Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to regale you with a poem for the Vegas Golden Knights returning. It's to the tune of "Twas The Night Before Christmas," but with a hockey twist! Let's celebrate the Golden Knights playing with a nice little poem celebrating hockey's return to the mainstream!
'Twas The Knight Before Golden Knights Hockey
'Twas the Knight before Golden Knights hockey, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even Marchand the mouse;
The jerseys were hung in the closet with care,
In hopes that Marc-Andre Fleury soon would be there;
The children were nestled with hockey sticks in their beds,
While visions of Dave Goucher screaming, "SCORE!", danced in their heads;
And mamma in her VGK hat and I in my Marner sweater,
Had just settled down to feel even better,
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
I jumped out of bed to see what was the matter,
Away to the window, I flew like William Karlsson,
Tore open the windows with great passion,
The moon over the Nevada mountains hung so high,
Decorated the beautiful desert sky,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But 23 Golden Knights skating with no fear,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew they'd make their opponents sick,
More rapid than eagles, Cassidy's boys came,
As he whistled, shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Eichel! Now, Karlsson! Now, Marner! Now, Barbashev!"
"On, Stone! On, Smith! On, Theo! On, Dorofeyev!"
"To the top of the rink! To the top of the wall!"
"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"As leaves that before a Carolina Hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, straight to the sky;
So atop the rink, the players they flew,
With a bag full of pucks, and Marc-Andre, too—
Then, with a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The slicing and skating of each player with a poof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney, Marc-Andre came with a bound.
He was dressed in goalie pads, from his head to his foot,
And his jersey was tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of pucks and sticks he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—How they twinkled! His smile, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his facial hair was turning white from the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke formed a Stanley Cup with a wreath;
He had a youthful complexion and overall great vibes,
That resonated with the people without any bribes.
He was jolly and joyous as an NHL goalie,
And I laughed when I saw him like I saw Mick Foley;
A win of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke no words, but went straight to work,
Making big saves while turning with a jerk,
And laying his aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his zamboni, with Cassidy, he gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard them exclaim, as they drove out of sight—
"HAPPY GOLDEN KNIGHTS HOCKEY TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD KNIGHT!"