Twas the Night Before Christmas…

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ Green Bay, 

Every Cheesehead was dreaming of Super Sunday.

 

The trophies were shined up at Lambeau with care

As soon a Lombardi would be added there.

 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While dreams of confetti danced in their heads.

 

And I as a Packer fan brimming with passion,

Was watching highlights with a brandy old fashioned

 

When out on the lawn I heard a loud yelling

I “oped” and wondered who was at my dwelling.

 

Away past the beer fridge I flew like a flash

And opened the door with a half-drunken crash.

 

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Reminded me of a night game at Lambeau

 

When, what to my green and gold eyes stood nigh

But a guy in a trenchcoat, fedora and tie.

 

With a loud, raspy bark that could make grown men wince

I knew in a moment it must be St. Vince.

 

More rapid than Beebe his players they came

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name

 

“Now Taylor! Now Bart! Now Nitschke and Hornung;

On Caffey, on Gregg, on Ringo and Jordan! 

 

To daylight we run, to the south endzone wall,

Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!”

 

As Lions fans before a Green Bay game shudder

So shook I to hear the words Vincent uttered

 

And the men, they responded with words that were muddled

As over and over and over they huddled

 

Vince had them pursuing the goal of perfection

With excellence earned from each playbook dissection

 

As I drew in my breath and took in the scrimmage,

At my side appeared a Hall of Fame image

 

He was dressed for the cold, a man used to the air

Of crisp Green Bay winter games facing the Bears.

 

A playbook he had with a pencil in hand

And a look on his face of unyielding demand

 

But his eyes–how they twinkled, and despite his demeanor

The old coach had never to me seemed serener.

 

Each new play called and each repetition

Further pleased Lombardi’s apparition

 

The players continued their relentless work

As Vince gave a yell and a clap and a smirk.

 

The vision was clear as a game on TV

And breathless I watched as he turned to me

 

He stared through me like I was one of his men

Then called in the group to huddle again

 

He spoke not a word, but brought me to Starr

Who gave me the ball and a pat on the arm

 

Before I could give any sort of reply

The men looked toward Lombardi, then up at the sky

 

And suddenly then the group began to fade

Except for the ball, which in my arms stayed

 

But I heard Vince exclaim, ere they vanished from sight

Happy Christmas to all, now show Lambeau our might!