Merry Christmas everyone. I posted this one last Christmas Eve. I thought I'd repost it. It is written from Chad Pennington?s perspective on Christmas Eve 2005. Happy Holidays to all. DbJ 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Hofstra Not a player was stirring, not even a Mark Cavka; The helmets were hung by the lockers with care, In hopes that Herm Edwards soon would be there; The O-Linemen were nestled all snug in their hospital beds, While visions of Reggie Bush danced in their heads; And Woody in his nightgown, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for an offseason nap, When out on the practice field there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the trainer?s table to see what was the matter. Away to the practice bubble I flew like a flash, Tore open my stitches and threw up my breakfast hash. The tackle dummy on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to fumbled footballs below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature cornerback, and eight Green reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively, but not stern, I knew in a moment it must be St. Herm. More rapid than eagles his analogies they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and said you play to win the game!; "Now, Martin! now, Vilma! now, Vinny and Hobson! On, Mawae! on Coleman! on, Coles and Robertson! To the top of the upright! to the top of the porto-potty stall! Now throw away! throw away! throw away all!" As dry as an offense in which no passes fly, When they meet with an obstacle, they yield and comply, So down to the bottom of the standings they flew, With the sleigh full of disappointments, and St Herman too. And then, in a fumbling, I heard on the TV The bitching and moaning of each little Jetsie. As I drew in my torn shoulder, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Herman came with a bound. He was dressed all in green, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with chicken soot; A bundle of plays he had flung on his back, But I knew they were all likely to end in a sack. His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! Then I had a sinking feeling next season he might bury! His droll little mouth was drawn up as if to say, I just got a letter from the commissioner today; The stump of a wristwatch he held tight in his teeth, And it reminded me Dick Curl was as useful as a wreath; He had a broad face and a kinda fat head, That shook, when he wanted to pass, but ran a draw instead. He was jumpy and preachy, a right jolly old coach, And I cried when I saw him, my franchise he did poach; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had a lot to dread; He spoke lots of words, and forgot about his work, He told stories about dog catchers and I thought?what a jerk, And laying his finger inside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the flagpole he rose; He grabbed Terry B and to his team gave a cheer, And he stared dumbfound like headlights on a deer. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, "Merry Christmas to all, and to the Jets season good-night."
Thought I'd give this a bump for this year. As bad as things have been this year, I think 2005 was worse. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!
DBJ, I remember this posted from last year and it is still great. Well done buddy and Happy holiday. Lets hope this time next year we are still alive, (for the playoffs I mean) and lets hope we are still alive too. Merry Christmas!
Dude, I took the time to plagiarize and revamp: 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Florham Park Not a player was stirring, except for Favre's bark. The helmets were hung by the lockers with care, In hopes that Bill Cowher soon would be there; Brett Ratliff was nestled all snug in his bed, While hope the Favre experiment would soon be dead; And Woody in his nightgown, and I in my cap, Had just settled down hoping to escape a season collapse, When out on the practice field there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the trainer?s table to see what was the matter. Away to the practice bubble I flew like a flash, Tore open my stitches and threw up my breakfast hash. The JUGS machine on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to miracle catches below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a speedy receiver, and eight Green reindeer, With a little old driver, so beaten,and gray, I knew in a moment it was favre for one more day. Tighter than Wranglers, his spirals they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and said Jets Fans, no more of the same!; "Now, Jones! now, Harris! now, Coles and Mangold! On, Leon! on Jenkins! no more of the "SAME Old" To the top of the upright! to the top of the porto-potty stall! Now throw away! throw away! throw away all!" As dry as an offense in which no passes fly, When they meet with an obstacle, they yield and comply, So down to third place backs against the wall, With the sleigh full of disappointments, and Mangini's career soon to fall; And then, in a fumbling, I heard on the TV The bitching and moaning of each little Jetsie. As I drew in my torn shoulder, and was turning around, Down the chimney Pennington came with a bound. He was dressed all in green, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with chicken soot; A bundle of plays he had flung on his back, But I knew they were all likely to end in a sack. His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! Then I had a sinking feeling this season he might bury! His droll little mouth was drawn up as if to say, I just got a letter from Lav Coles today; The reminisce of an Icy-Hot strapped on his right shoulder, Seemed to remind me Miami sucked when it's colder; He had a broad face and a kinda big ears, That shook, when he wanted to pass, and brought up all my fears. He was mellow and smart, a right confident QB, And he laughed when I saw him, "Payback, you see!"; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had a lot to dread; He spoke lots of words, and forgot about his work, He told stories about booing and I thought?what a jerk, And laying his finger inside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the flagpole he rose; He grabbed Bill Parcells and to his team gave a nudge, And he stared confidently like a man with a grudge. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, "Merry Christmas to all, and to the Jets season good-night."
A TGG Classic. Nicely revamped GM. :grin: Good creativity/humor on this board. Here we are - next year, same old. Happy Holidays and hopefully next year the Jet's are alive in the playoffs. :drunk:
Well, the Jets are alive for the playoffs (despite what Rex Ryan sometimes says), so I guess the wishes of previous years have sort-of come true, barely. As always, congrats to DBJ and GM for their creativity.
