Trish Thornton's Sports Column Archives

'Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the Bell Centre
Not a creature was stirring, not even Red Fisher;
The jockstraps were hung by the lockers with care,
In hopes that Lord Stanley soon would be there;

The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While ticker-tape parades danced in their heads;
And Lafleur in his hairpiece, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down with a bottle of Schnapps,

When out on the ice there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bar to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tripped over the bottle and fell on my ass.

The scoreboard lights on the newly-cleaned ice
Gave the lustre of mid-day, I had to blink twice,
'Cuz, what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But the players themselves riding the zamboni,

With a little old driver, so tanned and heavy-set,
I knew in a moment it must be Mr. Gillett.
More rapid than Bruins his players they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, SAKU! now, JUNEAU! now, PERREAULT and GILMOUR!
On, PETROV! on ZEDNIK! on, HACKETT and THEODORE!
To the front of the net to the great Hockey Hall!
Now win the Cup! win the Cup! win the Cup all!"

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the Booth
The sound of Gilmour losing another tooth.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Off the zamboni Gillett fell with a bound.

He was dressed for the golf course, from his head to his toes,
And his clothes were by a designer that everyone knows;
A bag full of pucks he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a trainer who'd had one-too-many snack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
If you squinted he looked like a happy Don Cherry!
His droll little mouth chewed on a cigar,
And the hair on his head was the whitest by far;

He was corporate USA, a right jolly CEO,
And I cringed when I thought "we're American, oh no!";
A wink of his eye and a wallet full of cash,
Soon led me to realize, I can live with that!

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the jockstraps; then turned with a jerk,
And putting a cheque under Andre Savard's door,
I dreamed of the power forward we've all waited for;

He sprang to the zamboni, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like smoked-meat without the gristle. (sorry)
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, YOU BETTER WIN ONE TONIGHT."