A Canadiens' Christmas poem

By JD Lagrange – At this time of year, we like getting a little lighter in keeping with the Christmas spirit by offering you a few seasonal humorous articles. Here’s our Habs’ adaptation of Clement Clarke Moore’s classic poem also known as “A Visit From St. Nicholas” or “The Night Before Christmas”, written in 1823. Hope you enjoy…

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Bell Centre
Not a creature was stirring, not even a trainer;
The stockings were hung by the stalls with care,
In hopes that the stink soon would not be there;

The players were resting while clearing their head,
While visions of success were starting to spread;
While Kent Hughes is planning, and dealing with the cap,
He would like trading, all of those playing like crap.

When out in the media, there arose such a clatter,
All sprang to the web to see what was the matter.
Coming from nowhere, they flew like a flash,
A bunch of rumours, not to be taken for cash.

While fans are dreaming, so little they know,
Their hopes of tanking, though as lost as Trudeau.
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature Bedard, will soon be just a souvenir.

As this grey haired coach, so good at hockey,
We knew in a moment it must be St-Louis.
Players knew of him, being in the Hall of Fame,
He whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Kirby! now, Mony! now, Suzi and Devo!
On, Caufield! on, Guhle! on, Gally and you, Jo!
To the top of your game! Let’s move up the standings!
As we do have a plan! Don’t worry about drafting!”

As they keep on developing, we will trust our guys,
When they face obstacle, they will mount to the sky;
So up goes their confidence, their skills as they knew,
With the team full of youth, and coach St-Louis too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening 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 pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

And then as they say, with their roster anew,
Working hard they may, to surprise more than a few;
As we hear the coach exclaim, ere they played out with fight,
“Go Habs Go to all, as the future is bright.”