A Cantankerous College Lacrosse Head Coach's Version of "'Twas the Night Before Christmas"

This is the children's tale that I assume that a cantankerous college lacrosse head coach would tell his kids each holiday season.

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and in a lax office,

I sat at my desk trying to beat Robert Morris.

Game plans were scattered like the scene of a crime,

"I'm not paid enough for this crap, not even a dime."

The kids were all home, lifting no weights

"Our team is so lazy, we won't beat Penn State!"

My assistant in a polo and I in my cap,

Had just settled in for 15 hours of prep.

When out from the film there arose such a fear,

"ALBANY'S THOMPSON IS BACK AGAIN THIS YEAR?!"

Away to the bathroom I flew like a comet,

"Stopping that guy makes me want to vomit."

The realization set in that our season was through,

The schedule read Carolina then Hopkins, "We're going oh-and-two!"

More terror arose as my assistant then quivered,

"The news gets worse: Our star attackman just transferred."

With a five-foot midfielder and no prospects for hope,

I knew -- very clearly -- that I was surrounded by dopes.

The season would come just as quick as a flash,

If we lost lots of games my ass would be grass.

"Now Wind-Sprint! Now Stalling! Now Abusing Referees!

On Poke Check! On Middie! On Avoiding Penalties!

To the top of the league! To the top of the RPI!

We'll fake it or make it, or possibly die!"

And then, in a twinkling, it bore in my brain

The truth of the matter was we were totally lame.

As I drew on the board and was turning around,

My assistant exclaimed, "Do we work for Brown?"

We were drunk on the season and probably some beers,

Our clothes were all rumpled, we've worn them for years.

Ideas flew about like last gasps of air,

"This would be easier if we accepted despair."

My assistant sat softly, straightening his work,

"I have an idea," he said, "how 'bout we twerk?"

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Made me wish more than anything that he would be dead.

He sprang to his feet and bounced with delight,

"Princeton will kill us by twenty, alright."

And I muttered aloud he danced out of view,

"I'll blame it on him when we lose to B.U."