‘TWAS THE MORNING OF CHRISTMAS
A One Million Skates Hockey Poem
By Christie Judson
‘Twas the morning of Christmas, when all through the house
every hockey lover was stirring, even the mouse;
The stockings were emptied by the chimney with care,
In hopes that a shiny new puck could soon be found there;
The children were bundled all snug in new gear,
While whispers of hat tricks danced in each ear;
Mamma in her jersey and I in my Team Canada cap,
Had just settled down for one final unwrap,
When out on the pond I heard a big clapper,
I sprang from my seat like a scrum-hungry scrapper.
Away to the window I flew like The One Great,
Tore open the shutters but tripped on a skate.
The wind on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Blew gently revealing the ice surface below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But MacLean and Cherry with a hoot and a cheer.
With a team of snipers, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be a trick.
More rapid than eagles these danglers they came,
I whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Coffey! now, Sittler! now, Bure and Orr!
On, Messier! on Howe! on, Datsyuk and more!
To the top of the crease! To the top of the zone!
Now wheel away! wheel away! wheel away lone!”
As strong as they were, the defense oh they tried,
But when met with an obstacle, the wingers deked wide,
So up to the net the dusters they flew,
A line full of grinders, and Ovechkin too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard that fine sound
The ting of the cross bar, the net the puck found.
As I raised up my hand, and was cheering aloud,
A new player arrived, which drew quite a crowd.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
His uniform was tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of tricks he had up his sleeve,
He looked like a pro, a trail he did weave.
His stick — how it twinkled! His quick feet how merry!
His hands were so sick, his shot so scary!
His laser, his slapper, the line he did tow,
It was clear this new player was the star of the show;
The curve of his Sher-Wood he fashioned with heat,
His five hole and wrister, a mighty fine feat;
His broad face and little round belly,
Shook when he shot and gave a great celly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I cheered when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a light of a lamp,
Soon gave me to know I had witnessed a champ;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He filled all the nets; then turned with a smirk,
And laying his stick aside of the rink,
He sat on the bench, his cheeks rosy pink.
He sprang to his feet, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he skated away,
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-DAY!”
