'Twas the night before Draft-mas, and all through the league
Not a GM was talking, not even a peep;
The draft boards were hung in the war rooms with care,
In hopes that Rookie saviors soon would be there;
The prospects were nestled all snug in their beds;
With visions of touchdown dances in their heads;
While Loomis in his office, looking at the cap
Had just settled his brain for a short hours nap,
When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
Mickey sprang from his chair to see…what’s the matter,
From end zone to end zone they flew like a flash,
Their speed unrivaled in the 40 yard dash,
The lights on the field, green, black and gold,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to his wondering eyes did appear,
But a gaggle of rookies quick as a deer,
There stood a big man imposing and tense,
He knew in a moment it must be St. Vince.
More rapid than eagles his Rookies they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Beckham! Now, Evans! Now Watkins and Lee!
On, Clowney! On, Mack! On, CJ Mosley!
To the top of the board! To the top of the draft!
Who shall be first? Who shall be last?
Some big as a house, some strong as an ox,
some quick as a cat, some keen as a fox;
How could you possibly know who to choose
With a crop full of talent, intelligence too—
And then, in a twinkling, Mickey heard on the roof
The whistling of air as if drawn through a tooth.
As he shook out his head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Vince came with a bound.
He was dressed to impress, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all perfect from fedora to suit;
A bundle of trophies he had flung on his back,
All won with the help of the NFL draft
His eyes—how they glare! His jowls, how scary!
His cheeks colored olive, his nose was quite hairy!
His droll little mouth cemented in a frown,
With a gap in his teeth and glasses on his brow;
He fixed Mickey with a stare as he glanced around the office,
He pointed towards the starters both on defense and offense;
St. Vince lingered on receiver and corner back too,
Now Mickey Loomis knew what he must do.
He adjusted the names and put them in place,
Talent should be at the head of this race;
Vince spoke not a word, but approved of his work,
He nodded his head; then turned with a jerk,
And tapping his finger to the side of his hat,
And giving a nod, he flew away like a bat;
As he soared through the air, to his team gave a yell,
To New York they went to see where they fell.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight—
“Happy Draftmas to all, and to all a good night!”