Big Game Poetry
The Night Before Big Game
Eric Lutkin, 2007 with apologies (again) to Clement Clarke Moore
'Twas the night before Big Game, when all through the Bay Not a Cardinal was stirring, not even Elway;
The jerseys were hung by the lockers with care, In hopes that the Axe soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of Casey Moore danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for a long winter's nap, When out on the Quad there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my tailgate to see what was the matter. Away to Arrillaga I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The lights from the Stadium begun to glow Gave the lustre of game-day to objects below, When, what to my wondering eyes should I see, But a miniature Block S, and eight tiny tree, With a little old driver, so lively with glee, I knew in a moment it must be St. TC.
More rapid than eagles his receivers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, McGraw! now, Bradford! now, Gerhart and Dray! On, Evans! on Stewart! on, Wiser and AK! To the top of the post! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild blitz fly, When they meet with a stunt, mount to the sky, So to the goal the receivers they flew, With the playbook full of tricks, and St. TC too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the street The prancing and pawing of each little cleat. As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, Round the end St. TC came with a bound. He was dressed all in white, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with grasses and soot; A bundle of tacklers he had flung on his back, And he looked like a scrambler avoiding the sack. His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the helmet on he wore was as white as the snow; The stump of a mouthpiece he held tight in his teeth, And the passes encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad back and stood tall in the pocket, And when he threw the ball, it looked like a rocket. He was tall and chiseled, a right jolly old Card, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of my guard; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And completed his passes; then turned with a smirk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the field he rose; He sprang to his left, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Big Game to all, lets hold the Axe tight!"