Not a creature was stirring, not even Desharnais.
The hockey socks were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that they’d smell better for all that fresh air.
The rookies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Stanley Cups danced in their heads.
And mamma in her jersey, and I in my Habs cap,
Had just settled our nerves with a long and tall night cap.
When outside on the rink there arose such a clatter,
I staggered from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I tumbled and smashed,
Right through the shutters with a bang and a crash.
The new lights I’d installed on the rink in the snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a tiny zamboni, and eight tiny playeers. (Work with me on this, okay?)
With a little old coach, see, so pudgy and slick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Mick.
More rapid than eagles his playeers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now, Plekie! Now, Patches! Now, Sekac and Subban!
On, Carey! On, Galley! On Gonchar and Emelin!
To the top of the League! To the top of it all!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, all!"
As dry Leafs that before the Carolina Hurricanes fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up in the standings the playeers they flew
With a sac full of goals, and shutouts, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I read the proof
HIO was prancing and yet another long-time poster disappeared: poof!
I double-checked what I’d read, and was turning around,
Down to my parlour came St. Mick with a bound.
He was badly dressed in a stained faux fur from his head to his foot,
The red, white and blue all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of wins the old coach had flung on his back,
And he looked like a winner, his team back on track.
His eyes-how they glinted! His smiles how merry!
His ears like twin fans, his nose like a berry!
His droll little sac was drawn up with a tight chord,
And by the laugh he let loose I knew has wasn’t bored.
The butt of a stogie he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had great red eyes on a broad face with a round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I grinned when I saw him, in spite of myself!
He jumped while bells tinkled, to the tree and up,
When he reached the crown, he placed there a Cup!
He twisted those words, and when facing the media,
He congratulated his players; he was coaching by Wikipedia.
A stats book he held and he waved it in the air,
And then he lit it on fire, like he didn’t care!
He then sprang to the zamboni, to his team gave a shout,
And away they all skated with certainty; no doubt.
But I heard him exclaim, ere they skated out of sight,
"Habby Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"