‘Twas the night before Christmas (Bruins’ style)
‘Twas the night before Christmas, through many a Bruin house,
The faithful getting more comfortable less about which to grouse.
Stockings with just a few wishes hung by the chimney with care
In hopes management and players deliver to avoid late-season despair.
NESN viewers each game, more snug and well fed,
While visions of two-goal leads and “Ws” dance in many a head.
Neely and Sweeney with promises in September,
Calming our minds for a winter to hopefully remember.
When out in TD Garden there arises varied clatter,
B’s fans spring from our beds to see what’s the matter.
Away to their windows, they flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a sizeable sleigh, and 23 well-coached reindeer.
With that 52-year-young driver, so lively and quick,
We knew in a moment must be Bruce Cassidy, our St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
“Now Zee, now Backes, now Rask, and Bergie,
On Pasta, on Krech, on Doby and Torey!
To the top of the dasher, to the top of the Garden wall,
Now dash away, dash away, special rookies and et al!”
As dry leaves before brought losses and sighs,
Perseverance through injuries brings holiday highs.
So up to the banners the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of two-pointer strategies – and St. Cassidy too.
And then in a twinkling, we heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each skated hoof.
As we drew our heads, and were turning around,
Down the chimney St. Cassidy came with a bound.
He was dressed in practice garb, black and gold head to foot
And his clothes were all tarnished with same color of soot.
A bundle of puck stuff was flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
The team finally twinkling, their dimples more cherry,
Fewer losses making post-game comments more merry.
Games ending more like a neatly tied bow,
Any Cassidy beard slowing its pace far from white as snow.
The rollout of endless line formations held tight in his teeth,
Hoping for team health to keep lines intact as a wreath.
His post-game deliveries much more comfortable of late,
We can tell by his laughs that make more fans feel great.
Now we’re not going to think they are all elves,
Dismissing all dire preseason thoughts in ourselves.
But the winks in their eyes and nods of their head
Just seem to indicate in 2018 we have less to dread.
St. Cassidy’s words go straight to his work
As he filled all the stockings then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave that whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle.
But we heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
Happy Christmas to all, and for that silver Cup we will fight.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause.