wondering eyes saw in a blitz,
But a flurry of players decked in Old Glory Red kits.
With two men whose smiles surpassed the myth,
Who else should appear than Coach Buckle and Pres. Smith.
Faster than quails, their players they came,
And they whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
“Now, Emrah! Now Gissie! Harry and Wilson!
On Daniel! On Danny! On Augie And Newton!
To the Tower Bridge! to the Capitol Mall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
They stood frozen, like fans before the club scores,
When they suddenly flashed towards the doors,
So up back toward the front, the players they flew,
With a bag full of gifts for fans, and staff too—
And then, in an instant, we heard upstairs,
A prancing and pawing that could have been bears,
As we drew in our breath and were turning around,
Smith and Buckle came back to HQ with a bound.
Buckle was dressed in a suit, tailored head to toe,
And behind his glasses, Smith’s eyes were aglow;
A bag of soccer balls, Buckle flung on his back,
As he prepared eagerly to return and lead his pack.
Smith’s eyes—how they twinkled, looking so wise!
Warren grinned as he clearly planned a surprise!
Exchanging looks, the two plotted and planned,
On how they could make next year even more grand.
From thrilling finishes, and signing new players,
Soon there would be not a single naysayer,
They weren’t sure what to expect the next day,
They knew it would be better to live, work and play.
With preseason inching to almost within sight,
Next year would be time for the boys to fight,
For another glistening silver trophy to lift;
Winning the league—the perfect Christmas gift.
And so the two turned and went straight to work,
Filling the stockings of fans, and wearing a smirk,
And then they winked, and with a twist of their heads,
We knew next season was nothing to dread.
Outside the team sprang to the feet, as Buckle he whistled,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But we heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Glory Glory Sacramento! Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
