A Pome for Saturday
By St Marlowe
December 21 2011
With a tip of the hat and a "Ho-Ho-Ho" to Mark, I thought it was time to revive a tradition
'Twas the Night before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Piggies Patch
Not a creature was stirring, awaiting the match
The pork rolls were eaten by supporters, with care,
In hopes that the Jimmies soon would be there.
The faithful were nestled all snug in C Block,
Casting their eyes o’er Geeches West Country flock
And Pete in his ushanka, and I in my beanie,
Were hoping that Rose wouldn’t be a blue meanie..
When out on the pitch there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the stand to see what was the matter.
Away to the pitch side I flew just like Flash,
Jumped over the hoardings, through stewards did crash.
The moon on the top of the South Stand did glow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to players below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
With a Hood-ike driver, so Northern and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be our Nick.
More rapid than eagles his charges they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Courtney! Now Foden! Now, Tiny and Dickson!
On, Pisi! On, Hartley! on, on Waller and Dowson !”
To the top of the stand! To the changing room path!
Now dash away! Dash away! Get stuck in to Bath!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up up at the Barfites the Jimmies they flew,
With Mylers Boot full of Points, and Fodentrys too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the Rodbar Roof
The prancing and pawing of the Hood’s cloven hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through the vomitorium Nick Johnson came with a bound.
He was dressed in a tracksuit, from his foot to his head,
And his clothes were all tarnished and stainèd with sweat.
A bottle of Gatorade he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a fitness coach, just training 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 beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a Tigers leg held tight in his teeth,
And the screams from its owner could be heard over the heath.
He had a broad face and a little round (but firm) belly,
That shook when he laughed, like Marshies mate, Belly!
He was lithe and well honed, a right gym monkey’s dread
And I was wary when I saw him, and his shiny baldhead
A wink of his eye and a twist of his wrist,
Put Geech on his back, in a hazy red mist .
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And sculpted the Jimmies, and then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, he goosed Mr Rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to Saints, and 5 points as your right!"
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Bridesmaids no more.
David L
What if there were no hypothetical questions?
- Live wrong and preposterously