‘Twas the Night Before the Lockout

From reader Amy T. 

Twas the Night Before Christmas – NHL Lockout Style

‘Twas three weeks before Christmas, and all through the league

 

What once showed promise, now showed fatigue

Players’ stockings were hung by the chimney with care

 

In the hopes that St. Don would bring paychecks to spare

The owners were nestled all snug in their beds

As their billions earned interest and the players’ funds bled

 

And Fehr with his ego and Bettman with his cap

Both prepped their sides for a long season’s nap

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When out on the Twitter arose such a chatter

 

Maybe to someone, this season does matter!

Away to the table, they flew like a flash!

 

Owners and players would divide up the cash!

The money now added to the new-proposed deal

Gave the luster of hope, this shit almost seemed real

 

When what to my wondering eyes should appear

But a call for a presser by one Donald Fehr!

 

 

With a little optimism, so lively and quick

 

The fans knew in a moment, the deal would soon click

More rapid than tweets, the updates they came

 

A few more key issues! And he called them by name!

“Now contracts! Transition! This could end in a day!”

“Progress is here! My guys just want to play!”

 

“We’ve agreed on dollars! This is practically it!”

“A new CBA with a five zero split!”

 

 

As The Cup on the first day that it’s set to fly

 

When the fans heard the news, spirits rose to the sky

So on to the forums, the fans flocked. Yes, they flew.

 

To revel in the joy of a season past due

And then, like a flurry, came reports on the web

Predicting, punishing. More to be said.

 

As over and over we all hit refresh

The truth. Misdirection. A show for the press.

 

 

Words dressed all in spin, from beginning to end

 

A Grimm fairytale, a game of pretend  

A hint of belief, Fehr had flung to the crowd

 

While knowing full well, it would not be allowed

Gary’s eyes, did they flash! His response slightly scary!

He reacts with emotion? Oh goodness! How dare he!

 

He drew himself up to his full lacking height

The commish seemed to care on this cold, winter night

 

 

Gripping podium tight like the reins of a sleigh

 

He hastened to address the famed “magic day”

“There was a clear date when we wanted this over”

 

“It comes after ten and starts with October.”

He felt cheated, was livid – like a broke, ripped off whore

But I cheered when he spoke, in spite of unsettled scores

 

There was a wringing of hands, a shake of his head

The only whistle we heard were talks whistled dead

 

 

He tried to speak clearly, went straight to the gist

 

Owner limits not present? More games will be missed.

A punch in a hockey brawl where blows don’t suffice

 

In a holiday season less sugar than spice

One thing is for certain, when the game does return

Most love it too much to find lessons to learn

 

But they’ll give us something for paying the price

Another heartfelt ‘thank you’ painted on the ice

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