RP: Twas the Night Before Christmas

I'll try to do an update later today....some good characters this year to work with.

 

Per request, here is a 2009 edition:

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Florham Park

Not a player was stirring, except for me, Mark

The helmets were hung by the lockers with care,

In hopes that Rex Ryan soon would be there;

The players were restless and tossing in their beds,

As visions of botched field goals danced in their heads;

And Schotty in his nightgown, and I in my Jets cap,

Had just settled down to review last week’s crap,

When out on the practice field I heard something shatter

It sounded like a head coach....only fatter.

I grabbed my knee braces and started to dash,

To my ears it sounded like a coach talking trash.

The moon up above gave an eerie glow

To the footballs Braylon Edwards had dropped in the snow,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But an injured running back, and eight Green reindeer,

There was an obese driver, with a superiority complex,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Rex.

More rapid than eagles he swallowed ring dings,

And he whistled, and shouted, “I’m not here to kiss rings!”;

"Now, Revis! now, Harris! now, Mangold and Lowrey

On, Leonard! on Feely! on, Scott and Clowney!

From Brady to Manning I want to strip the ball!

Or intercept! Intercept! Intercept all!"

He pulled out his color chart and said don’t let passes fly,

I had a funny feeling come gameday, I wouldn’t comply,

So he told me its time to swallow my pride,

To protect the ball and learn how to slide.

And then, in a twinkling, he gave a little grin

And said, “Dirty, your our best chance to win”

As I drew in my sore knee, and was turning around,

Down to the kitchen St Rex went and started to chow down.

He was dressed all in green, from his head to his toe,

And he showed me films of a QB named Joe;

The more I watched it started to click,

He wants every series to end in a kick.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! Amazingly he was still merry!

No matter how many picks I threw, his hopes you couldn’t bury!

His pompous mouth was drawn up as if to say,

We’ve got a great chance to make the playoffs today;

A bunch of plays he liked, he held in his teeth,

And any that Schotty drew up were in the pile beneath;

He had a fat head and enormous belly,

Hey what’s that on his face.....some left over jelly?

He was animated and upbeat, a right jolly coach,

But I cried when he told me he liked a conservative approach;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

And I knew this season was close to dead.

He spoke in cliches, and then shed a tear,

As he exuded bravado to mask his fear,

And laying his heart out with arrogant prose,

He wished me good luck and up the chimney he rose;

He waddled to his sleigh and gave a little shout,

Said we've got two more games so we'd better win out.

Same Old Jets is a ghost we’re gonna fight

But we know its "Merry Christmas to all, and to another Jets season good-night!"

 

It's a deal. I am only inspired by dismal Jets performances. Hopefully next season, I will have zero material to work with. Merry Christmas!

 

A holiday bump. Not sure if I've got time to put together a new one, but there is plenty of material to work with this season.