[Ed. note -- Front page'd]
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Heights
Not a student was stirring, no one out for the night.
Their heads were hung low, lips mumbling a short prayer,
In hopes that Coach Spaz soon would not be there.
The players had gone home, the season was done
Mostly games against M's the only games they had won.
And Gene with his tweets and Spaz with his 'stache
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the web there arose such a clatter
Alumni sprang from their couches to see what was the matter.
BCI loaded up, and The Globe splashed across screens
Blauds made a fool of himself lasting long into spring!
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-season to objects below.
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But an angry eagle logo and five unrelenting reindeer.
With the power of the web, nimble and quick,
The battlefield was set and the old guard readied its schtick.
More rabid than eagles these coursers they came
And with facts, figures and posts they called for a change!
"Now Favat! Salzano! Now Kaczmarek and Black!
On Rettig! On Swigert! On Finch and Wujciak!
To the top of the division! To the top of the league!
We can see it within you despite coaching fatigue."
As dry leaves that before the wild eagle fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the Heights the coursers they flew,
With a blog full of truth and constant game-threads too.
And then, in a twinkling, the rumbling grew loud
The fans were upset but GDF was too proud.
Spaz proclaimed the foundation was not cracked but firm
and Blauds chimed in too praising the coming term.
He stood happy and smug in his old media job
staring down at the world as if through a fog.
He dropped in our laps constant GDF quotes,
And warned against nerds trying to rock their own boat.
GDF's eyes-how the twinkled! His tweets how merry!
His outlooks like roses, his head coach a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smirk
And his mind never saw a critic he couldn't shirk.
The smartphone with twitter held tight in his hand
A false halo of good floating above this small man.
He had a history of meddling from his days as a coach
And a love of interference that he held above reproach.
Spaz was weathered and tough, still a nice guy to all
But a head coach he was not, and we learned so this fall.
A glance at the ground and a twitch of his 'stache
Showed us all even he feared he may not be back.
So GDF, Spaz, Blauds and the like
That growing sound of fury coming forth with great might
Is not happiness with the way you perform
But simply the edge of your last, final storm.
BCI sprang to its sleigh, the team gave a whistle,
And into the fury they flew, seeking quick dismissals.
And I heard them exclaim, ‘ere they posted through the night,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"