Twas the night before December, when all through the Mid
Every Paraclete fan was stirring, so Greenie he hid.
Their Banners were hung on the fences with care,
In hopes that the Cats would cough up some hair.
The fans were nestled all snug in the stands,
While packets of warmers fit nice in their hands.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Were regretting those burritos and in need of a cra_.
When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the seat to see what was the matter.
Picked up my binocs, took a gander an lo
Forgot the lens caps and let out a DOOOH!.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen rain
Made the lustre of mid-day objects look plain.
When, what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But a Mid Valley Staffer, his initials T.P.
He’s a Monrovia fan, to his seat he went quick,
At the end of the first quarter he really looked sick.
More rapid than eagles Paracletes touchdowns they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Frazier! now, Ainsworth now, Walsh and Craft!”
Tried to stop them they did but the Spirits just laughed.
Over top of ther defenders! Underneath with a screen!
Now break away tackles! Enough he has seen.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So out to their cars the reporters they did storm,
To spread the word of this beating by a coach named Norm
This poem is much longer but I am too lazy,
just doing this much is already driving me crazy.
Another verse or two then post it for all to see
And get flamed by Greeny, the O-Cat and Philly B.
Watched Greenie leave in a terrible huff,
To lose the Championship tonight really was rough
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“The Refs robbed us, they did, and my butt you can bite!”
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