‘Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse;
My fantasy stocking was hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that another championship soon would be there;
I was nestled all snug in my bed,
While visions of touchdowns danced in my head;
And with a huge down comforter, laptop in my lap,
This is the week my team shouldn’t nap,
When out on the waiver wire there arose such a clatter,
I looked at all the lousy players, none of which matter.
Away to the tight end position I flew like a flash,
To look for a fill in so I could win some cash.
I saw a ton of names that I didn’t know
including Bobby Blizzard, who plays for Cincy you know.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
Then on to the wideout Donald Driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment that he was playing
More rapid than the Philadelphia Eagles on Monday, my starters they came,
And I whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Cutler! Now, Boldin! Now, Steve Smith and Chris Johnson!
On, Donald Lee! on
To the top of the league! Please don’t hit the wall!
Now 4.24! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As Barber III is injured I need to replace with a guy,
Then I remembered Deshaun Foster, I let out a sigh,
So up to the lineup, the bookmark was new,
With an arsenal of joy, and underutilized Roy Willams too.
And then, I clicked the boxes, my frozen hand felt like a hoof.
Hoping my team would raise the roof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
I wondered what other options might be found.
What if it came down to kicker and his magic foot?
I opened my fireplace flu and was covered in soot;
My mind raced: did I have the right running back?
Hoping Barber III might just make it back.
My eyes — how they twinkled! My mood so merry!
My thoughts of Ed Reed scoring like HOF Safety Deron Cherry!
Bring me a championship wrapped with a bow,
And may my opponent start a QB in the snow;
My opponent’s matchups made me clench my teeth,
And the smoke it encircled my head like a wreath;
I had some snacks to fill my belly,
including a doughnut, the last one, a jelly.
I was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw my matchups, some decent plays myself;
I fliped a coin for tight end and it came up heads,
If i don’t wash my hair soon, I am bound to grow dreads;
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And checked the defensive rankings; with a Phillip Rivers’ smirk,
And laying my finger aside of my nose,
And giving a nod, I hope my team shows;
I sprang to my feet, my teapot gave a whistle,
I combed my hair with a horsehair bristle.
It’s time to lay claim; it starts Thursday night,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good fight.”
(Don’t overthink this week. Dance with the girl that brung ya.)
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